HISTORY CORNERS by Dale Fisk
Published in the Adams County Leader, The Record, and the Adams County Record
From December 1993 to 2024
#1 12-30-93
This article is the first in what is planned as a series of articles about Council's fascinating past.
With all the digging going on in town, I thought it would be a good time to tell about some interesting discoveries from the last time the town was dug up.
In 1940, the WPA was putting in many of the sewer lines that are now being replaced. At the bottom of an eight foot deep trench under Galena street, west of what is now the Council Valley Market, the crew found a large spear head and a stone axe head. Both were made of flint. The spear head (which may actually have been a cutting tool) measured about four inches long.
Several arrow heads were found during the 1940 excavations, especially around the settling tank in the west part of town, and along the trench leading west from the tank.
I've been told that if the present workers find any artifacts, the job might have to be stopped until an archaeologist can be called in to examine the site. While this is both good and bad, the immediate result is that the workers might simply keep quiet about anything they find in order to keep the project moving. That's understandable, but if it happens, the community will lose a once in a lifetime chance to learn more about how the native culture used this valley.
Future articles, in addition to stories of Council's history, will keep you informed of what the museum is doing. Several ambitious new members have been added to the museum board, and you will be seeing some good things happen. This should matter to you. It should matter to you because local history is incredibly interesting. It enriches our lives in ways beyond measure. And Council has one of the best historical collections in the state for this size town. It should also matter to you because museums and other historical attractions account for a very high percentage of tourist dollars: cold, hard cash for our local economy.
Stay tuned.
#2 1-5-94
HISTORY CORNER by Dale Fisk
One of the most striking facts of life in the Council Valley about a century ago was the handicap of inadequate transportation. When the Moser family settled here in 1876, there wasn't a road of any kind into the valley. George Moser used a plow to scratch a ditch down the north side of Mesa hill, and by placing the upper wheels of the wagons in it, managed to keep them from tipping over.
The basic route that the Mosers established was used up until about 1920, and is still visible in the first canyon east of the present highway. It cuts down the hill and across the old paved highway. If you look about 300 yards up the Middle Fork from the present highway bridge at the base of Mesa hill, you can see the abutments for the bridge the old "Moser grade" used.
When roads were finally built, they were what we would call four-wheel-drive trails. These dirt roads were very often impassible (or even dangerous) for weeks at a time during wet seasons. Until communities were big enough, and organized enough, to afford such luxuries as bridges, travelers used fords on smaller rivers, and ferries on larger ones.
Railroads were the only mode of transport that was fairly dependable. When Indian Valley was first settled in 1868, the nearest railroad was in Utah. By the time the Mosers arrived here, rails had just crossed Idaho's southern border. The nearest major supply points were Boise or Baker, although there was a small store at Falk's crossing, east of present day Payette. Six years later (1882), the railroad reached Weiser. This was a milestone in the settlement of Council. Now it only took a journey of two days (one way) to get to Weiser.
[Remainder of this column is missing.]
#3
1-12-94
HISTORY CORNER by Dale Fisk
It was a cold day, less than two weeks after Thanksgiving. The Christmas season was starting. The older students of Council's overcrowded old brick school were looking forward to moving into the new, $48,500 high school that was nearing completion across the highway from the courthouse.
People who were listening to the radio were startled by the sudden interruption of regular programing. It was announced that Japan had just attacked the U.S. Naval base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Soon after that, President Roosevelt announced that the United States was declaring war. The word spread quickly through Council. Whether they heard it in a store, or by a phone call, or on the radio, the shock of the news, and the date December 7, 1941, was indelibly stamped on the memory of everyone who was old enough to realize what had happened. From that day on, the history of this nation, and the lives of millions, was irrevocably altered.
A few days after Pearl Harbor, a new siren was installed in Council to serve as a fire and air raid alarm. Military experts were saying that attacks by enemy planes this far inland were very probable, and blackout instructions were issued.
As near as we can tell, the big bell that now sits in front of the city hall / museum building was used as an alarm before that time. If anyone has any more information about this bell, please call me: 253-4582.
A letter recently arrived at the Council Post Office from a WWII vet who is trying to locate someone he knew during the war. The man who wrote the letter is Robert Hull, and he is looking for Robert M. Keyes. The two men served together in the 511th Parachute Infantry Regiment. Keyes was the lieutenant in charge of the Demolition Platoon, and stayed with the unit until it arrived in New Guinea. At that time, Keyes left the unit, and Mr. Hull has never heard what became of him. Mr. Hull says that Keyes lived in the Council area, and may have owned a ranch here. Anyone with information on the whereabouts of Robert Keyes or his relatives is asked to contact Robert M. Hull at 1926 S. Johnson St., Visalia, CA 93277 . He will gladly accept collect phone calls at (209) 625-3027.
#4 1-20-94
HISTORY CORNER
by Dale Fisk
In my writings, I will occasionally use the term "Landmarks". I'll try to explain my usage of that word.
Just after 1900, a number of homesteaders settled on "the Ridge" west of Fruitvale, and a one-room school was built in 1915 for the children of the new families. My father was one of those children.
When I checked on the old school a couple years ago, it was in pretty sad shape. The porch had fallen down a few years before. The brick chimney had long since been shot to pieces by squirrel hunters in lack of more suitable targets. The weathered shingles had given up clinging to the roof, and now the whole building was leaning to the point of no return.
All my life I had seen that old school as a symbol of a precious heritage, and as a landmark in more than just the physical sense. I saw the ghosts of noisy children running and laughing in the school yard. I imagined figures whirling around the floor at special Saturday night dances, as the notes of a fiddle drifted above their heads. To me, this neglected old friend represented a way of life that had faded away like the echoes of the music and the laughter. Now it stood empty ... silent ... dying.
The old school finally collapsed under the weight of a heavy snowfall on the night of December 8, 1992.
When I was a boy, I used to go with my father to the cattle auction. I would listen to the men talk about politics, the price of cattle, or the best way to operate some complicated piece of farm equipment. I thought they must be very wise, these men who held the world in their hands. I was intimidated by the thought of ever being able to know as much about life as they did.
I learned a lot from those men. As I grew up, they didn't seem to age at all, but now, many of them are old. Some, like the Ridge school house, have begun to lean precariously ... and some have died. It just doesn't seem right. From my point of view, they were always here - like the mountains. These men have been my reference points ... my Landmarks.
There is little we can do to prevent the loss of living Landmarks. But there is much that can be done to preserve the priceless legacy they leave behind them. That's why I'm researching and writing their stories. That's why the Council museum exists, and why it is so important to support it.
For over a year now, the museum board has been diligently investigating a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to expand the space available for the museum's exhibits. The room we have is inadequate for even the present collection, not to mention other heirlooms that would be donated or loaned if space were available.
We have finally come up with an approximate plan for an addition to the City Hall building for the museum, and nailed down an agreement toward this goal with the initial financial backer: Evea Powers (Vernie Harrington's daughter). She will match any money we raise, dollar for dollar, up to $10,000. Through private grants and local contributions, we plan to raise enough for the addition.
We are hoping that the community will pull together and help with this investment in a cultural and economic legacy that will benefit us and our grandchildren.
You'll be reading and hearing more about this soon.
#5 1-27-94
Many long time residents of the Council area remember when this was a well known fruit producing region. It was a dynamic, but relatively brief, time in our history.
Although many early settlers grew a few fruit trees for their own use, William and Dora Black are generally credited with starting the first commercial orchard in the county. The Blacks lived at the present day Gossard ranch on Hornet Creek.
Even though local fruit was of high quality, the market was mostly limited to local sales until after the arrival of the railroad in 1901. By 1904, B.B. Day, who now owned the Black place, was shipping apples to markets as remote as Walla Walla and Nampa. The next year, he was sending apples to Chicago by the railroad car full, and area farmers were beginning realize that there was money to be made in fruit.
By 1909, orchards were the rage here, and it seemed that everyone was jumping onto the band wagon. Local business men came up with a logo depicting a red apple accompanied by the slogan "The Home of the Big Red Apple" which was placed on envelopes, banners and other promotional material.(CL, Sept 17, 1909) A metal printing plate for reproducing this logo is displayed at the museum in Council.
That same year (1909), the famous Mesa Orchards began, about 8 miles south of Council. This was also the year that the townsite of Fruitvale was established. The name was doubtlessly a result of the fruit rage.
In 1912, "The Council Valley Orchards Company" started developing orchards on the slopes north east of Council, mostly east of highway 95, and between Orchard Road and Mill Creek Road. At one time, that whole area was almost one continuous orchard.
By the fall of 1912, it was estimated that there were 3,000 acres of orchard within a twelve and a half mile radius of Council. For about the next thirty years, fruit was a staple of Council Valley's economy.
I have three questions this week.:
1. My best information is that, at its peak in 1929, the Mesa Orchards Co. had 1,200 acres actually growing fruit trees. It has been claimed that it was anywhere from "one of the largest commercial orchards under one head operated anywhere in the northwest", to "the biggest orchard in the world". Does anybody have concrete evidence as to its actual size in relation to its peers? Newspaper claims, opinions and memories don't count unless they can be corroborated. An almanac printed during the 1920s might have this info. Old horticultural journals might hold a clue. Any solid leads would be very appreciated.
2. Early in World War II, the government considered Mesa orchards for use as a Japanese detention camp. It was supposedly rejected as being too small to hold enough detainees, and yet I have read somewhere that local people remembered Japanese kids attending the Mesa school during the war. If anyone has memories, or other info, about Japanese families being detained at Mesa, please call me.
3. In 1942, the last three apple trees that were planted by George Moser in 1880 were destroyed. The trees stood in front of Bob Young's house near the corner of the high school property, and the street curved around them. Somebody who knows where this exact spot was, please give me a call. 253-4582
#6 2-3-94 History Corner
As I write this, the old parsonage next to the Congregational church is being torn down. By the time you read this, it may already be gone... another Landmark down the drain. Right after I originally had this article all written and delivered to the newspapers, Dick Parker's outstanding article about the parsonage was printed. He knocked big holes in my estimation of when the parsonage was built. I had found a bit in a 1910 Council Leader paper that said, "The Congregational church has decided to install a regular pastor in the valley." A meeting was reportedly called to decide site to build new parsonage. Dick's more dependable date (1901) from church records made me realize how undependable old newspapers can be.
As to the concern that the old papers on the walls of the parsonage were lost to posterity, there was only one local paper: Council Journal, Mar 25, 1902. It was an issue of which there is no original or microfilm copy as far as I can tell, but it didn't contain any significant news relevant to Council history that can't be found in other issues. The rest of the "wall paper" was Saturday Evening Posts and other non-local publications.
More tidbits on the church or parsonage from my research:
1912 - A new organ was purchased by Rev. Stover
1915 - Rev. Cox set out 20 shade trees around the church and parsonage.
1922 - A Boy Scout troop (probably Council's first) was organized under the sponsorship of the church.
1927 - A Mr. Summer and a Mr. Teems, who had a sawmill on Johnson Creek, were starting a lumber yard across the street from the congregational church parsonage.
1935 - The parsonage was extensively remodeled, and a bathroom was added.
1940 - The Council library was in the "annex" of the church. A small rental library of new books was maintained at the parsonage, where books rented for 3 cents per day.
Bill Winkler said the first religious service in the valley was held by Sylvester Shrieve, a Methodist minister, in 1879. There were many traveling preachers until the late 1880s when the first regular services were conducted by Rev. Hopper who came up from Midvale once a month.
In 1910, my great great grandfather, J.L. Baker, who was a Methodist preacher at Cambridge, was sent to Council to establish a church here. Construction was finished and the building was dedicated on Sunday, Dec. 10, 1911. It was located just across the highway, south of the present Starlite Motel. The parsonage was just torn down just a few years ago.
The Methodist church was abandoned by the time the Nazarene congregation started holding services there in the mid 1920s. In 1934, Rev. F.D. Brown moved to Fruitvale and held Nazarene church services in the McMahan school house. [As noted in a later column, this was actually another new school.] While the Congregational church parsonage was being remodeled in 1935, the Nazarenes were tearing down the old Methodist church in Council and using the lumber to build a small church at Fruitvale. It was built at the east end of Jonathan Ave., just north of the road, and east of the ditch. The building was later converted to a house that was owned by Fred Burt, and is still there. In 1938, another Nazarene church was built on the south east corner of Dartmouth St. and Illinois Ave. in Council. It was just demolished a couple years ago.
Coincidentally, the first LDS church was also located in Fruitvale. Beginning just after 1930, services were held in private homes there for a year or two. In 1932, Elder J.L. Sandidge began holding services in the Legion Hall in Council. In 1935, construction of a log church was started just south of Jonathan Ave. in Fruitvale. It was wired for electricity, just in case power ever reached Fruitvale. The building was completed and formally opened on Sept. 11, 1937. Pete and Chris Friend converted the old church into a home which they torn down and replace with their current house a couple years ago.
As you can see, we have lost a number of Landmarks fairly recently. Another one that is about to fall is the old John Kesler (1867 - 1937) house. It's the big, white, square house just south east of the airport. The Keslers contracted with Adams county as a "poor house" in the 1920s to care for county indigents. Frenchy David, the pioneer Seven Devils prospector who shot himself near Bear, spent some of his last days there. [Approximate Location: 44 44' 31” / 116 26' 33” or 2074 Airport Road. The house was torn down not too long after this column was written.]
Stay tuned.
#7 2-10-94 HISTORY CORNER
I guess a few words about earthquakes would be appropriate, in light of recent events. Most of us remember the quake in Idaho a few years ago, but there have been several over the years.
The first one I could dig up in the old newspapers was on May 13, 1890. Miners in the Seven Devils were shaken awake in the middle of the night. The sound was described as "...a loud rumbling sound like that made by a number of horses stampeding." I think it was Al Towsley who said he thought someone was trying to blow up his cabin with blasting powder. Surprisingly, the quake was not felt by anyone on Hornet Creek.
A few local people had friends and relatives in the great San Francisco quake of 1906, and sent help in the way of cash and supplies. Weiser businessmen sent a railroad car of flour. It was the biggest earthquake in the nations history at the time. Think how horrible it must have been to have hundreds of victims trapped under rubble before they even had any kind of machines to move it.
There were a couple of local earthquakes in 1908. The first was a fair sized trembler in the Meadows area. The other was a smaller one, centered near Weiser.
In 1915, a man in the Cambridge area awoke in the night to the sound of objects on the kitchen table rattling around. Half asleep, he got up and put the cat outside, thinking it had been knocking things off the table. The next morning everyone was talking about the earthquake. It was centered somewhere in Utah.
Only eight months later, in May of 1916, the northwest was rocked by what people in Boise called the strongest earthquake in the city's history. Several chimneys collapsed, but there was little other damage.
In 1920, there was another earthquake in the Los Angeles area. It was experienced by a local man, Sterling McGinley, who was there at the time.
This week, I want to ask several important questions.
First, when the Council area was just getting started as a community, it had no central core that could be called a town. Several years before John Peters built a store where Shaver's now stands, he established the first store in the valley at a location described as being on what was later "the Bedwell place". This was about a mile, or a little less, north of town. It most probably would have been somewhere along Galena Road, which was the main road out of town. It might have been on the east side of the road. Does anybody know the place?
The first school, aside from classes in the fort, was also said to be close to this spot north of town, on what much later (1943) was the Ed Shannon place. Where was this?
Speaking of schools, the library is collecting photos of old schools in this area. There doesn't seem to be a photo anywhere of the Orchard school. Does anybody have one, or know who might? Please, somebody come up with one!
Another picture we're looking for is one of Ham's Texaco service station. Photographs can easily be copied without even removing them from your home. If you have any information about these locations, or if you have any pictures from the past that you think might be interesting, please give me a call. 253-4582
# 8 ---2-17-94
Just within the past year or so, we have lost several Landmarks. The one with the most direct connection with the pioneers of the Council Valley was John Gould. John and his brothers, Lester and Clarence, were local institutions, and we lost them only fairly recently. Their father, George Gould, came to the Council Valley in the fall of1888. That was a drought year followed by a mild winter. The next winter ('89 & '90) happened to be just about the worst one in the history of this area... something like last winter, only with extensive flooding the following spring. Hundreds of livestock starved, froze or drowned that winter and spring..
In 1890, George acquired the ranch on Cottonwood Creek that is now owned by the Fraziers. It was the Gould who built the present Frazier house. By acquiring this place, George felt he had begun to establish himself, and he adopted the "90" brand in honor of the year of this accomplishment. The 90 brand has been in uninterrupted use by the Gould family ever since.
In Feb. of 1893, George married a neighbor girl, Viola Duree. All four of their children were born on that place: John - Jan. 3, 1894, Clarence - Sept. 15, 1895, Annie - Dec. 27, 1897, and Lester - April 16, 1905.
In 1909, the Goulds traded ranches with the Becksteads who lived on a ranch 3 miles north of Council. The Becksteads had built the large ranch house which still stands on the Gould place. The ranch had been settled in 1878 by George Winkler, and was one of the earliest homesteads in the valley. Mr. Winkler planted some of the first fruit trees in the valley here. Although it was badly broken by snow last winter, I suspect the huge apple tree in front of the old house today was one that Winkler planted.
The big white barn on the ranch was built in 1915, and quickly became a landmark in itself.
In 1938, when Clarence married Nancy Stover, the teacher at the White School just across the highway from the ranch, they built the smaller dwelling next to the main house for their home. Clarence has been called a genius, and maybe he was in some ways. To say the least, he was very mechanically creative. A number of the machines that he built are cached away on the ranch, including a water-powered generator, down by the river, that provided electricity for the ranch years ago. Clarence died Aug. 8, 1987.
Viola Gould died in 1948. When George died three years later, the estate was divided among the kids. John and Clarence continued to run the main part of the ranch as one unit. Lester acquired the place that Steve and Elsie Shumway now own.
Lester died Sept. 1987 John died June 6, 1992
Clarence's three children now own the ranch. Donna Gould Nelson and her husband, Todd, now live on the Gould Ranch.
If only that land could talk - what stories it could tell. Like the time in January of 1895 when George Winkler was awakened in the middle of the night by an uproar in the chicken house. Sleepy-eyed, George lit a lantern, picked up his shotgun, and stumbled out to the coop. He promptly encountered the cause of the chicken's panic: a very large cougar. Everyone but the cougar (and maybe a couple chickens) survived the evening's entertainment.
#9 2-24-94 ?
In one of the display cases at the museum, there is a pair of horse snow shoes. That's right - snow shoes that were worn by horses. In the days before good roads or snow plows, pack animals were often the only way to haul supplies to remote mining towns. In the winter, dog teams were sometimes used between McCall and the Warren area, especially for carrying the mail. I don't think they were used much for heavier hauling.
Putting snow shoes on horses doesn't seem to have been a very common practice. Mickey Aitken Hendrickson said that Eston Freeman, an early mail carrier to Warren, introduced snowshoes for horses in this part of Idaho. People laughed at him and said they wouldn't work, but they did. Hendrickson said they were used extensively in this general area.
The horse snow shoes in the museum are made of metal. This may have been an uncommon material for this purpose. The ones that Hendrickson described were made of wood. Wooden snow shoes were used on horses in the Buffalo Hump area, north of the Seven Devils. A man who told about the ones used there, said they were made by crossing two boards to make a shoe about twelve inches by ten, with the forward corners rounded. Holes were burnt into the boards to fit extra long calks and toes on the horse's regular shoes. Each snow shoe was held on with bolts. The horses seemed to like the snow shoes after they learned how to walk a little spraddle-legged while wearing them. The man said that "...when the wooden contrivances are fitted on, they [horses] can be driven anywhere and are enabled to go along with greatest ease. On these shoes they do not sink more than six inches at any time in the trail, and rarely over a foot in the loose snow."(From the Salubria Citizen newspaper, Apr 14, 1899)
A hundred years ago, if you were to mention "snow shoes" to someone, they would have thought you were talking about what we now call skis. And they referred to what we call snow shoes as "webs".
In the late l800's and the early part of this century, skiing was a whole different story from today's sport. Almost everyone made their own skis. They consisted of shaped and bent wooden slats with a loop to hold the toe of the skier's foot, and some method of holding the foot forward into this loop. Our museum at Council has two pairs of these old-style skis on the wall, along with one pole. It's amazing how huge they are.
Before the 1920s, at least in this country, skiing was primarily a way to get from one place to another, as opposed to recreation. Except for experts, it was almost literally a "straight forward" activity. Slalom type turns were pretty much unheard of. To go down a hill, you simply pointed your skis down the mountain and let gravity do the rest.
Instead of ski poles, a single, long, heavy pole was used, primarily for balance and braking. If your speed became excessive, the pole was placed between your legs and the trailing end was pushed into the snow to create drag.
Stay tuned.
# 10 3-3-94
Baseball was probably the first intramural sport played in Council. Although travel was difficult, there were games between neighboring communities as early as 1890. After the Pacific and Idaho Northern Railroad reached the towns along the Weiser River, games became common between teams located along the trains route.
When the teams along the tracks adopted a league name, it was only natural to call it by the railroads initials - the "P&IN League". There is a P&IN League baseball trophy in the Council museum. In everyday local slang, the railroad was called the "Pin" or "the pin road". Likewise, the sports league became known as the Pin League. I would assume that when teams were added to the league that were from towns that were not located along the railroad, it became known as the "Long Pin League". If somebody has better info as to how "Long" got added onto the Pin League name, please give me a call.
Weiser had a football team as early as 1906, but some of the Council boys had never even seen a football game, much less played in one, until 1922. A team was established here, and showers were built in the old, brick, combination grade school / high school that year. The first Council High School football game was at home against Payette in November. Council lost ten to nothing.
Basketball came to Council High a short time after football, after the Legion Hall was built in 1923. The upstairs of the building served as a basketball court. Even after the old high school was built in 1941, it was occasionally used for that purpose.
I recently came across some old Council High School year books from the 1940s. It's interesting how much has changed, and how some things are shared by every generation. High School year books are a valuable resource for recording Council's past. The pictures are priceless. If you have an old Council High School year book, that you could donate, the Library and/or Museum would like to have it so it can be preserved for the whole community.
Ruth Husted has generously donated year books from 1941-42 through 1945-46. They are unique because construction of the high school had just been finished in December of 1941, and because these were the war years. Annuals from this time frame (and into 1947) contain photos of some well-known local folks that still live here: Everett Harrington, June Ryals, Leo Mink, Ferd Muller, Art and Alice Deeds, Eunice Madson, Ruth Husted, LaDell Merk, Alma Fisk, Mary Owens, Maxine Hallet, Norman Kilborn, Ed Kesler, Frank Hulin, and more.
These kids got to go to school in a brand new high school after being cramped into the second story of the old brick school. The new school must have been a marvel to them. It was said to be "... not only the newest, but the most modern physical plant in the state". It had a real gymnasium, and separate rooms for science, business, home economics, library, etc.
Does anyone know when the first year book for Council High came out? We would welcome the donation of annuals from any year, but especially old ones. They are the ones that will be the hardest to find, and are the most interesting. If you have a year book that you could donate, please bring it in to the Library, or contact me.
A few weeks ago, I asked if anyone knew the whereabouts of Bob Keyes. It turns out that quite a few people knew the Keyes family, and knew that Bob now lives at Donnelly. Several people called or wrote to Mr. Keyes, as well as to Mr. Hull who was looking for him. Mr. Keyes didn't remember exactly who Mr. Hull was, and looked through his old photos, etc. to jog his memory. I'm sure the two men had a pleasant visit, remembering experiences of 50 years ago. My thanks, and theirs, to the people who helped get them together.
Now I have another "Where Are They Now?" question. I got a call from Frank Thompson who went to school at Council for only one year, during the 1940s, and moved away in about 1948. Most of his school years were spent at the Cottonwood school. He would like to know if anyone knows how to get ahold of Jay or Albert Thorp. If anyone has an address or phone number for one of them, or of someone who would know how to contact them, drop a line to Frank Thompson at Valley, WA 99181 or call me at 253-4582.
I need to correct a mistake from a couple weeks ago. I said that in 1934, Rev. F.D. Brown moved to Fruitvale and held Nazarene church services in the McMahan school house, near where Raffetys live now. It was actually the "new" Fruitvale school where these services were held, not the McMahan school. The McMahan school had been abandoned for about eight years by this time, and had collapsed under heavy snow the year before.
#11 3-10-94
I guess it's time to stick my neck out. Over the years, there has been a running battle between two camps on the issue of "the Council Tree". Just where was it? And was there more than one?
One side says there was a single tree, and that it was located just south of Mill Creek on the west side of highway 95. The tree to which they refer is still standing, although it has long been dead.
The other group claims that there was not one, but a grove of five Council Trees, and that they stood just north west of the present town of Council. After reading every available issue of the Council Leader, the Adams County Leader, the Fruitvale Echo and the Council Advance newspapers between 1901 and 1944, as well as issues of the Weiser Signal, the Salubria Citizen, the Cambridge Citizen and the Cambridge News to cover 1882 to 1901 for which there were no Council papers, I have found not one single reference to a Council tree anywhere near Mill Creek. Instead, I found numerous references to five Council trees located north west of town. For a time, the Adams County Leader even had a big logo, along with the paper's name, across the top of the front page of each issue that showed the five Council trees with Indians smoking a peace pipe under them.
The clincher came when I read a high school history essay written in 1930 by Rose Freehafer (former Senator Jim McClure's aunt). She personally interviewed Bill Camp, who had known some of the Indians in the area, and even spoke some of the Nez Perce language. An Indian that Camp worked with told him that the Council trees were located on the Kesler place about three quarters of a mile north, and slightly west, of Council.
Until the 1920s, there were five pine trees in a field at this location, in a group by themselves, but the landowner later cut down all but one of them. When Arthur Hallet acquired ownership the land where the Council trees stood in 1917, all five trees were still there. Arthur's son, Byron (Buff) Hallet said the last tree died in 1928, and was cut down for firewood. Buff Hallet planted five young pine trees at the approximate location of the original Council trees in1986. They are growing on the south side of Airport Road, straight south of the Council airport.
I suppose this will upset a few fondly held beliefs about "the Council tree", but it seems very evident that there were five trees, and that they were located at the spot mentioned above. I have simply not run across one scrap of evidence to the contrary, or any hint that the site near Mill Creek is legitimate. If someone can tell me how and when this Mill Creek spot came to be associated with the Council tree, I'm very curious.
3-17-94
Recently I asked for info about Jay or Albert Thorp because their old friend, Frank Thompson, was looking for them. I got a call with info as to how to locate Jay, but before I could pass it on to Frank, I got a letter from Jay. He gets the Record, so he saw the article and he sent a letter to Frank.
Last week, I wrote about the Council Trees. Dick Parker gave me some great info on that story. It seems that Ralph Finn started the idea of a single Council tree near Mill Creek. Before the three dams were built on the Snake River west of here, Ralph was an advocate of an idea that had been proposed to build one giant dam in Hells Canyon instead. He felt that the huge reservoir created by this dam would bring a great boom to Council, and he pushed the idea of making a tourist park at the Mill Creek site. The pine tree growing there was to be promoted as the Council tree. Dick says that Hugh Addington, and other old timers, always referred to there being several Council trees, and that they were located at the spot north west of town. Hugh remembered the trees as being more or less in a line.
I also got a call from Ervin Bobo who gave me some real gems of information. The most exciting one, for me, concerned a pile of rocks on a hilltop on the Ridge, west of Fruitvale, at a spot called "Eagle Point". This pile, made of chunks of basalt rocks, is about five or six feet tall. My dad said that the pile was there when the first settlers arrived on the Ridge. Nobody knew who put them there, or why. My brother and cousin once took the whole pile apart to see what was under it, and found nothing. They rebuilt the original pile, and heaped up another bunch, so now there are actually two piles there.
Lewis and Clark noted seeing a somewhat similar pile of rocks near the top of Lolo Pass. They said, "On this eminence the natives have raised a conic mound of stones six or eight feet high and erected a pine pole fifteen feet long." (From the "Original Journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition" edited by Reuben G. Thwaites, 1904, vol 3, p 180) This Lolo trail spot has come to be known as the "Indian Post Office".
A few years back, a scholar of some type found more rock piles in the Lolo area and naturally figured they had a similar Indian origin as the one Lewis and Clark had mentioned. Ervin was watching TV one day, and saw a program about these rock piles and their history. He was pretty amused, and/or irritated at the education the public was getting about these rock piles, and called up the TV station. You see, Ervin had a pretty good idea how the piles got there. He had helped pile them up! He was with a surveying outfit in the 1950s in that area. They used an old method of surveying that incorporated line of sight calibration, using telescopic instruments. Rocks were piled around the base of a long pole with a big white flag attached to it. Such flags were visible from miles away, and served as reference points for determining survey lines. The rock piles were simply the remains of these flag pole supports. I imagine the scholar was pretty red-faced.
Ervin said that the Council area was surveyed in the 1880s, using this same line-of-site, flag pole method. The rock pile on the Ridge sits on a bare hilltop that can be seen from many miles in several directions. The Fruitvale area was just starting to be settled in the 1880s, and the Ridge was homesteaded after 1900, so the pile could have been made by surveyors before anyone lived in the vicinity. On the other hand, since the Nez Perce Indians made at least one known rock pile that was similar to this one, I suppose it could be of native origin. Anybody have more clues?
I want to thank both Ervin and Dick for calling me. Getting information like this is better than finding a gold nugget. My thanks, also, to the others who have called. I sincerely hope that anyone who can add a piece to the puzzle of the history of the Council area will call and fill me in. 253-4582
3-24-94 No History Corner this week
3-31-94
It's amazing how recently electricity came to some parts of this area. Thomas Edison lighted a section of New York City with electricity in 1882, but widespread use of the technology didn't appear until about the turn of the century. Electric lights had appeared in Weiser in 1903, but no one here in the "upper country" had entered the electrical age by that time. (With the possible exception of Iron Springs in the Seven Devils.)
You might be surprised to know just how long ago plans were made for a power plant on the Oxbow of the Snake River south of Hells Canyon. The present dam was finished in 1961, but plans were made for one at this site since just after the turn of the century. At least as early as 1905, people were making big plans for that unique convolution of the river. A concrete dam was planned that was to be 800 to 1000 feet long. An electric generator was to be built at the bottom of a tunnel that would be blasted through the solid-rock neck of the bow. It was thought that the generator could supply power to an area including the Seven Devils mines and Baker, Oregon. The plan was finally abandoned about 1907 because of a lack of customers. Very few people in the region had a single light bulb in their home. Grandiose schemes that put the cart before the horse was not at all uncommon in those days.
The same year as the Oxbow scheme made the news (1905), Dr. Starkey built the first hotel at his sanitorium, on the hill north west of the present pool. He installed electric lights in each room of the hotel, and provided power by installing his own water powered generating plant on Warm Springs Creek.
About this time, electricity was becoming the rage in the U.S. At first, it was pretty much only used for lighting, but people soon investigated just about every possible use for the new miracle. Since a railroad line was being contemplated north from Council to link Boise with Grangeville and Lewiston, it was proposed that it be an electric railway, powered by generating plants that would be built at intervals along the Salmon River.
Meadows was the first town in the upper country to have electricity, in 1908. I'm not sure what the initial source of power was, but in 1910, the County Commissioners granted permission to build a power line to Meadows from what must have been a generator on the Falls of the Little Salmon River, some miles north of town.
In 1911, Isaac McMahan's nineteen-year-old son, Ernest, installed an electric power plant on their ranch at Fruitvale. The generator was driven by water from the irrigation ditch. Private generators like this were relatively rare at the time, and was thought by some to be the only one of its kind in the County. That claim may or may not have been true. Clarence Gould built an elaborate power plant on the Gould ranch, three miles north of Council, during this approximate time frame. The building that housed the plant is still standing, just east of the river. It think the generator itself may even be around the ranch somewhere.
The beginning of general public access to electricity on the upper Weiser River valleys began in 1912 when the Adams County Light and Power Company installed a hyro-generator on Rush Creek, eight miles north of Cambridge. The lights were turned on in Cambridge on Christmas day of that year.
Before power lines reached Council, private generators were used by a few businesses in town. My guess is that they were driven by small gasoline engines. By 1913, the Opera House (now the theater) had electric lights. The next year, Charlie Warner (not the one from Bear) installed the first electric fan in Council, in his barber shop, for the comfort of his patrons.
Right after the big fire that burned half of downtown in 1915, Council signed a contract with the Adams Co. Light and Power Co. to supply electricity from its Rush Creek plant. The first lights powered by this source were turned on in a number of homes and businesses here on August 28, 1915.
In 1923, a power line was extended north of Council to Orchard road to supply the fruit packing plants there. Jack Darland provided the first electricity in Cuprum with his power plant in 1931. A power line didn't reach the Fruitvale store until 1940. At about the same time, line extensions gave lower Hornet Creek, and most of Council Valley, access to electricity. I don't know when Bear and Cuprum was reached by power lines, but I think it was surprisingly late. Would someone who knows give me a call? 253-4582
4-7-94
Picture yourself living in an area where you were born and raised, where your parents and your grandparents, and even their great great grandparents, were born and raised. Imagine that these ancestors handed down a deep spiritual tradition, involving a reverence for your family and your country, around which you center your life.
Now suppose man-like creatures from another planet come into your community. Soon, they take over. They chop down the trees that your great great grandfather planted, and are burning them in their camp fires that they build on top of your mother's grave. They walk into your house and tell you that you have to move out. They tell you that your way of life is wrong, burn your Bibles (or other sacred books), and tell you that you are to stop practicing your evil religion. Next, they force you to live in concentration camps. There is no food, and your children slowly begin to starve to death.
Wouldn't most of us fight to our last breath against such a fate? The tragedy is that a scenario very similar to this has already happened. It happened right here in the United States when the natives of this country were conquered by Whites. The differences in the situation from my imaginary one are subtle. Basically, it was a clash of two irreconcilably different cultures.
Indians were a source of constant anxiety for the earliest settlers in this area. Settler's feelings towards Indians were very similar to how we would feel if vagrant motorcycle gangs were roaming our area today. Indians were accustomed to a hard, or even violent, lifestyle. White people in the early days generally thought of Indians as being very dirty. And since Whites of that era usually only took a real bath about once a year, we can assume that some American aborigines were pretty unsanitary by modern standards. Indians were seen as having backward ways of acting and talking, and manners that often seemed rude or arrogant. They would often camp on ground claimed by homesteaders, and according to some reports, would turn their horses loose to graze in grain fields.
There were constant reports of Indian thievery which were often unfounded, but all too frequently were true. Many of the displaced natives were desperate, and resorted to stealing to survive. They had been uprooted from their homes and the only way of living they had ever known - left to wander in a hostile, bewildering nightmare with no way out.
You can imagine what barbaric creatures white people must have seemed through Indian eyes. Native Americans had a totally different view of private ownership and property rights. The idea of an individual owning a piece of land was so foreign to them that they often failed to even grasp the concept. Their survival depended on being able to roam the land freely, sharing it as a group. Any one person owning a part of the earth was as ridiculous to them as someone owning the air. It seems to them that white people cut the earth-mother into pieces to be bought and sold like their prostitutes, for whatever selfish purpose the owner pleased.
In spite of the abuse that was being demonstrated against the members of their race, the Shoshoni Indians along the Weiser River showed themselves to be an extremely tolerant people. Even after Whites began to take away their wintering grounds by settling in Indian Valley, the natives remained cordial to them, even going so far as to show the invaders how to harvest and preserve salmon from the rivers. Indians also became a source of hired labor on farms, helping with the harvest of crops.
Eventually, all of the natives in this area were forced onto the Fort Hall reservation. They were told they must live like white people, but were given no means or training with which to do so. Food was very often scarce or non-existent. The concentration-camp existence they were forced to live under must have been almost impossible to bear. In their culture, everything sacred, everything that gave purpose and meaning to their lives was based on their relationship with mother earth, from whom they had been ruthlessly torn. What cultural values could they pass on to their children when almost every value they understood had been made irrelevant?
It seems bitterly ironic that a culture that outwardly professed spirituality, but was really based on materialism, so brutally crushed a culture so totally immersed in spiritual values. Few people, other than women who have been raped, can understand the crushing emotional damage that results from someone violating and stealing the most precious, sacred, personal parts of your life, and being powerless to do anything about it.
Today, the damage that was done to the natives of this country is insidious ... the stories of their lives mostly unknown... but their former presence here underlies everything that has followed them. The places where we now live, work and play, were all a precious legacy handed down from native fathers and mothers (Landmarks) to sons and daughters for almost 100 centuries longer than the blink of an eye that our European culture has been here.
The museum in Council has an extensive collection of Indian projectile points and stone tools. Recently, we have begun a long range project to classify them as to their where they came from, and how, when and by whom they were used. The result will be an interesting display in our new museum space. More on that subject, and how we need your help, soon.
4-14-94
John Hancock was one of the very first businessmen in Council. He and Milt Wilkerson built the first actual business establishment here in 1891. Called the "Council Valley Hotel", it stood just south of the present Ace Saloon. The picture of this building that is in the museum is the oldest photograph, that I know of, ever taken in what is now the town of Council.
About 1884, John Hancock and a friend drove some cattle from Salmon River into the Seven Devils. This was a common route for taking cattle and supplies into the Devils, especially before a road was built from Council. After spending some time looking for stray cattle in the direction of the Snake River, the two men headed back east toward the Salmon River. There were few trails, and they just trekked in the general direction.
When it got dark, they made camp without really knowing where they were. Maybe they felt a little like mountain man, Jim Bridger. Bridger once said he had never been lost in his life, but he had been mighty confused for several days. When Hancock and Company got ready to build a camp fire, they discovered they only had one match. After carefully preparing the tender and kindling, they struck their one and only chance at a warm supper and camp. The match flared up and promptly went out.
Soon, they heard what sounded like a cow bell off in the distance. Following the sound, they found the camp of an old man who was in the area trapping beaver. The man welcomed them to stay for the night, and they gladly accepted. During the course of the evening, they asked their host where they were. He said, "About six miles west of Price Valley." Since Hancock and his companion admitted to being lost, they called the place "Lost Valley". The name has stuck to this day.
About 1900, two brothers, Frank and Colonel Ryan, came west from Kansas, intending to take up land near Walla Walla, Washington. Near Payette, they were told their was good homestead land available near Council. One way or another, they found themselves in Lost Valley, and liked the place well enough lay claim to it. Frank built a cabin in the middle of the Valley, and Colonel erected his more toward one edge.
Both brothers studied law during this time. Frank got his law degree in 1905. That same year, the Weiser Irrigation District filed on the land at Lost Valley for a reservoir site. This didn't coincide very well with the Ryan boys' homestead idea. A law suit followed. While the dispute was making its way trough the courts, the reservoir was built in the fall of 1909. The lawsuit was settled the next year. The Ryans proved, ironically, that the highest and best use of the land was as a reservoir site. They established that they should be paid for their homesteads on the basis of this value, and were paid $16,000 for the two homesteads - a substantial sum in those days. Colonel went back to Kansas and practiced law. Frank moved to Weiser, built a house at 747 W 2nd Street, and practiced law in that town until his death in 1956.
Frank's son, Harold "Hal" Ryan, followed in his father's footsteps, and is now a Federal Judge in Boise. I had a nice visit with him last week, and copied two old photographs of his dad standing in front of his Lost Valley cabin. My thanks to Kenny Schwartz for telling me about Hal and this great story.
As near as I can tell, Frank's cabin site was about where the middle of where Lost Lake is now. My dad remembers seeing a cabin floating in the reservoir back in the late 1920s. It was drifting near the campgrounds on the east side of the lake, just south of Slaughter Gulch. Colonel's cabin may have escaped being flooded out. Anybody know where it might have been located?
Speaking of Slaughter Gulch, the story I got of how it received this name is that Isaac McMahan had of bunch of his cattle stolen and butchered there in the early days. Anybody know any more particulars on this story? 253-4582
A few notes on the Reservoir from old newspapers: 1912 - a lake trout was caught in Lost Lake that was as long as a man's arm. 1925 - Lost Valley Reservoir Co. was incorporated. 1928 - Nine salmon were caught just below the Lost Valley Dam. 1929 - Lost Valley Reservoir Dam was raised.
Since last week, Lila Coats told me the power line reached Evergreen about 1950 or '51. Tina Warner and Gay Carter said that the power line only reached the Bear Cuprum area about 1979! Tina also informed me that Jack Darland would have been a pretty young boy when he was credited by the paper as running a power generator at Cuprum in 1931. Maybe it was his dad, Tony, or his grandfather, John.
4-21-94 No column this week
4-28-94
Big game animals have always been a big part of life in the Council area. They were a basic source of food for the first miners and settlers.
When the Wilson Price Hunt expedition came through Idaho in the winter of 1811, the group led by Donald McKenzie passed through the southern part of the Seven Devils. They almost starved for lack of game. Deer were not plentiful in the Hells Canyon - Seven Devils area until several years after the establishment of the Black Lake Game Preserve in 1912. This preserve, which covered 67,200 acres north of Black Lake, was abolished in 1935.
According to Charles Winkler, when his family came to the Council Valley in 1878, white tail deer were as common around Council as mule deer, although he said deer in general were not plentiful here back then. Since that time, and until fairly recently, white tailed deer were rarely seen. Over the past twenty years or so there has been an increase in the number of white tail deer in this area. They have generally been more common in the northern part of the state during my lifetime.
Elk were unheard of here in the early days. There is a record of trappers sighting a large herd of elk in Long Valley in 1831, but by the time the Black Lake Game Preserve was established in 1912, there were no known elk in Idaho west of the Island Park Divide near the Wyoming border. Council's Socialist legislator, Earl Wayland Bowman, the author of the bill that created the Preserve, persuaded the state Game Warden to use $5,000 to buy Yellowstone Park elk from the U.S. government, and put them in the new protected area.
Another story says the U.S. Government donated the elk: 35 cows and 15 bulls. At any rate, the elk arrived in 1915. They were shipped in by rail, and when the train stopped in Council, a crowd of fascinated locals gathers to gawk at the strange new animals.
The elk were released near New Meadows, and for the next 34 years, they had a chance to adapt to their new habitat, undisturbed by hunters. Elk were originally a plains animal, and they didn't naturally take to the higher mountains on their own. For instance, the Rapid River drainage, where a number of elk herds thrive today, was pretty much devoid of the animals until they were pushed into the area in the late 1940s or early '50s.
By the time the local elk hunting season was reopened in the fall of 1949, a large herd had established itself near the head of the West Fork of the Weiser River, just west of Lost Lake. On opening day of the first open season, a large number local men hunted this prime location. This was also opening day of deer season, and either sex was legal game for both species. For some time after it was light enough to shoot that morning, it sounded like there was a war going on in that vicinity. In addition to bucks, does and cow elk, eighteen bull elk were killed. A number of these bulls had trophy sized antlers. One monster bull had ten points on one side and eleven on the other.
The State enforced game laws in the early days as best they could, but before cars and roads were common, it was hard for an official to cover much territory. Also, there were few game wardens in this part of Idaho. For a long time, game laws were widely ignored by local people. After 1923, Forest Service officers were supposed to help enforce game laws. Apparently, this didn't help much.
Some of the early Idaho game laws are of interest:
1889 - Illegal to kill buffalo, elk, deer antelope or mountain sheep between January 1 and Sept 1.
1903 - Moose, buffalo, antelope or caribou must not be killed at any time. Elk, mountain sheep and goat season Sept 1 to Dec 31. Limits: one elk (either sex), two deer, one mountain goat, one mt. sheep. A hunting and fishing license cost $1.
1907- Elk, deer, mountain sheep and mountain goat season Sept 15 to Jan 1. Hunting and fishing license still $1
1927 - A resident fish and game license cost $2.00
5-5-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Following up on last week's History Corner, here is some info on other game animals.
Mongolian pheasants were released in this part of Idaho sometime around the turn of the century. Hunting them was not allowed until 1907. In 1909 there was a report that Chinese peasants were being released into this area. Chukkar partridges were introduced to the Snake River country, east of here, in the 1940s. The bird that is being chased around the mountainsides this time of year, the Merriam's turkey, is a recently introduced species to our vicinity.
The 1907 Idaho season for prairie chicken, pheasant, partridge and turtle dove was Sept 1 to Dec 1, with a limit of 12 to 18. Snipe, plover, ducks and geese were legal from Sept 15 to Jan 1 with a limit of three geese, and 24 of any one of the other birds. Quail season was Nov 1 to Dec 1 with a limit of 18.
On a tape recording that Jim Camp made of Hugh Addington, Hugh commented on how many grouse there were in the Seven Devils area in his younger days. He said, "The grouse... was so thick that you could have a grouse any time you wanted one. I've seen them on Horse Mountain after the grasshoppers so thick... just thousands of them! That whole country was just saturated with them."
In 1891, a tongue-in-cheek report in the Salubria newspaper tried to point out how rich the mining district was by saying that several people were making a good living by shooting Seven Devils grouse which had gold nuggets in their craws.
The subject of Salmon fishing could be a whole other column, so I'll stick with the smaller species. The old pioneers of the Council area said that fishing was always very good here. They considered the main Weiser River the best place to fish for trout, especially the deep holes in the river.
In 1899, the local fishing season was from May 1 to November 1 for trout. It was a felony to take fish by the use of dynamite, but that didn't stop some people from doing it. As I understand it, dynamite was put into a jar, or some other watertight container, the fuse was lit and the lid put on. The jar was thrown into the river, and the shock of the explosion would stun or kill any nearby fish. The fish were collected when they floated to the surface, sometimes by the dozen. I haven't heard of anyone practicing this method in
recent years, but it was not that uncommon for a few decades after the turn of the century.
In 1903, there was a limit of 20 lbs. of trout, bass, catfish, grayling, or sunfish. Any fish under 4" had to be thrown back. No use of snag hooks, explosives or nets was allowed. It was that year that several Council people went on an outing at East Fork of the Weiser River. Dr. Brown caught 325 small trout. The next day, L.L. Burtenshaw caught 180 and T.W. Johnson caught 45.
By 1905, fishing was allowed year 'round. The limit was still 20 lbs.; limit of 30 lbs. in possession at any time. Trout and black bass had to be at least 4" long.
In 1912, some Council men caught over 600 fish in the Bear Crk and Lick Crk area.
In May of 1925, it was announced that, "A new fish hatchery is to be built by the state on the Weiser river about 10 miles north of Council, ..." toward Evergreen. This hatchery provided thousands of fish that were planted all over this area for many years. The cement "ponds" are still there as far as I know.
Looking back like this makes one think. The salmon are gone here, and fading fast in other places... some species of other game fish are becoming hard to find... and what's the limit for trout now? So much for the "progress" we have made by multiplying the population of our own species.
5-12-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Lately there has been some publicity concerning the Idaho State Seal, and the woman, Emma Edwards Green, who designed it. You may not know that Emma Edwards (her maiden name) also designed a U.S. half dollar, lived in this area for a time, and taught school at Lick Creek.
Emma's father, a former governor of Missouri, came west to California in the 1840s, and later to Boise. When Idaho became a state in 1890, the first legislature authorized a competition for the design of a state seal. By this time, Emma had studied art in New York City. She submitted a design, won the contest and was awarded $100 for her work. A painting she did of the seal was exhibited at the 1893 Chicago World's Fair. The Idaho Historical society now has the painting.
Idaho has the distinction of having the only state seal that was designed by a woman. Emma's name has been missing from the state seal ever since Paul Evans revised it in 1957. Recently, Governor Andrus signed a bill to put her name back on the seal, along with Evans' name.
About 1895, while living in Salubria (near present - day Cambridge), Miss Edwards submitted a design for a new fifty cent piece. The woman depicted on her drawing for the coin was patterned after a local young lady who was an acquaintance of hers. Emma's design was picked by the Treasury out of several hundred proposed. Of course the coin is no longer in circulation.
Emma Edwards was friends of Arthur and Pearl Huntley. The Huntleys were a couple who had the ranch just south of Cuprum that is now owned by the Speropolus family. In1896, Emma was teaching at the Lick Creek school. I assume that the Lick Creek school was near the OX Ranch headquarters there, which was the location of a hotel run by Charley Anderson at the time. (If anybody knows for sure where this school was at, please call me.) This was ten years before Arthur and Pearl were married in 1904, and Emma was acquainted with Arthur Huntley at the time. Emma stayed with the Huntleys for a time after their marriage. Someone with a fertile imagination (not me of course) might wonder if Arthur and Emma ever courted, and just what the relationship between the trio was later.
The summer that Emma taught at the Lick Creek school (1896) was also the year that Arthur Huntley's friends, the Caswell brothers, discovered gold at Thunder Mountain. You may be familiar with the story of how Huntley had grubstaked the Caswells with $50, and consequently became quite wealthy from this investment.
At some point, Emma Edwards married a miner named James Green, and lived with him in Boise. Emma Edwards Green died in 1942.
5-19-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
There is a grave south east of Lost Lake with a morbid, but interesting, story behind it.
The story begins back in 1930, when cowboying was a lot different than it is now. Most of the ranchers who summered cattle on the Forest's Warm Springs grazing allotment in the West Fork / Lost Valley area lived around Fruitvale. The Circle C ranch was the one exception, having bought the large McMahan grazing permit. Most outfits didn't have a truck to haul horses or cattle, and nobody had a horse trailer. When they had riding to do anywhere on the Forest, the only way to get there was to get on their horse and endure however many hours in the saddle that it took to get there.
There wasn't even a road up the West Fork of the Weiser River beyond the Finn homestead at the mouth of Lost Creek until the 1950s. There was a crude road in to the reservoir from Tamarack that was put in when the dam was built in 1909. The present road from Pine Ridge was built about 1935.
Because of the time and distances involved in traveling to and from Lost Valley, a "cow camp" was set up in the meadow, just over the little hill east of Lost Lake where the cowboys could stay. About all that's left now is the old log corral. The main campground was a couple hundred yards north west of it.
That summer of 1930, Dick Fisk (my father who was 17 at the time), Ike Glenn, Sterling McGinley, Fred Glenn, and possibly some other cowboys, were camped here when a stranger, an older gentleman, approached the camp, carrying a pack on his back. He introduced himself as Tom Cleggette. During the course of their conversation, Cleggette mentioned that he was doing some prospecting in the area, and implied that he had found a little gold somewhere in that part of the country. After a brief visit, the old fellow hiked off again. As he left, Ike called after him to be careful. Cleggette replied that he had been in the woods all his life, and knew how to take care of himself. It would be the last time any of them ever saw Tom Cleggette alive.
The next June (1931) Tommy Clay, who was riding for the Campbell ranch, and Fitz Mink, riding for the grazing association, were hunting cattle south east of Lost Lake, just south of where the present road from Pine Ridge tops out. As they rode through the trees, something out of place caught there eyes. Coming closer, they were stunned to find the badly decomposed body of a man crumpled up against the trunk of a tree.
Sheriff Bill Winkler, who by this time was no spring chicken at the age of 65, and County coroner Bob Young came up from Council to investigate. The clues they found told a tragic tale.
From a hunting license in the man's wallet, he was identified as Tom Cleggette, age 71. The rest of the information on the license, including where he might have come from, had been obliterated by water stains.
A few hundred yards from the body, a crude camp was found. It consisted of a tarp stretched over a ridge pole, with vertical logs forming a wall at one end. A large pile of fire wood was stacked nearby. Cleggette had evidently become snow bound here during the winter. On the margins of a road map, he had written a sort of diary, little of which remained readable. The one, ominous notation that was decipherable was dated January 11. It consisted of the stark statement, "All is gone." Apparently he had eaten the last of his food supply. Another note began, "Tell ...", but the rest of the message had been washed away.
There was some evidence that Cleggette had killed and eaten a deer during his ordeal. He had finally fashioned a crude pair of snow shoes and tried to escape his dire predicament. After a desperate struggle through deep snow, he only made it the short distance to where his body was later found before giving up. It could have been that he was too weak to return to camp. Or maybe he decided it was useless to even try. In his hand was found a semi-automatic German Luger pistol. Two shots had been fired. One had pierced his heart. Winkler and Young speculated that the second round, which had not entered Cleggette's body, had been the result of a contraction of his hand as he died.
The men had planned to transport the body to Council for burial, but it was so decomposed that it wasn't practical. For the past 63 years, Tom Cleggette's body has reposed under the spot where it was discovered. No relatives or further clues to his identity were ever found.
If you enjoy stories like this, please support our effort to improve the museum. The word "history" is mostly "s-t-o-r-y". Each item in the museum has a tale to tell, and we want to tell it. We want to create a fitting place to preserve the incredible stories of what happened here... for you, and for generations to come. Please consider a contributing whatever you can.
5-26-94
History Corner
This little piece of earth that we inhabit is a stage upon which countless dramas have unfolded. All around us, in the places we walk or drive every day, events have taken place that would startle us if we only knew what had happened there.
In the museum there are several pieces of mastodon jawbone that were found less than a mile south east of Council. It is thought that the earliest people here hunted these huge ancestors of the elephant. Just think what kind of amazing scenes were "acted out" right here.
Stories from the past can be just under our feet, or, as in my case right now, just over my head. Right now I'm in the middle of a major remodeling job on our house. This used to be a two story house before my uncle Hub remodeled it a couple of times. Now, I'm putting the second story back on. For the past few days, I've been taking out the original second story floor boards and joists to replace them. I'm finding things there that fell down between the subfloor and first story ceiling in the time since the house was built in 1910.
I guess the item I found that relates back the farthest is a Christmas post card that was mailed to Cora Glenn in 1913. Cora Sult was the daughter of Long Valley pioneers. She married Joel Glenn in 1902. They lived here, and had this house built. "Joe" Glenn, as he was known, came to the Council area with his parents, William D. and Rebecca Glenn about 1883. After living at Cottonwood for a short time, I think they settled the place just above me here on West Fork, where Harold Hoxie lives now. [2657 West Fork Road.] Apparently, after Bill Glenn died in 1893, his son, Tom Glenn, took over the place until 1915. After that James Finn (Ralph's father) owned it, then Bolan Abshire. My mother lived there for awhile when her parents rented the place. In later years, Vince Schwartz, and then Tony Schwartz owned it. Now Scisms have it.
According to Hardy Harp's obituary, he settled the place where I live in the 1880s. At some point, Joe Glenn acquired it. Many of the ancient apple trees that are growing on this place were planted by Tom and Joe Glenn in 1912. Joe and Cora Glenn had 14 children. I think most of them were born, in this house. The original building was 24 feet square. Can you imagine 14 kids living in a house that size?
I'm not sure who built this house, but I found a piece of construction paper in one wall with "H.H. Cossitt and Sons, Council, Idaho" printed on it. Cossitt was a builder and lumber yard owner who is credited with building the old school house that stood on the hill in Council around the turn of the century. He was Adams County's first coroner when the County was created in 1911.
In 1924, my grandfather bought Joe Glenn's place and moved his family here from their homestead on the Ridge. During one trip to haul furniture to the new home, Dad's brother, Sam, was run over and killed by the wagon they were using. His funeral took place here in this house, a few feet from where I'm writing this.
Another of the things I found in the old upper floor was the cardboard cover for an old Edison cylinder record. The title of the song printed on the end cap was "The Preacher and the Bear". Dad remembers well the old phonograph that they use to play those records on when they lived on the Ridge homestead, long before they ever had a radio. They played some of the songs over and over again.
I also found a sheet of paper containing "Important Information". It was "Directions for Assembling - Operating and Maintaining the Aladdin Kerosene Mantle Lamp". Another find was a metal lid that reads, "KC Baking Powder, 50 oz. - 50 cents, Same price for over 30 years."
Other items tell of a time when my uncle Hub lived here. This is the house where our County Clerk, Mike Fisk, and his sister, Linda, grew up. I found three Lincoln logs, half a dozen marbles, a one-piece wooden clothes pin, a few playing cards, illustrations from kids books from the 1950s or so, and the wrapper from a pack of Camel cigarettes that Hub used to smoke.
What I found the most of was dirt... just plain soil from the ground. I hauled out bucket after bucket full of it - probably 40 pounds or so. There are dozens of mud dauber wasp nests on the rafters, and it's my theory is that the dirt came from them, built up as they fell down over the past 84 years. As I swept up the fine, powdery dust, I was reminded of how my uncle John caught tuberculosis, when he was a young man, from a neighbor boy who slept up there in the bed next to his. It cost him a lung. In spite of the fact that I was wearing a good respirator, I was hoping TB bacteria don't live that long.
As I said, history is all around us if we take the time to look and learn. The museum's job is to help you do just that, but we need your help. Awhile back, the museum board was thinking about getting a WWII display that the Historical Society would loan us. Then we got to thinking... where would we put it? There's no room in the museum without taking up all the space where the City Council meetings and other gatherings are held. There really isn't enough room for the displays that are there now. We have the solution ready to launch as soon as we get the funds. We need your donation.
6-2-94 No column this week
6-9-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
All of the early mining done in the Seven Devils was "underground" as opposed to open pit. The term "tunnel" is usually used to indicate a horizontal opening. A "shaft" refers to a vertical tunnel, and an "inclined shaft" is a slanting tunnel that slopes at an angle, between vertical and horizontal.
The old style of underground mining was similar to modern methods except that there were few machines to do the work. Except where huge, extremely expensive boring machines are used, digging a tunnel still requires drilling and blasting. Instead of pneumatic rock drills, early miners used a hammer and "star drill". The hammer was usually a single or double jack. The drill was a chisel which was up to several feet long, and had a star design on the business end instead of a single, flat tip. One man would hold the chisel while another would drive it into the rock. After every blow, the chisel was rotated slightly. After the hole was deep enough, it was filled with blasting powder. A blasting cap was placed on the end of a long piece of fuse and then shoved into the powder. The fuse was lit, everyone backed off a safe distance.
In a tunnel, after the smoke and dust had cleared, the loosened ore was shoveled into ore carts. These hand-pushed ore carts had wheels similar to those on a railroad car, and ran on a much smaller version of a train track. This track was extended into the mountain as the tunnel was dug, and led back to the "portal" or opening where the contents of the ore carts were unloaded. If the blasted material was not worth keeping, it was dumped off the end of the tracks onto the "tailings pile".
This cart and track method of removing ore also applied to moderately inclined shafts, except that a powered hoist had to be used to bring up the carts. On vertical shafts, buckets were used instead of carts.
The blasting process was not without its hazards. Even after dynamite replaced black powder, it was very touchy if it was too old, or especially if had been frozen. And fuses sometimes burned much faster than they were supposed to.
One of the most common types of accidents was the result of a "missed hole". A typical mishap was reported in 1905, in the Weiser Signal newspaper. The account said that Ed Fulp and Fred Powell were seriously injured at the California Mine in the Seven Devils. A number of charges had been fired, and all but one exploded. Waiting a sufficient length of time, the men returned to investigate. As they approached the spot where they had placed the charges, the remaining one exploded. Both men were bowled over and showered with sharp pieces of rock. They escaped with their lives, but were badly cut and bruised.
Another missed hole accident happened at the Queen mine in 1906. Bill Carrick and Fred Lincoln were on the night shift. They were digging with picks when Carrick hit a "missed shot" left by the day shift, exploding the charge. One piece of rock hit Carrick over the right eye, knocking him down and rendering him unconscious for a short time. Lincoln was uninjured. Dr. Peacock, the mine foreman, fired the day shift crew for negligence and carelessness.
What may have been the most spectacular such stories on local record involved one of the areas best known pioneers, Charlie Allen. Charlie learned the dangers of mining the hard way in 1892. He and two partners had dug a vertical shaft at their Lobo mine in the Seven Devils. It was about 6:00 PM and Charlie wanted to knock loose an extra big bunch of rock so they would have plenty of work the next day. The other two men cleared out before Charlie lit the fuse. After the fuse was burning, Charlie yelled, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" As he scrambled up the first of a set of wooden ladders, he was 110 feet underground.
Knowing the undependability of fuses, Charlie was in a hurry... maybe too much of a hurry. Or maybe he was just tired at the end of a long, hard day. At the 65 foot level, he had to change from one ladder to another. He slipped. In an instant, he was falling, headfirst, into the blackness below him. About eight feet from the bottom of the shaft, he slammed into a rock ledge, landing on his side. Charlie lay there in agony, knowing that he was about to die. If the fall hadn't injured him beyond recovery, the double charge of giant powder just two feet below him would certainly snuff out his life like a candle in a hurricane. It would only be a matter of seconds now.
Charlie's companions waited at the top of the shaft. They listened in horror as they heard him slip and fall. A minute later, the muffled boom of the exploding powder shook the dirt under their feet. Dust and air rushed up the shaft in front of them. Feeling overwhelmed by the tragedy, they descended into the abyss to recover Charlie's lifeless, mutilated body.
As the two men neared the bottom of the shaft, they heard something move. They went closer, and there, in the light of their lantern sat Charlie, calmly smoking his corncob pipe. He was scratched, badly bruised and generally a mess, but, miraculously, none of his injuries were life-threatening.
This account is based on an account of the events in the Idaho Citizen newspaper of Salubria, Feb 12, 1892 The editor noted that even though the story was hard to believe, the men swore it happened.
6-16-94
I apologize for missing a week sometimes in writing the History Corner. I have the roof off of our house, and have had to to burn the midnight oil on my remodeling job between rain storms.
This time, I thought I would throw together a few things about one of the families that helped make this area what it is today. Part of what peaked my interest is a grave of a fairly young woman, located under a pine tree just off the Council Cuprum road.
Forty-two year old Frederick C. Wilkie, his wife Sarah, and their four sons, (Fred, Arthur, Ralph and Richard) settled on Hornet Creek at "Dale" (now called "Upper Dale") in 1882. They lived where Mill Creek meets Hornet Creek, just south of the old Hornet Guard station.
In the spring following their arrival here, Sarah gave birth to a fifth son, Oscar Craig Wilkie. (He was known by his middle name, Craig.) Almost exactly a year later, in March of 1884, Sarah died. Her grave is about a quarter of a mile east the Wilkie homestead, about 100 yards above the road. She was only 33 years old.
Just over a year and a half after Sarah died, in 1885, Frederick married Fannie Fletcher. A girl and two more boys were born during their ten and a half year marriage. Frederick and Fannie were divorced in the spring of 1896. During the time that Fannie was married to Frederick, she taught school at Upper Dale and at several locations near Salubria and Midvale.
Frederick Wilkie had been a Major in the Union army during the Civil war, and was known locally as "Major Wilkie". He was involved in local politics, serving as justice of the peace and county commissioner. He and his sons are probably best remembered for establishing one of the first sawmills in the area.
The first sawmill that the Wilkies used was one Frederick bought in 1885 from A.F. Hitt, the man after whom Hitt Mountain near Cambridge is named. Hitt had run an active lumber business with this mill on Hitt Creek some miles west of Cambridge, until one day in 1884, while working at the mill, he slipped and fell into the sharp teeth of the saw. One of his feet was caught in the saw in such a way that the heel was cut off. It was an extremely painful, debilitating injury that never did heal, forcing him to sell the mill the next summer.
This sawmill was a "sash" type mill that had a saw blade that reciprocated up and down. It was outdated even at that time. When Hitt operated the mill, the Indians in the in the area didn't understand how it moved by itself and were extremely afraid of it. They would come no where near it. Former residents of Norway, however, are said to have had a different reaction to the sash mill. The mill made a peculiar sound that resembled the rhythm of a Norwegian folk song, and any time a Norwegian came within hearing distance of a sash mill, it is said they had the irresistible urge to do a folk dance.
By all indications, the sash mill was a water powered mill under the ownerships of both Hitt and the Wilkies. It is thought that when Wilkies operated the mill, it sat beside the creek in the depression just north of the Council - Cuprum road, just before the road turns up Mill Creek. It is probable that the creek here was named "Mill Creek" because of the presence of this early mill. Also, the narrow canyon through which Mill Creek flows just before reaching Hornet Creek is called Wilkie Canyon.
There were very few sawmills in the Council Valley vicinity during the early years of settlement, and demand for lumber constantly increased as more and more people came to the area. By 1891, the Wilkie sawmill was not able to keep up with the demand for lumber. In 1894, they acquired new mill equipment. The new set up probably had two circular saws which were aligned so that one cut the upper part of the log, and the other cut the lower part.
The Wilkies operated mills in various locations in the head of Hornet Creek and Crooked River. By 1899, they had mills both on Hornet Creek and the Middle Fork of the Weiser River.
Fred Wilkie Jr. had more scholarly interests than his sawmilling brothers. He worked for several newspapers, including the Weiser City Leader, the Idaho Citizen (at Salubria) and the Idaho Statesman. He later became president of the Northwestern Engineering Co. After a stint at a paper in Utah, he came back to Hornet Creek in 1900. His house was just across the creek from the Upper Dale school. This house later belonged to W.R. Shaw (Deb Shaw's father).
Although he didn't seem to take to the vocation of sawing boards, he didn't stray far from the family business after he moved back to the area. He made his living here as an architect and carpenter. When the old I.O.O.F. hall was built in Council in 1905, Fred Wilkie drafted the plans for the building.
More on the Wilkies next week.
6-23-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Of the Wilkie boys, Art and Rich were apparently the most ambitious. The two seemed almost driven to achieve. Whether it started out as the grand plan it would become, may never be known, but things began to fall into place in 1908. About this time, Art Wilkie built a planing mill at the railroad about a half mile east of the main Weiser River, about six and a half miles north of Council. Here, the road to the West Fork of the Weiser branched off of the crude wagon trail that criss-crossed the river on up to Starkey where the trail ended. The mill was probably built on the flat between the railroad tracks and the lone hill at the present site of Fruitvale.
By the fall of that year (1908), the operation was in full swing and things were looking good. The P+IN railroad even built a siding at the mill, probably at the request of the Wilkies. But it wasn't long until their good fortune took a turn for the worse. Sparks from the steam engine that powered the planer mill started a fire which destroyed the mill, the lumber yard, and even the engine itself. Undaunted by the major setback, the Wilkies immediately built another, even bigger mill on the same spot.
It must have been late 1908 or early1909, when the Wilkies, under the name " Wilkie Traction and Transportation Company", built a road over the "Ridge" to the present site of Fruitvale. The plan was to process the lumber from their sawmills here at their planer, and load it on train cars. The tracks were closer to their operations at this point than at Council.
The Wilkies were some of the first people to use steam powered tractors, then called "traction engines", in this part of the country. They almost certainly used them to build this route which became known as "the traction road". Stationary steam engines had been in common use for some time in applications such as the Seven Devils mines. But these mobile engines were something new, at least in this area. One of the steam engines in Council's town square is thought to have belonged to the Wilkies.
Maps of the area dated 1912, show the Wilkie Traction Road going east across the hills from the Peck place near Dale. (This is the old Armacost place - the OK ranch - a mile or so toward town from the old Hornet Guard station.) Traces of it can still be seen here. The road went across to North Hornet Creek, then continued east, probably up what is now known as "Traction Gulch", to the present end of the Ridge Road. From the head of this gulch, it most probably followed the route of the present Ridge Road except for a half mile or so just before it crosses the West Fork of the Weiser. Here, the original road followed the creek bottom. Sometime around the 1940s, it was changed to the side hill. Before this, the original stretch of road here was sometimes a bottomless mud bog in the spring.
Sometime between 1909 and 1912, homesteaders on the Ridge built a shorter road connecting the Hornet Creek road to the Wilkie traction road. It started just up from the Lower Dale school and went north west up what was known as "Warner Gulch", and connected with the traction road where the road now tees at the cattle guard. This Warner Gulch road, along with the traction road that went on to the present site of Fruitvale, became the county road in 1912, and is now called Ridge Road.
At the time the Wilkie Traction road was built, about 1908, there were five homesteaders living on Pleasant Ridge. By 1912, the Ridge had become a booming homestead area with about 26 families living on scattered dry land farms across the rocky hills between Hornet Creek and Fruitvale. Using two traction engines, the Wilkies pulled three or four wagons at a time with each engine, hauling about 10,000 to 12,000 board-feet of lumber each trip. By 1912, the Wilkies would ship about 7 million board feet of lumber from Fruitvale by rail.
In 1909, a post office was granted to a spot near the Wilkie planer mill. The general area had heretofore been referred to as "West Fork". The new post office was officially given the name "Lincoln". At the same time, Art Wilkie, along with some other men, formed the Lincoln Lumber Company, with Art Wilkie as president. A young man named Andy Carroll became the first Postmaster. Carroll, a friend and sawmill employee of the Wilkies, was also Secretary and Treasurer of the Lincoln Lumber Company. The post office may have been in the Lincoln Lumber Company store which records show was managed by Carroll in April of 1910. Andy's father, Joseph Carroll, who had run stores in Midvale and Council and had run the hotel at Lick Creek, may have been involved with the store at this time. Another source says that the store belonged to Rich Wilkie. Almost as soon as the name Lincoln was granted by the Postal Department, the name was changed to "Fruitvale".
After moving to Fruitvale, Rich Wilkie sold fire insurance, was a notary public, and helped publish a newspaper called the "Fruitvale Echo". Art Wilkie, owned and operated the Fruitvale hotel for a time. (Joslin's house now.) Aside from the family operations in this area, he was also was involved in logging operations at Tamarack for a time.
By 1910, things were going so well that the Wilkie brothers found the traction road inadequate to handle the demands that lumber and freight traffic placed upon it. They made plans to build a railroad line between Fruitvale and Crooked River and organized a stock company to sell shares in the venture. The planned route was to parallel that of their traction road. For one reason , the rail line was never built.
More on Fruitvale and the Wilkies next week.
6-30-94
HISTORY CORNER
by Dale Fisk
At some point, the Wilkie brothers began to form a plan that would make the place where their new road met the railroad nothing less than the hub of the local universe. Aside from serving their own lumber shipping needs, they realized that, with their new route, Lincoln would be the nearest railroad point to upper Hornet Creek and all of the Seven Devils mining area. And it was also very near the hot springs at Starkey, which, since being reached by the railroad, was becoming a very popular tourist destination.
As county after county was being created across the West, the competition between towns for the prize of becoming the county seat was very heated. Sometimes it even resulted in violence. When Adams County was carved out of Washington County in 1911, it was a custom made opportunity for Art and Rich. The Idaho legislature appointed Council as the temporary county seat, but a permanent county seat would be determined on the next election, which would be in November of 1912. If Fruitvale could become the county seat, it would turn the Wilkie real estate holdings into gold.
The Fruitvale Echo newspaper began publication in April of 1912. The publisher was listed as the "Fruitvale Commercial Club", but public perception seems to have been that it was published by Rich Wilkie. And in reality, the paper may have been little more than a vehicle for his personal ambitions.
The new Fruitvale newspaper was almost immediately a thorn in the side of its rival, the Council Leader. For months after the Echo first appeared in print, the Leader editor, James A. Stinson, patiently ignored the soap box editorials printed in the Echo as one would the tirades of a younger sibling. His only comment was the veiled reference when the Echo first began publication, "It was only an 'Echo' drifted down from the hills." Finally in September, Stinson reached his breaking point and cut loose with a scathing front page attack, responding to a comment the Echo had made on an article in the Leader. In one of the three separate shots at the Echo, Stinson said, "... the poor thing does the baby act by crying that we abused it. If you can't stand it why don't you get a man in your place?"
During the short life span of the Echo, Rich Wilkie waged an incessant, unrelenting, almost religious crusade to make Fruitvale the county seat instead of Council. Among other virtues, he extoled the central location of Fruitvale in relation to other communities in the county. Wilkie spent a great deal of time and energy traveling all over the new county, especially in the Seven Devils, gathering 506 signatures on a petition to put Fruitvale on the upcoming ballot as an official candidate for county seat. When the deadline for filing the petitions had passed, Wilkie went to court to bar New Meadows and Council from appearing on the ballot. Represented by well known attorney Frank Harris of Weiser, Wilkie claimed that Council and New Meadows didn't gather the number of signatures required by law. Wilkie also contested the names of 73 New Meadows petition signatures. He must have gone through them with a fine toothed comb.
The controversy dragged on for months, but by a few days before the election, Judge E.L. Bryan ruled that the law didn't outline requirements for inclusion on a ballot in such a case, and ruled that the towns could indeed appear on the ballot.
At this time, some Meadows Valley people were still steaming from the fact that the railroad had been built to New Meadows instead of to the established town of Meadows. They felt that land investors at New Meadows had pulled strings in order to make themselves wealthy. Some thought that Wilkie's motives in his lawsuit were suspiciously similar, as he and his family had much to gain from the success of Fruitvale.
When election day rolled around, the weather was miserable. A blinding storm with a mixture of rain and snow plagued the area all day. The weather proved to be an ill omen for the dreams of the Wilkie family. Council won the county seat election by a land slide, with a total of 919 votes. To add insult to injury, voters from the Fruitvale precinct gave 76 votes to Council, a number almost equal to the total number of 87 votes that Fruitvale received from all over the county! The Seven Devils towns proved to be the most supportive of Fruitvale, but only by a narrow margin.
When it became clear that Fruitvale was not going to become what the Wilkie family had hoped, they seemed to lose interest, and left for greener pastures. Not long after the election, Ralph moved to Portland. The following spring, Art and Craig moved their families to Ashton, Idaho. In the election of 1924, Art, who was still living in Ashton, ran as a candidate for the Idaho Supreme Court judge. Evidently he lost in the primary election.
Rich Wilkie soon followed his brothers to south eastern Idaho, settling in Idaho Falls. He eventually became a lawyer there. He died there of a heart attack, in 1925, at the age of 49.
A few years ago, some relatives of the Wilkies were in Council looking for local information on the family. This was before I collected all of this, so if anyone knows how to reach them, please let me know.
7-7-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
One of Council's best known places of business in the early days was a store that once stood where the Council Valley Market 's parking lot is now. The first merchants associated with the beginnings of this store were Sam, Harry and Abe Criss and a man named Cohen. Initially, they had no store, but traveled up and down the Weiser River valleys, selling goods out of a wagon. Every week, during the mid 1890s, their ad appeared in the Weiser paper:
COHEN & CRISS
The traveling merchants will sell you goods and strange to relate they
DON'T WANT ANY CASH!
But prefer to take chickens, eggs, butter, hogs and such things, allowing the highest market price for everything, and they come right to your door and get the produce and deliver the goods. Carry dry goods, notions.
By 1898, Cohen and Criss had stores Salubria and Council. The one in Council was built in the fall of that year, about where Shavers is now. It was operated by Sam Criss. Carlos Weed's father, Carl Weed, had been in business with Sam Criss in one way or another about two years at this time. Weed had joined up with Criss right after leaving college in Oregon in 1896, at the age of 22.
In 1900, the Salubria Citizen newspaper reported an incident here concerning Weed: "News has been received of a prize fight or some other kind of a scrap at Council between Carl Weed and Chas Irish. Particulars are lacking." And in another place in the same issue: "Chas. Irish has sold his saloon business in Council and left for new fields since his bout with Carl Weed, in which he came out second best."
In 1901, Abe Criss was on the train headed for Weiser. Just as the train pulled into the depot, he dropped to the floor of the car - dead of a heart attack. The Council store was soon bought out by Bernard and Herman Haas and run as the Haas Brothers store.
In January of 1902, the store burned, along with several other businesses north of the town square (now the park) in Council. The following April, the company was reorganized as Haas Bros. & Co. Sam Criss and Carl Weed became partners with the new owners, and a new store was built where the parking lot for the Council Valley Market is now. In 1905, it measured 26 by 100 feet, and had two warehouses, one 30 X 80, the other 30 X 40. The Knights of the Macabees held their elaborately costumed lodge meetings upstairs.
The store became a center of activity in Council. It was a common sight to see large pack trains loading supplies for the Seven Devils mines. People came from as far as Long Valley to stock up here.
Sometime during the next five or so years, Carl Weed became the owner and / or manager of the store. In 1909, Tom Doughty ran it as a hardware store. By 1912, George M. Winkler became partners with Carl Weed, and ran the store. He sold guns, ammunition and farm equipment in addition to the usual assortment of hardware.
By 1920, the business had become the Council Grocery Company. At some time before this, Jim Winkler had become Carl's partner, but now was being replaced by Charles Weed, Carl's brother. Charles had just returned from teaching at a college in China for about 20 years. The store soon became known as the "Weed & Weed" store. The partnership lasted until 1928, when Carl bought out his brother.
In 1941, the local paper reported that due to "ill health", Carl had sold the store to Sam Cream of the Weiser Grocery Company. If the paper had its facts straight, the new owner apparently never operated the establishment. Soon after the Second World War started, scrap paper that was being collected for the war effort by school children was stored in the empty store building. Finally, in 1943, the paper reported that Ernest Winkler, who had owned the building for several years, was tearing it down. So ended a Council landmark.
It was in 1941 that the present Council Valley Market building was built just east of the old Weed store. It was originally the Golden Rule Store, and also housed the Adams County Bank. I'm not sure exactly when the Golden Rule went out of business, but I remember it, so it must have been in the late 1950s. I wouldn't mind hearing from someone who knows when it was, who ran it, etc. Also, when did the bank move out? Did it move from there to what is now the drygoods section of Shaver's? Was that a different bank?
I have shown my slide show to two Junior High history classes, the Odd Fellows and the Grange. It's a pretty interesting and educational presentation, so if your group wants to see it, give me a call. I got an interesting call from former Council lad, Tim DeHaas, recently. He gets the Record where he lives in Arizona, enjoys the History Corner and says that his neighbors down there enjoy reading it too. And I was also able to help Barbara Pittman of Ukiah, CA get some info on her grandmother, Grace Hutchinson, who taught at the Upper Dale school in 1912. She sent a donation toward the museum project. So far we haven't been overwhelmed with people shoveling money at us, but now that I have a roof on my house again I'm gonna start trying to rock the boat a little.
7-14-94
HISTORY CORNER
by Dale Fisk
Another store that was well known in Council was the Cool and Donelly feed store. It stood just east of the current location of Norm's Corner, just south west of the Ace building. It was a very long, narrow building, run by Fred Cool and Dale Donelly.
Fred's brother, L.S. Cool, started the first newspaper in Council about 1901 or so. It was called the Council Journal. The office was on the north west corner of Moser and Main, just west of the old Winkler and Cox blacksmith shop. (If you've seen my slide show, you've seen both of these.) The Journal didn't stay in publication over a few years for some reason. It was replaced in 1908 by the Council Leader, which was the predecessor to the Adams County Leader.
Fred Cool originally had a store across the corner of this intersection, on the south east corner of Moser and Main. Around the turn of the century, famous sawmill man, Steve Richardson had a store there. By 1908, Cool was operating a feed store at this location. In 1910, The Washington County Land and Development Company bought Cool's lot and built the Pomona Hotel there. Fred then bought the lot east of The Whiteley Brother's Store (now Norm's Corner) and built a new store.
In 1912, an ad in the local paper proclaimed, "Public weighing on a Fairbanks scale by a licensed weigher, at Cools." also selling "pure river ice", grain sacks, sack needles and twine. Another mainstay that he sold was coal. About 1914, Cool was joined in the business by Dale Donelly, who lived on Hornet Creek. The two men sometimes organized shipments of hogs, cattle or other livestock via the railroad.
In 1922, Cool retired, selling out the Donelly. Cool moved to Portland and ran a hotel there for a number of years. Donelly continued with the business for some time. According to my father, Dale Donelly was one of the finest men he ever met. I guess that's why he named me after him. He died when I was very young - in the 1950s.
Somebody please tell me when Donelly closed the store, and / or when it was torn down. It was before my time. There is a photograph in the Idaho Historical Society's file in Boise of the inside of the store. But we don't have one at the museum yet. If any one has a picture of the store, please let me know. For that matter, you probably know by now that we are trying to collect all the old pictures we can. The library even has budgeted some funds for this. If you have interesting old pictures of people or places in the area, let me know. Tony Schwartz loaned me a few great ones recently so I could copy them. My thanks to him on behalf of the community.
Just for general information, it's easy to copy photographs. About all you need is a camera with a lens that can focus (like most 35 mm cameras), and a magnifying lens. I have a set of lenses that screw onto my camera lens, but before I got them, I just used a magnifying glass. Most of the time I just use whatever color film I have in my camera: anything from 100 to 400 ASA. To use color film on black and white photos, you have to use natural (sun) light. If you don't, the picture will turn out an amber color. A well lit window sill, but not with direct sun on the photo you are copying, works great. The hardest part is holding still enough if you don't use a tripod, and focusing precisely. I've had pretty good luck taking hand-held shots at a 30th of a second, but a tripod is best. Give it a try. It's a great way to share old family pictures and make sure those memories don't get lost.
7-21-94
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History Corner
by Dale Fisk
If you have seen my slide show, looked at the photo display I put up in the library, or spent much time studying the pictures in the museum, you have seen a small, white house that was built in about 1901. It is visible behind the old Haas Bros. / Weed store that I wrote about a couple of weeks ago, in a couple of old photos. This house, still looking very much like it did when it was built, now stands at 104 N Fairfield, just north of the West One Bank. It is now the home of Mr. and Mrs. Keith Fish.
The house was built by one of the giants among early Council citizens - Luther L. Burtenshaw. Burtenshaw was a lawyer, and was known to his friends simply as "Burt". For almost four decades, he was an anchor of Council's civic life. If anyone could be called a pillar of the community, it was Burt. It was hard to find a community project or organization in which he was not either the leader or a key player.
Burtenshaw arrived in Council at the age of 40, just as the railroad reached town and a new era was beginning for the Valley. Born in Missouri, he had come West with his parents by ox drawn wagon to the Willamete Valley in Oregon where he grew up. After being admitted to the bar, he practiced law in Washington and Oregon before coming to Council.
Burt and his wife, Nettie had one child, Edward, who was seven years old when the family set out to find a place to establish a law practice. Upon arriving in Idaho, Burt made the acquaintance of fellow attorney, Frank Harris, at Weiser. Harris recommended Council, and the rest is history.
Burtenshaw was a muscular, bear of a man: stocky, and maybe a little less than average in height. He was not a person one would want for a legal adversary, much less an enemy. It was said that he was "A man of dominant will and personality..." "Short and snappy in manner of conversation and often harsh in words of reproof and castigation, [but] after the heat of argument or battle of words he held no grudge and welcomed a return to friendly tranquility and good will."
Burtenshaw was regarded by some as being the father of Adams County. He was a tireless advocate of secession from Washington County, and wrote the bill that created Adams County in 1911. It was Burt who came up with the name "Adams" for the new county. He reasoned that since Washington County was named after the nation's first president, the new county formed from the upper part of it should be named after the second president. When Adams County was formed, Governor James H. Hawley appointed Burtenshaw as the new county's first prosecuting attorney. Burt was reelected to that office a number of times.
Burt became an expected fixture at high school graduation ceremonies, which were often held at the opera house (now the People's Theater). As a long-time member of the school board of trustees, he handed diplomas to many a Council graduate. He could often be counted on to give the oration for these, or many other occasions.
One thing Burt was renowned for was trap shooting. He had honed his expertise with a shotgun since he was a young man. While living in Council, he competed in trap shooting tournaments, often traveling long distances to do so. But he reached his peak as a competitor in the sport after he was sixty years old. In 1922, he won first place in more than one Idaho contest, and then went on to a regional competitions in Pendleton and Portland, Oregon. The next year, there was a "Burtenshaw trophy" that went to any trap shooter who could win it 3 times. At the age of 65, Burt won the Capital News "high average medal" for the 1927 Telegraphic Trapshooting Tournament by hitting 192 out of 200 targets. Three years later (1930), at the finals in Boise, he shot 100 consecutive clay pigeons without a miss. Out of a total of 200 shots that day, he only missed three times. The next year, at the age of 70, Burt placed close to the top in the National Trap Shooting Tournament. L.L. Burtenshaw became an honorary life member of the Pacific International Trap Shooting Association, a rare honor which had been bestowed upon fewer than a dozen people at the time.
Nettie Burtenshaw was no stranger to firearms either. She was quite a deer hunter. After one particularly successful hunting trip in 1914, the editor of the Leader said of Nettie, "We will bank her against any woman huntress in the state."
In 1926, Burt ran on Democratic party ticket for U.S. Representative, but lost the election. Later, in the 1930s he became Adams County's state senator.
The first World War brought tragedy to the Burtenshaw household. Their only son, Edward, had married, become an attorney, and was practicing law with his father when the U.S. became involved in the War in 1917. Edward, like many other patriotic young men, soon found himself on the battlefields of France. He made it through the bloody conflict without a scratch, and was no doubt looking forward to coming home. But in November of 1918, just ten days before the armistice was signed ending the war, he died from influenza. Three and a half months later, and half a world away, his wife gave birth to a baby boy. He was named Edward after his father.
It was over two years before the family could get Edward senior's body shipped back to the U.S. Finally in June of 1921, Burtenshaws were able to lay Edward to rest under Council Valley soil. The community rallied around the grief-stricken family at one of the largest and saddest funeral services ever held in Council. It was held at the opera house, which probably held more people than any other building in town, but it was woefully inadequate to hold the throng of people who came to comfort one of the town's most loved families.
In 1938, Burt reached the end of his earthly trail, and was buried beside his son. The Adams County Leader commented, "The vacant place he leaves in the town and community cannot be filled because Luther L. Burtenshaw was himself, a character, separate and apart from other men, an man that will be missed by all who knew him.
We plan to do another anthology before too long, to raise money for the Museum. Maybe Burt or Nettie will show up there and reveal more about their lives and what this area was like back then.
Many of you have been reading and enjoying the History Corner since I've been writing it. I've spent almost every spare minute of the past four years - hundreds of hours - researching and writing these stories. I don't expect to see a penny from it for myself, but I want to ask you a favor ... not for me, but for yourself, your community and for future generations. Get out your check book in the next few minutes, and write out a check to the Winkler Museum ... just for five or ten dollars ... or more, of course, if you can afford it. Then, the next time you are in the bank, or at City Hall, give it to the clerk as a donation toward making a permanent showcase for Council's history that we will all be proud of. It is going to happen. Be a part of it.
7-28-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
The events of human history usually flow in a gradual progression, punctuated by major events that greatly change the direction and magnitude of that flow. One of the major motivators in the European "discovery" and conquest of America was the almost insane lust for one thing: GOLD. Columbus, and those who followed him, including the first white people to exploit Idaho, were motivated to a large extent by the possibility of finding untapped sources of this precious purveyor of wealth and power. .
It's hard to pinpoint an exact starting point for the settlement of Idaho by white people, but probably the most influential domino to fall in the line of events occurred near the Sacramento River in 1848. James Marshall was cleaning out the ditch down stream from the water wheel at John Sutter's sawmill, when an unusual looking rock caught his eye. The moment he picked up that rock, which turned out to be a gold nugget, it was as if he had set off an explosion that rocked all of North America, if not the world. Beginning the following year (1849), a tidal wave of humanity that was almost unprecedented in the history of this planet surged west in a mad rush to strike it rich. This flood of tens of thousands of gold seekers soon splashed some of its overflow into the Northwest and Idaho.
In 1852, E.D. Pierce , a "49'er" and trader in California, came up the Columbia River to the Clearwater River. He soon suspected that there was gold in the area. During the next 8 years, there were a number of gold rushes to various areas in the North West, but resistance to any invasion of whites by the Nez Perce Indians prevented mineral exploration in the Clearwater and Salmon River areas. A treaty was made between the United States and the Nez Perce which was to keep whites out of their homeland. Pierce however, was determined to exploit the area, and worked incessantly toward that end.
Wrapped in a self righteous mantel of "Manifest Destiny", Pierce smuggled prospecting equipment into Nez Perce territory on the North Fork of the Clearwater in 1860. He did indeed find gold, and began to energetically promote the area. Word spread all over the west that a fantastic new gold region had been located.
Although it risked starting a war with the Indians, the unscrupulous Pierce invited prospectors to sneak into the area, and even guided them to the most promising locations. By May of 1861, nearly 1000 prospectors had invaded the Clearwater region to seek their fortunes, and many more were hot on their heels. Several small towns sprang up, including Pierce, Elk City, and Oro Fino. By the end of the summer, the white population of the area that would become Idaho had gone from almost zero to over seven thousand souls, all of whom were located in the Clearwater River area.
That same year (1861), gold was discovered just to the south, and the boom town of Florence was established. The gold along the Clearwater had been fairly evenly distributed in the ground, with few if any rich veins. But around Florence, the deposits were close to the surface and more concentrated. Here, a man could become fabulously wealthy over night. The result was an even more wild rush of whites to the area. Faced with such an overwhelming deluge, the Nez Perce gritted their teeth and bitterly did what they could to resign themselves to their fate...at least for the time being.
Next week - more gold discoveries, and the rush of fortune seekers leads toward the settlement of the Council area.
8-4-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
The year of 1862 probably brought more change to what was soon to become the territory of Idaho than any other. The previous April, the breaking threads of national tension in the Eastern U.S. had turned into a rip at Fort Sumter. By 1862 a giant gaping rent had torn the national fabric apart as the Civil War swung into its bloody stride. But people in Idaho were too distracted to exhibit much interest in the War. It was as if a curtain had opened, spot lights blazed and trumpets blared. Thousands of fortune seekers dashed onto the pristine wilderness stage to begin a frenzied performance.
If one month of 1862 were to be singled out as the most pivotal, it would be July. It was that month that Levi Allen discovered copper in the Seven Devils. That story has been told enough, including in Heidi Bigler Cole's recent book, that I won't detail it here.
Also in July of 1862, another rich gold bearing area was discovered at Warren's Diggings, about 23 miles to the south east of Florence. At almost the same time, enormous gold deposits were discovered in the Boise Basin in the mountains north east of present-day Boise.
Another major event that fateful month was that Tom Goodale started a wagon trail through the Weiser River territory. Looking for an Oregon Trail shortcut, Goodale took a train of about 60 wagons from Boise, through the Emmett area, and across the Crane Creek hills to near present day Cambridge. Here the party was at a loss as to how to proceed for about two weeks. Exploring to the north, the Cuddy and Seven Devils Mountains convinced them it was not wise to continue in that direction. To the west, they ran across John Brownlee's ferry, which he had just built across the Snake River near the mouth of Brownlee Creek.. Brownlee came to the wagon camp and made a deal with the group to ferry the wagons across the Snake without charge if they, in return, would build a road to his ferry. This was agreed to, and the road was built. It probably following the well marked Indian trail that already existed on this route.
While the wagon train was camped in the Cambridge area, a girl named Martha Jane Robertson died on August 21. She was buried near that location. A monument commemorating this first White grave in this part of Idaho now stands in front of the Cambridge museum.
Although it was never adopted as a popular route for west bound wagon trains, Goodale's cutoff between Boise and eastern Oregon quickly became a major route traveled by thousands of miners and others coming from Oregon to the Boise Basin gold strike. This cutoff became known as the "Brownlee Trail".
Instead of continuing to Oregon, three wagons from Goodale's train split from the party near Midvale, and headed north for the mines at Florence. The fate of these wagons, and the story of the eight men who accompanied them, has become a local legend. Their story next week.
Have you written that check yet?
8-11-94!
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Instead of continuing to Oregon, three wagons from Tom Goodale's train split from the group, near Midvale, and headed north for the mines at Florence. Although whites started using a trail up the Payette River that same year, which went through Long Valley, past Payette Lakes and on to Warren and Florence, these men either didn't know about this route, or it had not yet been established. One has to remember that, at this time, the vast area between Boise and Florence was totally uninhabited and, except for the earlier fur trappers, virtually unexplored by white people. These men may have been the first to attempt to reach Florence from the south instead of via Lewiston. They certainly were the first to attempt this route with wagons.
The best known of the men on this expedition was Dunham Wright, a distant cousin of Abraham Lincoln. Almost 70 years after this journey, Wright returned to the area to recount his adventures. It was 1929, and Council was holding the first of several community "Pioneer Picnics". Wright, then 87 years old, was the featured speaker at the event. The following is a combination of his oratory to the crowd that day, quoted here from the June 14, 1929 the Adams County Leader, and letters written by Wright. I have made some punctuation changes and added my own comments within brackets ([]).
I was here, in these hills and valleys 67 years ago and was doing everything in my power to find a way out of here,...
It was August 1862 that I passed through this district, and as we drove up this morning I wanted to see some of the old sarvice bushes from which we picked sarvice berries on that former trip. Friends, without those sarvice berries, I would not be with you today.
With seven other men I left the main emigrant train of 60 wagons at Middle valley and started to go to Florence where rich placer diggings were reported. We started with three wagons. The first day we left one wagon and doubled our ox teams on the other two. Then we rolled rocks, cut trees, got down steep mountains by tying trees behind the wagons, and the hill sides were so steep that it seemed the wagons would tip over endwise. [They went up the Little Weiser River drainage.] Then we came to more difficulties and finally to what looked like the jumping off place. [This was at the head of the Little Weiser, overlooking the steep drop off into Long Valley.] There we abandoned the other two wagons and cut up the wood of them to make pack saddles.
One of the men was a carpenter and had some tools with him. Cinches and other straps were made from the canvas tops of the wagons. We camped here for about two weeks
We had to make pack animals out of our cattle and that is a mighty hard thing to do. Cattle won't stand for it. But we put our blankets on them and we had one pony that we packed with our small quantity of flour and ammunition. Everything in readiness we took a long last sorrowful look at our old wagons that we had mutilated, leaving chains, trunks, and all other paraphernalia that could not well go on oxen's backs.
Finally, when we started with this pack train, we did not proceed far when the pony rolled down the mountain side and landed in a small lake at the bottom. It took two men half a day to get him back, delaying our trip down the mountain, dark overtaking us long before we were half way down, having to stop and tie our oxen to trees and so dark we had to feel for the tree, took our packs off and got into our blankets, etc. the best we could, tired, hungry and thirsty. I woke next morning almost 15 feet below my blankets.
When we got the pony out and repacked, we neglected to put on the ammunition, and went away without it. Then we found ourselves in a hostile Indian section without ammunition. The Indian signs were to be seen here - figures with arrows sticking in them, and we knew what that meant. [On peeled trees along the trail, the Indian s had drawn pictures of men, and an arrow was left sticking in them.] We did not take to the Indian trail, but traveled after dark among the lodge pole pine - tired, hungry, chilled, and anything but comfortable. I was then a boy of 20.
We followed down a stream and came to a valley where there was high grass [Long Valley], and during camp, a yellow jacket swarm attacked our cattle, causing them to go bucking and bawling in every direction and scattering our food and bedding to every quarter of the compass. It was the greatest stampede the world has ever known for the size of it I think. Eight big steers going bucking, spiking, bawling, tails in the air, tinware rattling like a chaviri, they turned their packs underneath them and tramped our bedding and wearing apparel into strings, and tinware into a cocked hat, the whole thing looked as though it had passed through a terrible cyclone.] We spent three days getting things together, salvaging what food we could find through the high grass and what clothing and quilts we could get that would hold together.
Wright was almost overwhelmed by the ordeal. He felt they were hopelessly lost somewhere in the uninhabited vastness of the Rocky Mountains. The men camped at Payette Lakes for three weeks, trying to find a way out. They climbed to the top of the highest mountain they could find in an effort to detect smoke from a friendly camp fire, but saw none. They almost froze at night; having nothing but a few blankets to sleep under. And they soon had almost nothing to eat but service berries. He noted that in this strange country, the familiar stars in the sky were the only things he had ever seen before. His gold fever, which had burned hot until that point, left him and never returned.
Dunham continues:
Like old Moses leading the children of Israel out of the wilderness, we had to lead out of that wilderness, but while he was forty years at it, we were only three weeks. Finally we were obliged to take the Indian trail down the Salmon. After many difficulties, we saw in the distance what we thought was a band of elk, but what proved to be cattle. When we found they were cattle, we shouted for joy. We had subsisted on a little piece of bacon each morning and those sarvice berries. We were hungry and exhausted, but salvation was at hand.
The young men finally made it to Florence, but they met with the same disappointing failure to strike it rich as most of the other fortune seekers there did.
[In his Indian Valley history, Ellis Snow said they didn't make it to Florence, but went to Meadows Valley, then “went down the Salmon River where they spent the winter mining for placer gold.” AC Leader, Sept 14, 1962]
A few years later, early residents of Indian Valley found the wagons left behind by Wright's party, and were puzzled as to who would have taken them to such a remote spot, and why. It remained a mystery for a good many years until Wright's story became known. These early settlers burned what was left of the wagons to salvage the iron. Iron was a precious and hard to acquire material in those days, given the distance to anyplace to buy it. A good blacksmith could turn almost any piece of iron into a useful item. The location where the deserted wagons was found became known as "Burnt Wagon Basin". The Forest Service has planted a permanent marker on this spot.
In a glass case at the museum, there are a few pieces of the wagons, some nails from them, and a photo of Dunham Wright. Why don't you drop by and see it, and while you're there, drop some money in the donation jar?
8-18-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
For the next few weeks, I'm going to be writing about events that happened between Council and the Seven Devils Mining District. Some of you went along on the museum sponsored tour of that vicinity in 1990. Since then, we have heard nothing but how much people enjoyed it. Now we are planning another tour to raise money for the museum. The exact plans haven't been made yet, so keep watching this column. It will probably be in September.
One of the most interesting things I have turned up in my research concerns the first settler in the Council area. Whenever the subject comes up, it seems that the Mosers are always mentioned. The George Moser family, who arrived in the Council Valley in 1876, was the first family to settle here, but they were not the first non-native people to make a home here.
As far as I can tell, the first person to settle in the Council area was a bachelor named Henry Childs. He established a home at a location that will be on our tour. It was about three miles up Hornet Creek, where Old Hornet Creek road now forks from the Council Cuprum road. Childs arrived here in 1868, some eight years before the Mosers.
Childs arrived here, alone, at the age of about 32. He was a single man who never married. Just why he came here is not clear, but he may well have been looking for gold at first. He was known to have been a prospector. At the time Henry Childs arrived in this area (1868), the Salubria and Indian Valleys were just beginning to be settled. This was at the tail end of some very serious Indian conflicts in Idaho, and the trouble wasn't over yet. Ten years later, in 1878, when Bill Munday and two other Indian Valley men were killed by Indians in Long Valley, Childs was with a party of miners who were feared to have also been attacked and killed by the same Indians. A military unit was sent to look for them, and they were found alive and well.
Childs lived in this area for about 42 years. He served as a justice of the peace in the mid 1880s. He eventually moved back to his home state of New York in 1910.
It is because of Henry Childs that Hornet Creek got its name. According to one account, the summer that the Mosers arrived here was a bad one for hornets. After one particularly bad hornet encounter that Childs had with these pests that summer, he apparently complained to his new neighbors, the Mosers. From that time on, the creek along which Childs had settled was called Hornet Creek. For a short time, the whole Council area was referred to as "Hornet Creek" since it was the location of the confluence of that creek with the Weiser River. This was a common practice. The Fruitvale area was, at first, called West Fork.
Another spot along our upcoming tour is the location of the Lower Dale school house. It stood near the place where the Old Hornet Creek Road comes back onto the Council Cuprum Road. The school was built in 1906. It was called the "Lower" Dale school to distinguish it from the school at "Dale" farther up the road. The school at Dale became known as "Upper Dale" as a result.
The last mention that I can find of the Lower Dale school being in operation was 1942. I don't know when it finally closed. I hope someone will call me and fill me in. I would really like to know. And when was it torn down? (Call me: 253-4582) Also, there are some pictures at the library of some kids in front of the Lower Dale school, with their teacher, Olive Addington. The photos may have been taken in the early 1920s. We would really like to identify these kids. If you went to this school or knew people who did, please go into to library see if you can help.
Since forest fires are on our minds lately, I can't resist throwing out an amazing story I was just reminded of. The fires near McCall have been burning for a couple weeks now, and have consumed 50,000 to 60,000 acres, last I heard. In 1910, a fire burned for only two days in northern Idaho and western Montana ... an burned THREE MILLION ACRES. It covered an area 160 miles long, and fifty miles wide. Four towns and a number of mines and mills were destroyed, and over 100 people were killed. It was the worst fire in the history of North America.
Hey! I got some great news today. The Council Exhibit Committee (quilt show) is donating $300 dollars to the museum fund. Thank you! Now doesn't that make you feel guilty if you haven't donated yet? I know you plan to. It doesn't have to be a lot. If everybody in the area would just kick in the amount it would cost them to go out and have a hamburger, we would have it made. If mailing is easier for you, send your donation to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612.
Be sure to watch for more info on the Council - Seven Devils tour. It will be one of the most fascinating days you have ever spent.
8-25-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
On our upcoming tour of the Seven Devils mining district, we will stop here. It looks like a thousand other ordinary places in the mountains around Council. A creek runs through a culvert under a gentle curve in the dirt road, brush and trees bury the hillsides in green, and the road continues on without giving the slightest hint of anything unusual. The only clue that there is anything special about this location is a few symmetrically piled logs just off the road: the rotted remains of a couple of cabins.
Like so many other places we pass by each day, this nondescript turn in the road once held the hopes and dreams of a generation that came before us. This spot was once at the vibrantly beating heart of the Seven Devils mining boom.
It started when E.D. Ford, who later developed the Black Lake mines, built a cabin along Indian Creek here in the 1890s. In 1898, Thomas G. Jones came along. He was a flamboyant, wealthy man who had been in on the discovery of the enormous Homesteak gold strike in Montana. One story says that he won the land here in a poker game from Lewis Hall, president of the P&IN Railroad. At any rate, Jones divided the land into lots and established a townsite that he dubbed "Landore" after his home town in Wales.
By the end of that year (1898), the little burgh had a population of some 20 legal voters. In 1900, a road was built from Landore to Bear that made for a shorter trip from the mines to Council. It would also be less steep and muddy than the old route via Cuprum and the Huntley grade. When the road was being planned, it was said that in good weather the new road would save two days every trip for loaded teams, and during the muddy season, teams loaded for that section might make the trip in from three to four days less time. The shorter route caused Landore to replace Cuprum as the dominant town in the mining district. A number Cuprum and Decorah businesses moved to Landore as a result.
Landore grew rapidly, and by 1901, had a newspaper, a post office, several stores and hotels, and the luxury of long distance telephone service. Just about all of these were located along the one main street which is now the curve in the road that I described at the start.
The next year (1902) was a bad one in the Devils, and the area was very economically depressed as mining came to a standstill. The newspaper, the "Seven Devils Standard", which had only recently relocated there from Cuprum, packed up and moved to Meadows. Here, its name was changed to the "Meadows Eagle". One of the Standard / Eagle editors, Ben Edlin, later became editor of the Weiser Signal for a number of years.
Things picked up in Landore and in the Devils is general in 1904 when construction began on a copper smelter at Landore. T. G. Jones gave the Ladd Metals Co. five acres to built it on. Charley Allen set to work to supply 300,000 ft of lumber for the project from his Landore sawmill, and the company advertised for 5,000 cords of wood to fire the smelter.
In one month, from June to July, the population of Landore went from eight souls to nearly 200 residents. The result was a "tent town addition". The school also grew from 2 students to 16. Between July and September, over 800 loaded freight wagons had arrived in Landore with supplies, machinery, etc. Every mining company poured tens of thousands of dollars into new machinery and general expansion. Things had never looked brighter in the Seven Devils.
The size of the town of Landore is an interesting topic. Winifred Lindsay, who grew up in Cuprum and Landore, said she remembers it having a peak population of one thousand and three. I have serious doubts as to the validity of that figure, but I suppose it's possible that this number was reached for a very short time. Lindsay said the population was very transitory, and shrank and grew radically from season to season. It was said that between 5,000 and 6,000 people once lived within a 7 mile radius of Landore during the mining boom.
The new wood-fired smelter at Landore was said to have used an unusual process. The Weiser Signal reported, "The heat is supplied from a gas flame... from the carbon of wet rotten white fir wood mixed with oxygen and hydrogen at the proper moment." This "water gas" was said to have burned with a white glow similar to that of an electric light and was free from soot. I have no idea how much truth there is to all this, but the paper seemed very serious about it, mentioning it in several issues.
But by winter, it was clear that the process was not working as well as the company let on. In December, the company ordered 1,000 tons of coke to replace the wood as fuel. (Coke is partially burned coal - the coal equivalent to wood charcoal, but it burns hotter.) This seemed to work for awhile, and the smelter processed 60 tons of ore each day from mines all over the district. At least one pure copper "matte" was freighted from the Landore smelter to Council. The bar(s) measured 24" long by 10"X12" and weighed about 400 pounds.
Problems continued, and the smelter was rebuilt with a "reverberatory" furnace made of brick. (A reverberatory furnace radiates heat from the roof onto the ore.) As always, the company said the new process was a tremendous success. But by fall, it was announced, "On account of being unable to procure the necessary fluxing material and proper fuel, without enormous extra expense to the company in the way of transportation, the Ladd Metals Company smelter at Landore has suspended operations indefinitely, but it is earnestly hoped they may be able to resume early next year." It never resumed operation, and the doom of the Seven Devils mining district was sealed.
Landore continued to struggle through the ups and downs of the mining cycles, but never could relive its short-lived glory days. In 1916, half the town burned down when the postmaster went to sleep with a candle burning beside his bed. Finally, by 1920 the town was virtually deserted, and the post office was closed.
In 1941, fire lookouts reported dense smoke coming from Indian Creek, and they sounded the alarm. It was soon learned, however, that it was only someone burning the old smelter at Landore to salvage scrap iron for the war effort. At the time, there was a big pile of rotting firewood still stacked in the smelter from its wood-fired days - approximately 8 to 18 cords.
For years, the brick smelter chimney stood just a short way off the road, and served as kind of a landmark. I have heard that it fell down fairly recently, but I'm not sure. The old mine office and one or two other log structures are very far gone, and will probably not even be visible for much longer.
If you are interested, I have carefully drawn out a diagram with the locations and names of most of the buildings that once stood in Landore, based on a drawing by Anna Adams and on old photos. These photos and the diagram are in the photo album at the library. If you haven't seen this album, or haven't seen it is a long time, I have added over a hundred photos to it in the last year or so.
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This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $1,700... we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with he name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
9-1-94
History Corner
It's going to be interesting to see just when we can schedule this tour that I keep talking about. It would be nice if it would cool down and rain before we invade that area.
One of the historical ranches along our tour will be the Gossard place on Hornet Creek. William and Dora Black and their two sons settled on this ranch in1889.
A year after they arrived, the Blacks traded a milk cow to a nursery man in Boise for young fruit trees. They added to their orchards as they were able, and it soon became the first, and largest, commercial orchard in Washington County. At its peak, the Black place had about 1500 fruit trees, and a half acre of strawberries.
Dora Black told of an incident they had with Indians in the early days:
"The Nez Perce Indians came on their annual trip to Weiser and camped near our house. We had a house full of friends from Weiser the same Sunday. In the evening we were singing and dancing to the music of violin and guitar, raising lots of noise, when an Indian messenger came asking us to keep quiet. It was Sunday and the hour for their prayer services. We were quite ashamed and kept still."
In 1892, there was an outbreak of diphtheria that killed 9 people in the Council area. Both of the Black's only children, sons died from the disease that December. Harry was two years old. Ralph was only two and a half. The nearest doctor was Dr. Wm. Brown, 35 miles away in Salubria, and the medicine he sent arrived too late to save them.
The graves of these little boys are visible from the both roads that go by the place today. They were buried under a pine tree on the hillside, north west of the ranch buildings. In those days it was believed that burial at night would help prevent the spread of the disease, so many diphtheria victims were buried after dark. This may well have been how these little boys here were buried. If so, what an eerie, heart-breaking ceremony it must have been. The vast blackness outside the small circle of lantern light under this tree must have made it seem to Mr. and Mrs. Black that they were escorting their precious sons even farther than usual on their journey into eternity.
Later, the family wanted to move the boys bodies to a cemetery near Council, but authorities would not allow it. Diphtheria is an extremely contagious bacterial disease and it was feared that disturbing the graves might cause a new epidemic.
Originally an Iowa girl, Dora Black had taught school in Oregon, and then in Montana where she met and married William, before coming to Idaho. Between 1893 and 1895, she taught in almost every school in the Council area. Getting to and from the Upper Dale school was no problem, since it was practically next door. When she taught at the Lower Dale school, then called the "lower Hornet" school, Dora rode six miles, to and from work, each night and morning. When engaged at the lower Council school (just north of town) and upper Council school (later called the "White" school, three miles north of town) she probably boarded with someone near the schools. Since school terms only lasted a few months in those days, she would often be employed at two or more of these schools during the same year. Dora helped mold the childhood minds of such well known local citizens as Matilda Moser, Jose Biggerstaff - White - Allen, and Mary and Albert Robertson.
William Black, better known as "Billie", would seem to have been a jack of all trades who jumped from one career to another. His parents may have started the trend. Originally from England, they emigrated to Canada where Billie was born, then moved on to the U.S. when he was 16 years old. He was about 30 years old when he came to this area.
In 1896, Billie ran unsuccessfully against Art Wilkie and another man for the office of state representative. Early in 1898, he was caught up in the fever of the Klondike gold rush, and headed north to strike it rich. Along the way, he came to his senses and stayed in Washington until July.
No sooner had he arrived home, when was determined to go back to Washington to make his fortune. The Salubria Citizen reported that Billie sold his ranch to Benjamin Day, who ran the Inland Hotel in Salubria, for $4,000, and in turn, the Blacks leased the hotel from Day. Dora later said that they traded the ranch for the hotel. She said that one reason they gave up the ranch was that her father had died, and that his death added to the loss of their sons made her not care to live there anymore.
Dora, apparently also no stranger to a variety of careers, was already experienced in the hotel business, and ran the establishment while Billie went off to chase his dreams in Republic, Washington. Those dreams were apparently short lived, as he returned within a few weeks to help run the hotel.
Benjamin B. Day, originally from Ohio, had been a member of the Washington State Senate in 1886. He lived in Warren before coming to Salubria at about the same time the Blacks had come to Hornet Creek. Upon acquiring the Black ranch, Day set out to make it "... a summer resort and general stopping place for weary travelers ...".
Ever on the move, the next summer (1899), Billie Black announced his retirement from his brief career as a hotel magnate, and the Blacks turned the business back to Mrs. Day. By the next spring (1900), the sale of the ranch to Mr. Day had fallen through, Billie had become part owner of a mine in the Heath district, had leased the ranch to Al Jewell, and was once again heading north with the gleam of gold in his eyes. This time he hitched his star to the gold rush at Nome, Alaska. And this time he actually made it there... but he only stayed a short time. The following year (1901) Benjamin Day made another stab at buying Black's Hornet Creek property. This time the deal stuck. A year later, Billie and Dora were back in the hotel business, leasing the Vendome hotel in Weiser. Again, this vocation didn't satisfy Billie's itch for very long. By 1904, he was running a cigar store in Weiser. From here, Billie's trail, at least through the local newspapers, becomes cold. He apparently ran the cigar store for a longer period than most of his other callings had held him. Billie died in 1931, and Dora continued to live in Weiser until her death in 1948.
J.R. Sowash bought the place from D.D. Day in 1906 (for $11,000) and then sold it to August Kampeter the next year. After August died in 1936, his son, Bill, took over the ranch. Bill and his wife, April, ran the ranch for many years until they sold it to Mac and Ethel Gossard in 1971.
I would like to thank Dr. Bruce and Rachel Gardner for a generous donation to the museum, made in memory of several people who have left us within the past year or so:
Mac Gossard
Chloe Ludwig
Cleone Fraiser
Dr. Fred Stovner
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $1,750... we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with he name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
9-8-94
Corner
by Dale Fisk
One of the most historical spots on any tour of the Seven Devils mining district would have to be the old townsite of Helena. It was the first town to be established in the Seven Devils. Helena was located several miles north west of the present site of Cuprum, up and over the steep ridge between Indian Creek and the Snake River, and . It was tucked into in the Deep Creek drainage, just across Copper creek from the Peacock mine.
Levi Allen discovered copper at what would become the Peacock mine in 1862, but because of its remoteness and Indian wars, the area wasn't exploited unit the mid 1880s. Mining didn't really get started there until Albert Kleinschmidt arrived on the scene and poured massive amounts of money into the mines. Albert had the famous Kleinschmidt Grade built in 1890. Most of us think of the Grade as the steep set of switchbacks south west of Cuprum, but it actually started at the Peacock mine and Helena.
The Weiser paper reported in 1884 that a new town was being laid out in the Seven Devils that was to be called "Copperville." This may have been the beginnings of Helena, but there is some information that a tent town by that name, or by the name "Copper Town" existed at the South Peacock mine, just to the south west of the main Peacock mine, prior to the birth of Helena.
Again in 1887, the paper said that a new town was being established as "Anna Bristow". Most historians have said that this was Helena before a name change. But, three years later (1890) the Weiser paper again reported that "a new town" called Helena was being started. This time, a post office and about twenty buildings were under construction. Town lots measuring 25 X 100 feet were selling for $50 to $150. When you consider that wages at that time were around a dollar a day, an equivalent price in todays dollars at even $5 and hour ($40 per day), would be $2,000 to $6,000 per lot. That's $32,000 to $96,000 per acre!
Moses Fuchs, a Salubria business man turned miner, was apparently the main owner of the Helena townsite, eventually holding title to 202 of the 237 lots. He became the first postmaster, running the post office in a store he had built. I have no idea as to the significance of these names and dates as yet, but Fuchs filed two plats of the townsite with the County. The first, in 1897, was filed as the town of "Seven Devils" and designated as "The world's Greatest Copper Camp. Terminus - Weiser and Idaho Northern Ry [Railway]". He filed an identical map in 1907 as the "Helena Townsite". The townsite was about 1500 feet long, north and south, and about 600 feet wide. The two streets running north and south were labeled "Center" and "Main". The two avenues crossing them were called "Copper" and "Peacock".
It is said that Helena was named after first girl born there: Helena Smith. But it is much more likely that the town was named for other reasons. Helena, Montana was THE copper town in the U.S., and it was common practice to name a fledgling town after a successful one in order to be associated with it. In addition, both Albert Kleinschmidt and Levi Allen were from Helena, Montana.
According to one source, Helena once had three mercantile stores, six saloons, one brewery, two assay offices, two saw mills, and was served by two small dairies. The town was very active during the mining boom, but, like all human endeavors in that district, it eventually faded away. By 1919, there were about 25 deserted log cabins remaining at Helena. Some of them had fallen in, others were roofless, and only one or two were habitable.
In the late 1920s, the townsite was taken by Adams County for back taxes, and sold at auction. The entire site was bought by Jake Wallace of New Meadows for only $15. A few weeks afterwards, this humorous letter appeared in the Adams County Leader:
Mr. E.D. Wallace, President
General Manager and Selling
Agent of Helena Townsite
Main Office, New Meadows, Idaho
Dear Mr. Wallace:
Having learned of your recent acquisition of the townsite of "Helena," Idaho, I hasten to write you to ask you if you have a good corner lot which you will sell me for a nickel. Must be clear of incumberences with deed and abstract brought down to date. Would prefer a location near the depot and post office and preferably on the street car line.
Yours Very Truly,
H.R. Ackley
In 1988, a camper on the Snake River near Eagle Bar thought he was being environmentally conscientious by burning his toilet paper after using nature's outdoor facilities. The result was a raging forest fire that destroyed over 15,000 acres . The last two or three remaining structures at Helena that had stood for almost 100 years were burned as the fire swept through the old town site. By the fall of 1991, erosion and salvage logging had virtually wiped out any sign of the town except for piles of tin cans. The cans seem to have been simply thrown out the door when empty, and many of the buildings had a trash pile next to it. Today, it's even hard to find the cans.
This week, Ethel Gossard has made a donation in memory of her late husband Mac Gossard. Thank you Ethel.
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $1,790... we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with he name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
8-15-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
The main body of copper ore that was mined in the Seven Devils lays in one huge underground formation. It starts at Lockwood Saddle, and slants downward like a giant subterranean wall, running north east all the way to Landore. Along its path, the Alaska, Queen, Blue Jacket, Helena, Arkansaw and Decorah mines tapped into it. All of these mines, except the last two mentioned were located in the Garnet Creek drainage.
As early as 1885, which was at the very beginning of the influx of miners to the Devils, a camp was established on Garnet Creek, just below the Queen mine. Today, the collapsed opening to this mine sits just above the road that goes through Garnet Creek, connecting Lockwood Saddle and the main Cuprum - Landore road. A huge, old metal ore bin has stood beside the tailings pile, right beside the road, for years.
The camp on Garnet Creek was initially known as "Garnet", and had hopes of become a town. I don't think it ever quite made that status, but it is mentioned by that name as the town a few times in newspapers of that day. It has also been called the "Blue Jacket Camp", I suppose because the office for the Blue Jacket Mine was built there in 1899. The two story log office building is still standing at the site of the old camp, about 100 yards down the creek (along the old road that runs straight down the canyon) from the main road and the Queen mine. In old photos, which by the way are in the album at the library, there was hardly any brush here. Now, the place is choked with it to the point that it's hard to see what's left of the dozen or so cabins that once stood along the creek. The walls of the old cook house are still there and easy to see, just across the creek from the mine office.
The old cook house was the scene of an odd but tragic event in February of 1901. A young man named John Shroeder had been cooking at the camp since the previous July. One evening after he put supper on tables, John stepped out the back door to get more wood for the stove. About an hour passed before, Blue Jacket mine manager, Stuart French, and his brother William, realized that John had not come back inside. The two men went to investigate. As they stepped outside, they saw two hands protruding from under a large pile of snow. It was John. Apparently, a deep load of snow had accumulated on top of the uncovered pile of fire wood. Instead of disturbing the snow by taking wood from the top of the pile, John had been undermining it for some time by removing wood from lower down. His luck ran out when he pulled out one piece too many, and the whole thing collapsed on top of him, killing him.
Another death took place in one of the cabins at Garnet, or very nearby. Heidi Bigler Cole mentions the story of his death in A Wild Cowboy. I've dug up a few more details.
Albert Kleinschmidt's sons stayed in the mining district for many years after Albert sold out and left the area. Two of the "boys", Harrison and Franz, had been living together near the Blue Jacket mine, but at some point a disagreement occurred, and Franz moved into Cuprum. Harrison spent the winter of 1937 -38 alone in the cabin with his dog. Toward the end of March, he felt something very wrong in his chest. He sat down at his table and started to write a note stating that he had suffered a heart attack and needed help. Just how the note was to get to anyone is unknown. Maybe he planned to tie it to the dog and send him for help. As he wrote the note, Harrison fell off his chair onto the floor.
A week later, John Darland, Cuprum postmaster and proprietor of the Cuprum Hotel, became concerned that he had not heard from Harrison in about two weeks. Darland headed for the cabin, finding nine feet of snow in the area when he arrived. When he entered the cabin, Darland found Kleinschmidt dead where he had fallen. The unfinished note was lying on the table, and the pen he had used to write it was still clasped in his hand.
Evidently temperatures had been above freezing and Kleinschmidt's body had badly decomposed in the eight days since his death. In her book, Heidi said that Harrison's dog had eaten part of the dead man. I have heard this disputed, but Bert Warner says it's true.
Darland went back to Cuprum and phoned sheriff Ed Wade and coroner Joe Ivie. Along with Alex Shaw, they took Dr. Thurston's "snowmobile" as far as Bear. The snowmobile was a model A Ford with skis instead of tires on the front. There was one other like it in the area, operated by Gene Perkins to deliver mail between Council and Cuprum.
The snowmobile couldn't make it any farther than Bear, so the men rode horseback to Cuprum. From there, they had to take skis the remaining six miles to the cabin. Kleinschmidt's decomposed body was wrapped in blankets and strapped to a pair of skis for the arduous journey back to Cuprum.
Harrison had a wife somewhere, and a son who lived in Seattle, but due to the condition of his body, he was buried immediately in the Cuprum Cemetery. His photograph was integrated into the tombstone, and is still plainly visible. The Cuprum cemetery is located short distance this side of Cuprum. A small dirt road leads north west from the main road it. Many of the grave markers have deteriorated or been destroyed, so the location and identity of all who are buried here is hard to determine.
The Council - Seven Devils tour is still in the works. It's just a matter of waiting for a time when there will be less dust and the fire danger. In the mean time, I will be presenting my slide show on Friday night, Sept. 23 at the Library meeting room at 8:00 PM. I'll take you on a stroll up the main street of Council around the turn of the century, and tell you some things you've never heard before about why Council is the way it is today. The informal admission price will be a donation of whatever size you see fit.
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $1,750... we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with he name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
9-22-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Two small streams enter Hornet Creek, about nine miles out of Council. The first is Hanson Creek. It was named after the Rasmus and Anna Hanson family who came to live here about 1883. When they came to the U.S. from Denmark in 1881 with their infant son, Soren, they spoke no English. The Danish spelling of their name was "Hansen", but the immigration officials misspelled it "Hanson" on their papers, so rather than fight bureaucracy, the family retained that spelling from then on.
The Hansons came West with a group of Mormons, and spent two years living at Logan, Utah before coming to Idaho. The tongue-in-cheek story among the family was that Anna insisted on the move to Idaho because she didn't want Rasmus to adopt the Mormon practice of taking a second wife.
Indians used to come through Hornet Creek twice a year in those early days, traveling up the creek in the spring, and then back down in the fall. One fall in the 1890s, as the Indians came through, they took the Hanson's little blond-haired daughter, Anna, with them. It took Rasmus two days to figure out what had happened to her, catch up with the Indians and take her back. The Indians gave him the excuse that she had wanted to come with them. This type of casual abduction by the Indians was not an altogether unusual occurrence in those days.
During the mining boom, the Hanson family made extra money by selling vegetables to miners in the Seven Devils. When their son, Bill, started school, Mrs. Hanson taught herself to read and speak English as Bill was learning to read. (You may know Bill Hanson's daughter, Mattie Thomas.)
In 1896, Rasmus hired Elisha Stevens of East Fork and Mr. Sevey of Fruitvale to build a big barn on his place that is still standing. (Does anybody know Mr. Sevey's first name? The Robertson - Sevey Ditch is 1/2 named after him.) In later years, the Hanson place belonged to Sam King, and now belongs to his son, Larry Walling.
In 1902, Soren Hanson of Hanson Creek married a neighbor girl, Dora Lakey, from the next creek up the valley. The next creek up was, of course, Lakey Creek.
The families of John and Lewis Lakey settled along this tributary of Hornet Creek that came to be named after them in 1881. In the museum, there is a small pocket watch that was given to Lewis and Pheby Lakey on their wedding day. ( I'm not sure if we have it on display right now.) If I have the story straight, they were married on their way west, near the Continental Divide. The watch is said to have started west from Kansas in 1875.
Lewis and Pheby Lakey, and their nine children, at first lived in a one room, dirt floor cabin. Even if they would have had money to buy clothes, there were no stores any closer than Weiser. Phoebe made pants for the boys out of seamless sacks. Unable to buy shoes, they often went barefoot, sometimes even in the winter.
Some of the Lakeys operated a sawmill here, and it has been said that Lewis planted the first orchard on Hornet Creek. Pheby Lakey died in 1904 or '05, and Lewis followed in 1911 . They are both buried in the Hornet Creek cemetery.
One dramatic Lakey family story from the spring of 1894 illustrates the hazards of the days before good roads. At the time, there were no bridges on the road up Hornet Creek, and Jake Lakey, his wife and baby had to cross Hornet creek several times before they made it home from Council. At one crossing, the team balked right in the middle of the swift, muddy water. Just as Jake got out to urge the team forward, the raging torrent tipped the buck board over, throwing Mrs. Lakey and their baby out into the swift water. Jake jumped toward them in time to catch the baby, and Mrs. Lakey was able to save her self by grabbing a hold of Jake's coat. By making a desperate effort, Jake was able struggle to the shore with his family intact. Their panicked, wild-eyed horses were swept away to their deaths, lunging and kicking frantically to escape a broken tangle of buck board and twisted harness.
A donation came in from Jay Thorp this week. You may remember that, some time back, I mentioned that Frank Thompson was looking for Jay. The History Corner got the two old friends in touch. That was the second time this happened. If any of you are curious about what became of an old aquaintance, let me know, and I'll mention it in this column. There are people from all over who subscribe to the Record, and may know how to get in touch with that person.
Also, a very nice donation arrived from "The Royal Order of the Golden Neckyoke Leatherhood", as a memorial in memory of Lila Downey, who was a charter member of the organization. Thank you, on behalf of the community and those who knew Lila. The letter along with the check was signed by Harold and Opal Smith. Harold did some growing up in the Bear area, and wrote quite an interesting book about mountain man, Jim Summers. His book is in the Council library.
Thanks also to those others who contributed this week. Every dollar helps and is very much appreciated.
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $1,750... we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with he name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
Don’t forget my slide show Friday night at 8:00 ;.m. in the Council Valley Free Library meeting room.
9-29-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
You have probably stopped to read the sign at the old stage stop on the summit between the Hornet Creek and Crooked River drainages. This spot along the route of our upcoming tour is known as "Kramer" or "Summit". The Summit designation is obvious. The name Kramer comes from Peter and Martha Kramer who came to live here at least as early as 1899. It was in November of that year that Pete got the mail contract between Council and Cuprum.
By 1900, a combination saloon and hotel called the Summit House was doing business here, run by the Ross Brothers - probably Dick and James, but I'm not sure. Dick Ross had a homestead just west of Kramer, and the Creek there is named after him. Dick was the City Marshal in Council in 1909, and a pair of brass knuckles that he confiscated from a trouble maker is on display in the Museum. James Ross briefly owned the Overland Hotel which, until the fire or 1915, stood where the Ace / Grubsteak building is now.
By 1901, Pete Kramer had a stage leaving Council six days a week at 7 AM and arriving at Cuprum about 6 PM. It also went on to Landore and Decorah. This schedule varied over time. For a while, the stage traveled from Council to the Devils on Mon., Weds. and Fri., stopping at Summit (which was about halfway to the mining district) for the night, and continuing on the next day. I think another stage took passengers the opposite direction, back to Council, on a similar schedule. At various times, there were also stage stops at Lick Creek (where the OX Ranch headquarters are now) and at Bear.
At its peak of activity, Summit was quite a busy place. On the west side of the road there was the Kramer house, which doubled as a hotel. Martha Kramer cooked for the guests. Also on that side of the road was the post office, saloon, store and bunk house. Some of these probably shared a common building. On the east side of the road was a log barn and corrals for the horses, wagon sheds, a livery stable and blacksmith shop. Dances were often held at Summit, and people would come from miles away.
Pete Kramer was a slender, dark haired man. He was born in Germany of Danish parents, and had a heavy accent. More than one source has said that he was a man who liked liquor. It is said that by the time the stage rolled into its destination, he would sometimes be obviously drunk. His passengers were, in general, mostly men, and at times, they were also pretty well inebriated.
Over the 23 years or so that he was in business here, Pete Kramer had various drivers, routes and vehicles. In 1904, it was noted that his main rig was a four-seated mountain spring wagon, built a little on the Concord coach pattern, like the ones in the movies. One of his wagons held up to 12 people. His wheeled vehicles were generally pulled by four horses. In the winter, sleds were used, pulled by two horse teams.
The only pictures I've seen of Kramer's stages show open-top vehicles. It must have been an incredibly dusty ride in the summer when dozens of ore and freight wagons used the Council - Cuprum road. There is one photo in the museum of Kramer with a load of passengers in front of the old Pomona Hotel, and the caption notes that all in the coach were coated with dust.
Eventually, Kramer got contracts to deliver mail all the way from Council to Black Lake and Iron Springs, and down to Homestead along the Snake River. Stage drivers made $35 a month. A few of the drivers, aside from Pete Kramer himself, were Norman Nelson, Roy York, Ralph Wilkie, the notorious Tommy White and Fayette Davis.
Fayette Davis was the son of Byron and Nancy Davis, who settled the place where the Wildhorse road branches off. Fayette's wife, Mary, was the first postmaster when a post office was established at Kramer in 1907. (The post office closed in 1910.) Fayette ran the saloon there for a time.
During the winter of 1906, Kramer and Bob Barbour went together on a deal to haul 3,000 tons of copper ore from the mines to the railroad at Council. They hired 50 teams and sleds for the job. They wanted to have as many as 75 teams hauling ore, but more of the right kind of heavy sleds were hard to come by. It was reported that it took the sleds four days to make the trip. I assume they meant round trip.
By1920, things had pretty well fallen apart. The mining boom had ended. Autos and trucks were replacing the horse and wagon. Pete and Martha Kramer were divorced that year. Two years later Pete sold out and moved to Hillsboro, Oregon. In 1923, Martha apparently married a man named Stevens. M. D. Shields got the place after Kramers.
Just a couple of minor corrections from last week. It was an Indian who volunteered to go bring Anna Hanson back when the Indians took her. He advised Rasmus not to go. And it was Soren that was in school when Mrs. Hanson learned English, not Bill who came along later. Also, I'm told Mr. Sevey's first name was Loring.
We had a pretty good bunch at the slide show Friday night. Everybody seemed to enjoy it, and almost $60 were raised for the museum. My sincere thanks to those of you who turned out. There were some people who couldn't make it that night, so I plan to show the slides again at some point.
Believe it or not, the Council - Seven Devils tour is still on. There are only two Saturdays that would be practical: Oct. 22 or Nov. 5. The museum board has yet to pin it down. Tell ya what... if you are interested in the tour, give me a call. 253-4582 I'm starting a list so we can get organized. It will be an all day tour. It will be a fund raiser, so there will be a charge. If you have a big vehicle, like a suburban, and could take a couple extra passengers, that would make things go more smoothly. I hope the seniors can get a bus load to go along. I was just reading that a similar tour in 1968, with Winifred Lindsay as one of the guides, took about 200 people along!
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $1,952... we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with the name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
10-6-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Guess what? It's on! October 22, we will be taking our Council to Seven Devils Mining District Tour. If you have been following this column for the past few weeks, you know some of what lays in store on the tour. The mining district played an essential role in the history of this area. There are places along the road that you have seen as you drove past, but never knew the story of what happened there. Once you learn, that place will never be the same to you again.
Here's an example. Last Saturday, Anna, Blaine and I went on a tour of the early events in the Nez Perce War, north of Riggins. It was guided by local historian, Ace Barton. He showed us a nondescript bench where a house sits beside highway 95 that I have driven by a lot of times. It was the place where Mr. Devine, the first victim of the war, was killed with his own rifle by Nez Perce warriors. On up the highway, we saw several other scenes of violence that are right along the road. I had heard the stories before, but had never known just where things happened.
For our tour, we will meet in front of the Council library on the morning of the 22nd. Mark it on your calendar. The exact time, whether the museum will provide a lunch and whether we will charge a set price or ask for donations will be determined by the time you read this. Watch this column next week and look for posters around the area. Unfortunately, elk hunting season will still be on that weekend, but it's just about our last chance to do this before it might snow up there. We encourage anyone who can take an extra passenger to do so, in order to save on unnecessary vehicles. Some ride sharing can be arranged as we get organized on the morning of the tour. A vehicle other than a low-to-the ground car would be advised.
Here's another spot along the way that you will see on our tour: Just about a half mile past the Kramer stage stop at Summit is the former site of the Rooker sawmill. W.S. Rooker, a former business man and then Wild Horse rancher (1904 - ?), built a mill here in 1926. Although it was sometimes called the "Crooked River Sawmill", it was actually on Dick Ross Creek, a branch of Crooked River.
Early pioneers of Wild Horse built the original road out of that canyon to this point along the Council - Cuprum road. At the time, the Council - Cuprum road was across the flat from the present road, on the west side of the flat.
Rooker's logging crews and mill workers lived in tents until the mill was running and could provide lumber. Then "lumber jack shacks" were built all over the flat. The mill employed more than 30 men until it burned down in the fall of 1935.
The summer before the mill burned, a notorious accident happened here. Frank Fanning, who was about 75 years old, was working underneath the mill, probably cleaning out sawdust and pieces of slab wood that had accumulated there. Not realizing he was so near the whirling circular saw above him, he stood up right underneath it. Blood and hair sprayed the air as the saw cut through Frank's skull and into his brain cavity. Miraculously, he was not killed. In fact, the next week, Dr. Thurston announced that aside from having a metal plate where part of his skull used to be, Fanning would be "normal again after a few weeks." Frank lived another 22 years, dying in a Weiser nursing home in 1957.
Another event that happened at the Rooker mill, was that my maternal grandparents met here. My grandmother, Mae Baker - Kite, was a cook for the crews as the mill was being built in 1926. My grandfather, Russell Merk, was on a logging crew, but was hired to build an addition to the cook house where grandma was working.
If you are interested in going on the tour on the 22nd, please give me a call. This is not a necessity, but it will enable us to do better advance planning. 253-4582
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $1,962... we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with the name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
10-13-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
The spot with the most concentrated amount of history along our Oct. 22nd tour route might be the place where the Wildhorse road branches from the Council - Cuprum road.
Long before the arrival of settlers, Indians used this general location as a favorite campground.
In the late 1800's, as many as 400 head of cattle ranged the Seven Devils area. They were allowed to roam the mountains with little herding. One of the cattlemen who had stock here during that time was John McGlinchey. The McGlinchey family trailed cattle from their ranch near Payette to this area for the summer. They maintained a camp here which included a cabin that stood just to the north east of the current cattle guard. A pile of stones from the old chimney is still in evidence. Imagine what an isolated place this must have been in those days before there was a road anywhere near it. John McGlinchey owned Zim's hot springs north of New Meadows for a time. He sold it in 1904.
Byron and Nancy Davis bought this land from McGlinchey in 1890, about the time that the Kleinschmidt grade was built and mining really got started in the Seven Devils. Byron had been a scout for many emigrant wagon trains coming west, and later drove freight wagons between Umatilla Landing and Boise City. Byron's older brother, Tom Davis, came to Boise City in 1864, and planted the first orchard and some of the first shade trees. When he later gave his orchard to the city for a park, he asked that it be named after his wife. That's how Julia Davis Park was established.
The Davises built a big, two-story log house here on a stone foundation. A daughter that was stillborn is buried on the bench east of the road junction. For a while, this location was known as "Old Davis" because it was the old Davis place.
By 1912, a log school house had been built near the Davis place. It was called the Crooked River school. The school continued through the late 1920s, but by 1927, the attendance was only 4 students. This lack of students was probably what led to the closure of the school soon afterwards.
In the fall of 1931, Lee Zink, who had the mail contract from Council to Cuprum, bought the school building. He moved it a short distance, and converted it into a half-way stage station for winter use. Otto Russell lived here for a time, tending the horses that were sometimes used to relay the mail on that part of the stage line. Even though a truck was used on the mail route by this time, the roads were not well maintained in winter, and horse drawn sleds often had to be used.
An illustration of just how bad things could get on the mail route had occurred just two winters before Lee got the mail route. In the winter of 1929, Zink's predecessor on this route, Frank George, had set out for Cuprum with his mail truck, but had to abandon it after shoveling through snow drifts for several hours. He finally borrowed a team and sleigh and continued on. That team became too tired from wading the deep snow, so he borrowed another one. With relentless dedication to getting the job done, he wore out five teams of horses by the time he reached Cuprum at 12 o'clock that night. By the winter of 1932, Zink used two other men to relay the mail to Cuprum. Zink took it to Old Davis, Oscar Russell took it to Bear, and Toby Warner carried it on to Cuprum.
In late 1938, the Boise - Payette Lumber Co. (later called the Boise Cascade Corp.) sat up a portable sawmill here. A small community sprang up in conjunction with the mill, with a cook house, office building, tool shed, gas and oil house and eight portable houses. The company originally planned to saw logs here, then haul the rough lumber to Council. From there, it was to be shipped by rail to Emmett for finishing. A small dam, which is still in evidence, was built to form a log pond, but there wasn't a adequate amount of water to consistently serve that purpose very well. The plan was abandoned, and the company decided to build a sawmill at the present mill site in Council. Before the portable mill was taken down, the timbers for the framework of the first Boise - Payette sawmill in Council were sawed here. The Council mill burned down in 1958, and was replaced by the present mill.
In late 1939, Andy Anderson, a logging contractor for the Boise - Payette Company, arrived in the area, and set up his headquarters here. Soon, another school was started here for the children of his logging crew. Katie Marble was probably the first teacher. School was conducted in one half of on of the portable buildings, and the teacher lived in the other half.
After only few years, the logging operation moved on, and the community was dismantled. A number of the houses were moved to Council and set up west of the railroad tracks. Some of the present houses are remodeled versions of these previously portable homes.
The big tour is set to begin at 9 AM on the morning of October 22. Meet in the Council library parking lot. Find a friend to share a ride with if you can. I've discovered that the road will be good enough for most cars. Bring a lunch and your camera. It's going to be a memorable day of seeing the locations of historic stage stops, mines, homesteads, schools, graves, town sites, geology, etc. Because we are raising money for the museum addition, a minimum $5 per person donation is requested. If you have any questions, call me. 253-4582
10-20-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Who are you?
Think about how you would answer that question. Most of us might include something about where, and how, we were raised. We might mention major events in our lives at certain ages that made us who we are today. Without knowing how someone grew up, you can never completely know them.
Without knowing how and why a community or town grew up, you can never fully know it either.
So why is the town of Council located where it is? This place was the intersection of major trails that connected the areas north and south of here. One trail went up Hornet Creek to the Seven Devils area. Another went up the main Weiser River valley, and was used by miners and pack trains to reach Warren. The third leg of the trail connected the other two branches with all the country to the south. I'm not sure if the trails were created by Indians or whites, but I would guess they were Indian routes, adopted by whites. Apparently, the intersection of these trails was right in front (east) of where Ruben's is now. [The intersection of Moser Avenue, Illinois Ave. and Michigan Street]
I think the trail toward Hornet Creek angled to the northwest, around the western base of the hill, and then turned west, crossing the Weiser River about where the bridge is now. Later, Moser Avenue and other streets were laid out at right angles, and the more direct, original route of the trail in town was obliterated.
I'm not sure about the trail that went north, up the main valley. It may have skirted the south edge of the hill like Illinois Ave. does now, and turned north around the east edge like Galena does. I base this on the fact that Galena street was the road leading north out of town up until about 1920. It seems like I read somewhere that the area just north of the hill was quite marshy, and caused problems with the road. Can anybody confirm this? Call me.
Why was this valley settled when it was? It is the last valley up the Weiser River, and is also separated from the lower valleys by the geographic barriers of the steep, narrow canyons along the river and the hills on either side. It also has a smaller amount of farmable land than any of the lower valleys. That's why it was the last to be settled, starting for all practical purposes in 1876, eight years behind the Indian Valley and Cambridge areas.
The Seven Devils played a major role in the development Council. The mining activity there furnished employment, and a market for a variety of products, including locally grown food. But the thing that really made it possible for a town to blossom here was the railroad.
In those days, the railroad was almost literally the life-blood of a community. You have probably watched old western movies about how the fate of communities and individuals hinged on where the railroad was built. This was no Hollywood fantasy. Towns in this area, such as Salubria, Meadows and Roseberry virtually vanished after the tracks bypassed them. The railroad was the only dependable way to move people and goods. Without it, Council would have been nothing but a wide spot in the road, practically cut off from the rest of the world. The need to transport ore from the mines of the Seven Devils was the major motivation for building the railroad into the Council Valley.
This weekend you can see the places that steered Council toward its destiny. Like obsolete, discarded foundation stones of our community, the crumbling mine shafts, rotting cabins and rusting steam boilers lay scattered through the mountains. If only they could talk ... the stories they could tell.
Join us Saturday morning at 9 AM in the Library parking lot. Come along on our tour and hear some of the stories. Learn about your community and the places that made it what it is today. Bring your car. Sahre a ride if you can. Bring a picnic lunch, a camera, binoculars,, etc. The roads are good enough for most cars. We are asking for a donation to…
10-27-94
Quick riches from the earth was the dream of many around the turn of the century. While the Seven Devils were stirring with excitement in this area, there were other places that sang the siren's song. One of those was an extremely remote region of the Yukon Territory on the Klondike River. The story of the Klondike gold rush of 1898 is almost beyond belief, and is much to long to go into here. In short, a journey of incredible hardship was necessary to make it to the gold region. Three reckless young men from the Indian Valley - Salubria area, Wylie Anderson, Erwin Mickey and Jeff Saling, set out for the Klondike in March of that year.
In early April, they reached the point in the trail called Chillkoot Pass. At that time of year, it was a steep incline of snow, several hundred yards long, climbing up to the border between Alaska and Canada. Canadian Mounties were stationed at the top to enforce the rule that every person had to have enough provisions to survive the journey to the Klondike. It usually took more than one exhausting trip to get one's gear and supplies to the top of the pass. Twenty four hours a day there was a shoulder-to-shoulder line of men (and a sometimes even a few women) climbing up the icy steps that were carved into the hill.
One fateful day, there was a rumbling on the mountain above the trail, and a mass of snow and ice hurtled down the hill, burying the trail and everyone on it. About 100 people were killed. One of the victims was Jeff Saling. His companions, Anderson and Mickey, immediately returned home - thoroughly disillusioned.
Two years later (1900), there was a similar gold rush to Nome, Alaska. Gold nuggets had been found on the beaches there, and it caused immense excitement. My grandfather, Jim Fisk, was an experienced metal worker, and earned his passage to Nome on a steamship as the steamfitter on board the ship. He said that even before the ship docked, men were jumping over the sides and dashing up to the beach, expecting to pick up hands full of nuggets.
Meanwhile (1900), in Council, the long awaited railroad was coming, and it caused as much excitement and uproar as any gold rush. Several hundred men were in the area, building the railroad grade. Buildings were going up right and left. Downtown Council went from a few stores and a blacksmith shop gathered around a town square to looking like a real town in a very short time. New people were moving in faster than the old timers could keep up. As was often was the case with new railroad towns, part of that influx was an element of society that Council could have done without.
On a Friday night in January of 1900, the owner of one of the new hotels in Council gave a dance to celebrate the opening of his establishment. Dan Moore was "calling" the dances - deciding whether the next tune would be a waltz, a shoddish, etc., and calling the movements if it was to be a square dance. Sam Harphan, undoubtedly influenced by the liquid refreshment provided for the occasion, became angry with Moore for calling the wrong kinds of songs. The obnoxious Harphan kept harassing Moore throughout the evening until, finally, it came to blows.
During their tussle, Harphan pulled a revolver and leveled it at Moore. The explosion of the shot rocked the room. The startled crowd, their ears ringing, turned to see Mrs. Fisher wincing with pain. The bullet has missed Moore and hit her. Moore pulled his own pistol, and shot twice, killing Harphan on the spot. The paper didn't say how seriously Mrs. Fisher was wounded. Evidently, the law took no action toward Moore, since it was obviously an act of self defense.
Only five months later (June of 1900), another malcontent caused a similar incident in Council. Charles Bowman had been hanging around the saloons of Council for two days, imbibing freely in their stock and trade. One of the establishments that Bowman had patronized was the Headquarters Saloon, owned and operated by George Bassett. The saloon was said to have also had a restaurant in connection, and prostitutes upstairs.
Before he was finished with his holiday on the town, Bowman discovered that he was flat broke. Feeling that the saloon must have taken advantage of him, he went approached the bartender and demanded a refund. The bartender refused, and Bowman left. A short time later, Bowman returned and repeated his demand, this time at gunpoint. The Cambridge Citizen newspaper noted that, "Just at that juncture the bar-tender had business behind the bar in the region of the floor,..." About that time, Mr. Bassett walked in, and Bowman turned the gun on him. Bassett, evidently prepared for this turn of events, leveled his own weapon and fired. Bowman was hit in the stomach, and one arm was shattered at the elbow . Dr. Loder was called to the scene, amputated Bowman's arm and did what he could for the man, but the wounds were too serious. Bowman died a day or two later. Apparently, the law took a similar view of this shooting.
Bassett later opened a second Headquarters saloon in Decorah. It was the opulent sin palace that Winifred Brown Lindsay remembered seeing when she was a girl, after the saloon had closed down. For those of you who went on our tour Saturday, I have figured out that Decorah really was on the wider flat just around the corner from the sign where we stopped. Bassett's saloon, from Lindsay's description, was on the right (east) side of the road, and had a lawn that extended back to the creek.
The Mining District tour was a big success. Forty - five people came along, with 13 vehicles. There were a couple people from Weiser and Payette, at least three from Cambridge and three from New Meadows. In spite of dire predictions of rain and / or snow, it was a beautiful (but a little chilly) fall day. The icing on the cake was that the tour raised more money for the museum than I had dared to hope: $431.00! Thanks go to all of you who took part in the tour, especially to Kevin Gray and Gayle Dixon for their help and generosity. Our fund now stands at about $2413.00 Stay tuned.
11-3-94
One of the things that makes history interesting is seeing how different things were in the past. And one thing that has changed around Council is the way people make a living.
A lot of homesteaders came here with what seemed like a vague idea of how they were going to survive. I wonder if many of them really knew what they were in for. It seems like they sometimes selected land that had no chance of growing enough to supply an income. To survive, a lot of them took whatever odd job was available whenever it was available. Come to think of it, there are people who move here now with the same approach, so maybe things haven't changed much in that regard.
At the turn of the century, it was said that the principle industries of the area were farming, stock raising, mining and lumbering. "Lumbering" centered on small sawmills scattered about the vicinity. Of course all the work was done with hand tools and horses, with the exception of the saw and carriage at the mill itself. It hardly resembled the modern industry we know today, which started in the late 1930s with the advent of practical chain saws. Even so, lumbering provided a good many local, seasonal jobs.
In the early days, it seemed like everybody and his dog around Council had a mining claim somewhere. In 1890, Idaho ranked third in the nation for total income from mining. Montana was in first place, followed by Colorado. Local claims were worked whenever the owners had the time. Frank Mathias and Lewis Winkler spent so much time at the Golden Rule mine, up on the South Fork of the Salmon someplace, that it was pretty much their second occupation. All winter they mostly did blacksmithing, but in the spring they would disappear for the summer.
Placer miners had to get to their claims as early as possible in the spring so that they could take advantage of the available water flow in nearby creeks. Water was needed to wash the gold out of the ore. Often times, on mountain claims, the water would only last a short time in the spring before it dried up. This type of work must have been wet, muddy and cold early in the season.
At one time there were actually coal mines on the Middle Fork of the Weiser River. The first mention I found of one was in the spring of 1895, when Ed Barbour was reported to have discovered a vein of coal there, "...six miles above Farleigh's old mill". He found pieces of coal that measured eight inches square.
In 1899, the Salubria Citizen paper noted coal deposits on Crane Creek and Middle Fork. It said that the Middle Fork coal had been used by local blacksmiths for several years. That same year, the Seven Devils Standard reported that a coal vein had been found on Rapid River near Pollock Mountain. It was said to have been "between bituminous and anthracite" in nature, and burned readily.
In 1905, The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal reported that Ben Shaw, C.A. Barber "and others" had found a four foot wide vein of coal near the warm springs on Middle Fork. It said a big slab of "absolutely pure coal" measuring 4' X 4' X 8' was found far down in the canyon a number of years before, and many had been looking for where it came from on the hillside above. In January of the 1909, Charley Whiteley and John Kesler were working the mine.
Does anybody have any idea where these coal deposits were? Has anyone heard of Farleigh's sawmill on Middle Fork, or know where it was? And while I'm on that general area, somebody told me about a corral somewhere in the hills between Cottonwood Creek and Mill Creek that is said to have been used by outlaws (?). If you have any info on any of these, please let me know. 253-4582
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $2,413.. we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project.
11-10-94!
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
This week I'm going to back up to more or less the beginning, and start a series of articles.
We are all immigrants here in Idaho, but some of us have been here a few thousand years longer than others. The first humans wandered across the Bering Strait land bridge from north east Asia to North America at the end of the last ice age. The archaeological evidence is still being collected and evaluated, but so far seems to indicate that the first humans arrived in what is now Idaho in the neighborhood of about 14,000 years ago. One site in Southern Idaho contains human artifacts dated at 17,000 years ago, but this date is not universally accepted.
During the first era after human arrival here, it appears that this part of Idaho was used lightly by people who mostly passed through it. For a long time, the climate for these early Idahoans was cooler and wetter than it is now. Most of their activities centered on the valleys along the Snake, Boise and other major rivers. Then, about 4,000 to 6,000 years ago, the annual precipitation began to decrease and the temperatures rose. This brought a climate something like we have today. Much of southern Idaho became a desert. Because water was more abundant here in the higher valleys along the upper Weiser River, they became more populated.
The oldest directly dated native burial site in western Idaho was discovered on the DeMoss ranch at the southern end of the Meadows Valley in 1985. Craig DeMoss was digging out a spring with a backhoe (a standard archaeological tool for dedicate work) to get more water to flow, when he started seeing human remains. The Indian graves there are estimated to be about 6,000 years old.
By the time the second group of immigrants arrived on this continent, this time traveling west from Europe, two general groups of people had established themselves in what is now Idaho. To an extent, the two native groups were separated by the natural geographic barriers of Hells Canyon, the Seven Devils mountains and the rugged country along the Salmon River. To the north of these boundaries, was the "Shahaptian" or "Plateau" culture, which primarily consisted of the Nez Perce tribe. To the south, was the Basin culture, composed mostly of the Shoshoni tribe. The west central edge of Idaho south of the Snake River, and eastern Oregon was home to the Paiute tribe.
The Shoshoni, made up of several subgroups, were an offshoot of the Comanche tribe, and the two tribes had a common language up until sometime between 1700 and 1800. In his journal of a wagon trip across Idaho in 1853, Henry Allyn spelled out, phonetically, the way that the Shoshoni pronounced the name of their tribe as "Shaw-shaw-nee".
The Shoshoni as a whole were often referred to as the "Snake" Indians. There are several stories as to why they came to be called by this name, but the most plausible one claims that a hand movement the Shoshoni used in "saying" their tribal name with sign language was a wiggling motion reminding one of a snake. Interestingly, I saw a Western movie on TV recently, involving Comanche Indians. A Comanche in this movie used a snake like movement in saying the name of his tribe in sign language. I'd like to know if this was based on reality. It makes sense, considering the Comanche's shared linguistic history with the Shoshonis.
The names given to various Shoshoni subgroups can be confusing because they have been called different names by different people. Whites often had trouble translating Indian names, and many times uncaringly came up with a bastardized terms that were "close enough", or they simply made up their own names for the natives. One of these names for the poorest of the Shoshoni who managed to survive in the deserts of southern Idaho was "Diggers". Many of the tribe names that are used today, including "Nez Perce", are non-native labels bestowed by whites.
Aside from the standard name of "the people", used by all tribes in whatever language they spoke, even the Indians themselves were not consistent, by white cultural standards, in what they called themselves. Sometimes it depended on where they were and what they were doing at the time. For instance, when northern bands of the Shoshoni were in the mountains where they often hunted mountain sheep, they called themselves "Tukadeka" (Sheep Eaters).
In general, the Indians in the northern part of the Shoshoni territory were called "Northern" or "Mountain" Shoshoni. The Mountain Shoshoni group most commonly known as the Sheep Eaters were made up of scattered groups who ranged across the Seven Devils and Salmon River areas. They survived by constantly moving from one place to another in small family groups, over a large territory. During the summer, they roamed the headwaters of the Weiser, Payette, Boise, and Salmon Rivers, and wintered in lower elevations such as along the main Salmon and Snake Rivers. Big Bar, in the upper Hells Canyon, was a favorite wintering spot. When Charlie Warner farmed at the mouth of Kinney Creek along the Snake River in the early days, he found old sun-bleached mountain goat and mountain sheep horns that Indians had left hanging in the brush there.
The Indians who spent a great deal of time in the general Weiser River drainage, were sometimes called the Weiser Shoshoni or "Weisers" by whites. They were not necessarily a completely separate group from the Sheep Eaters, and in some old accounts are referred to as such. The Weisers traveled in small family groups during the summer, but often had a common winter camp at Indian Valley, or near the mouth of Crane Creek.
To some extent the Shoshoni shared the northern and western edges of their territory with the Nez Perce and the Paiute tribes. On the north, the Nez Perce sometimes hunted and fished in the Seven Devils, Hells Canyon, and the upper reaches of the Weiser and Little Salmon Rivers. As a result of contact with the Nez Perce, the Weisers adopted some elements of the Nez Perce life-style, such as heavy dependence on Salmon and Steelhead as a food source. The interaction was generally, but not always, cordial. Over the centuries there were times when the Shoshoni and Nez Perce fought each other.
Relations between the Shoshoni and their Paiute neighbors to the west was also generally friendly. The Paiutes that often lived with the buffalo hunting Shoshonis of Idaho and Wyoming became known as "Bannocks".
I would like to thank Helen Robertson of Payette for a nice donation made in the memory of her late husband, Fred Robertson. Fred passed away 20 years ago at the Robertson's cabin at Cuprum.
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $2,490... we need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with the name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
11-17-94
History Corner
As with most native Americans, the life-style of the Mountain Shoshoni can be divided into at least two eras: before the horse, and after the horse. Before the Weiser Indians acquired the horse (probably around 1750), they were a quite different people from the classic romanticized image we have of the "noble red man". In the summer, they lived in woven grass mat lodges, or temporary shelters made by placing deer hides or other skins over a frame of willow branches. Their style of dress was simple and plain. It's hard to imagine Indians without fancy beadwork, but before Europeans introduced trade beads to Native Americans, the Weisers used porcupine quills, what sea shells they could acquire through trade, and other natural materials to decorate themselves.
Another item that has become synonymous with Native Americans is the bow and arrow. But it was not until only about 1,000 years ago that they acquired this weapon. Until that time, the atalatal was the only means they had of throwing a projectile. The projectile was dart that was a little like a cross between an arrow and a light spear. Most of the so called "arrow heads" that we find today were actually points used on atalatal darts. Arrow points were generally smaller, and are sometimes misnamed "bird points" by people who find them today. After they acquired the bow and arrow, Shoshoni bows made of wood and laminated with mountain sheep horn were highly prized among Indians all over the West.
The source for much of the obsidian that the Shoshoni used for projectile points came from Timber Butte, north east of Emmett. When highway 95 was rerouted down the north side of Mesa Hill in the 1970s, a locally used Indian quarry for stone tool materials uncovered when the cut was made though the small hill just south of the Middle Fork bridge.
Before the horse, the Shoshoni eked out a subsistence by hunting primarily small game, and making optimum use of well over 100 species of plants. They sometimes used poison tipped arrows, had snow shoes, and used dogs for hunting and as pack animals.
Winter was always a challenge to their survival. One of the first, life saving foods that could be harvested when spring arrived was the root of the arrow leaf balsam root, sometimes locally known as sunflowers. The first run of Salmon was also a vital, early-season food source. The Weiser River was a major salmon spawning stream, with several species running up the river at different times over the summer. The Shoshoni would gather at various locations along the Weiser to harvest the fish, generally catching them in nets. Two other staples of the Weiser Indian's diet was dried chokecherries and service berries. They returned to this area to pick these berries up until the early 1900s.
In the mid 1700s, the Shoshonis acquired horses, most probably from their Comanche cousins to the south. The Nez Perce acquired their first horses from the Shoshonis. Although some have claimed the Nez Perce acquired horses from plains tribes, this seems improbable. The Shoshoni were more closely tied to the Nez Perce, both socially and geographically. Plus, there is a Nez Perce story of how they got their first horses from the Shoshoni and took them back over a trail through the Seven Devils.
After the Shoshonis got horses, they were able to travel much farther, hunt big game animals more often, and meet socially in larger groups. For the Weiser Indians the horse brought more frequent contact with the Nez Perce, plus new contacts and trade with more distant tribes. As many other tribes had, the Shoshoni adopted many of the elements of Plains Indian life-style including living in hide tipis, wearing more stylish clothing such as feathered headdresses and war decorations, and practicing certain dances of Plains origins. In general, between the coming of the horse, and the arrival of the white man, they enjoyed a period of greater prosperity than they had ever known.
The more conservative, isolated Sheep Eater groups who lived farther back in the mountains, did not adopt many of the new ways. Because of the harsh terrain, they didn't even make much use of the horse. Although they spoke the same language as other Shoshonis, they retained an older, slower style of speech. The other Shoshoni groups thought of these Sheep Eaters as being quite backwards. Max Pavesic, the archeology professor at BSU, says the Shoshoni felt toward these Sheep Easters a little like we would feel about ignorant hillbillies.
Stay tuned.
11-24-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
The first white people to enter Idaho were those of the Lewis and Clark expedition on their way west in 1805. On their return journey from the coast in 1806, a party was sent to the Salmon River from their camp near Kamiah to gather fish. The party did not go far toward the Seven Devils beyond the confluence of the Snake and Salmon Rivers, but mentioned that both rivers appeared "to enter a high and mountainous country".
Lewis and Clark asked some of their Indian guides to draw a map for them, showing the principle rivers of the region. When the Indians obliged, their drawing showed a great river flowing across Southern Idaho and swinging north to near where the expedition was camped. Lewis and Clark called this body of water "Lewis's River", but it later became known as the "Snake River" because of the dominance of the "Snake" Indians along its course in southern Idaho. In making their own map of the North West to take back to President Jefferson, Lewis and Clark drew in other rivers, based on native descriptions, and named the various rivers after members of their party. The Weiser River was named after Peter Weiser (or
"Wiser", as Lewis spelled it). There was some confusion later as to the origin of the name when a well known trapper named Jack Weiser became one of the first white men to trap in the Weiser River area.
The first whites to venture close to Council came west with an expedition sent by John Jacob Astor. Astor expanded his fur company interests to the north west coast in the spring of 1811 by establishing fort Astoria near the mouth of the Columbia River. Aside from the limited exploration of Lewis and Clark, the area inland from there was unknown territory to whites. Astor knew that the Columbia was somewhat navigable, and if he could find a route from the head waters of the Missouri River to the Columbia he would be several jumps ahead of everyone else in exploiting the new territory.
The same year (1811), Astor hired Wilson Price Hunt, to locate such a route. After reaching the Henry's Fork of the Snake River in October, Hunts expedition made dugout canoes from cottonwood trees, and proceeded in these crude boats down the river. By the time the Hunt expedition reached a spot near the present site of the town of Burley, they were thoroughly defeated by the river. They found they could no longer ride out the rapids, and often could not climb out of the canyon to go around them. The party, which consisted of 65 people, including a seven months pregnant Indian woman and her two children (ages 2 and 4), had lost much of their gear, and was virtually without food. The party split into five groups. Three main groups continued north and west, each trying a different route.
The group led by Hunt cut north to near present day Boise, then on to where the town of Weiser would later be established. From there, they proceeded up the Weiser River, then up Mann Creek to its head, and back to the Snake. As they continued down the river toward Hells Canyon, on the 6th of December, Hunt's party rejoined one of the other groups from the original expedition. Here, Hunt was informed that the mountains on the west side of Hells Canyon seemed impassible, but that the remaining party under Donald McKenzie had continued north on the east side of the river. All three divisions of the expedition had seen no game, and was on the brink of starvation.
It seems strange that the Hunt expedition saw no deer along the Snake River as they approached the Hells Canyon area in that December and January. That area now has been the wintering ground of great herds of deer for many decades.
Hunt decided to try a route north through the Weiser River valleys to reach the Columbia River. This route made sense, even with our present knowledge of Idaho geography. These valleys are the least mountainous way to reach the Salmon River drainage from southern Idaho. This may well have been why the Weiser River was so familiar to the Nez Perce that Lewis and Clark encountered. However, the Shoshoni that Hunt encountered along the Weiser convinced him that the snow was too deep in this direction.
Hunt then tried to get a Indians to guide him over an alternate route toward the west. These natives must have thought Hunt was out of his mind to be trying such a journey in the dead of winter, and they wanted no part of it. After much arm twisting, and several gifts, Hunt was able to convince one of the Shoshoni men to guide his party over the Blue Mountains and on to the Columbia. The route they followed, with slight changes, later became a portion of the Oregon Trail.
One has to wonder why the snow would have been too deep to the north of the Weiser River drainage. The highest point, between the Weiser and Salmon Rivers by modern road is between Price Valley and New Meadows, and is not significantly higher in elevation than Council. From there, a trip down the Little and main Salmon Rivers would have been hampered by relatively little snow. If the main trail used by natives to reach areas to the north was a route resembling the Boise - Lewiston Trail route through the Seven Devils, then it would indeed have been impossible to have made such a journey in winter.
12-1-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Donald McKenzie led the group from Wilson Price Hunt's expedition that had forged on north along the east side of the Snake River. McKenzie was a rugged Scotsman from Canada. Weighing over 300 pounds, this red-headed giant had tremendous physical strength and endurance, and was so energetic that he earned the nick name "Perpetual Motion". He was very experienced in the fur business, and had a natural ability to lead men. McKenzie was later to become governor of the Territory of Manitoba, Canada.
McKenzie's party of ten men had no horses or food. As they struggled along the snowless breaks of the Snake River, they took a route high up on the ridge tops. Although they could often see the river far below them, they suffered terribly from thirst. Try as they might, they could find no game to shoot. Desperate for food, the men dug out an old beaver hide from one of the packs, and ate it.
Finally, probably near the Seven Devils Mountains, the weakened and exhausted group was caught in a snow storm. Their situation seemed utterly hopeless. Finding a sheltered place, they sat down and tried to resign themselves to certain death. It was then that one of the men looked out through the swirling blizzard, and beheld a sight that must have made him think he was hallucinating. There, not far up the hill, was a bighorn sheep! The animal was humped up under a rocky overhang, seeking shelter from the storm just as they were. It must have taken almost all the strength the man had left to make his way to a spot where he could get a shot at the sheep. He managed to drop the animal where it stood, which was fortunate. Had the sheep been able to run any distance in that steep country, the men may well have been too weak to follow it.
It's hard to imagine the elation these men must have felt. Their lives were saved. No one knows just where this fortuitous event occurred; it would be interesting to know the spot. Not doubt the men of the McKenzie party would have thought it appropriate to erect a monument on this location.
After a difficult journey that totaled 21 days, the McKenzie group reached the confluence of the Salmon and Snake Rivers. Historians have speculated the course taken by these men, and to make a long story short, nobody really knows. They probably followed what would become known as the Boise-Lewiston Trail part of the way, but it is doubtful that they traveled through the most rugged part of the Seven Devils. They probably cut to the east, and may have traveled through some part of the Rapid River drainage. They may even have gone father to the east through Price Valley and hit the Little Salmon before the main Salmon. At any rate, on the Salmon River they encountered Nez Perce Indians who took care of them, and helped them continue down the Salmon, and on to the Snake and Columbia Rivers. They arrived at Fort Astoria in February, about a month ahead of Hunt.
In 1813, John Reid, a former member of the McKenzie's group from the Hunt expedition, returned to the mouth of the Boise River to establish a trapping camp. With him was the Indian woman, Marie Dorion, her husband and two of her children. Everyone in this outfit, except for Marie and her children, was killed by Bannock Indians early the following spring.
Donald McKenzie returned to this same area with a large group in the fall of 1818, to trap and establish friendly relations with, and between, the Indians of the region. In this party was Jack Weiser after whom the Weiser River has mistakenly thought to be named. Also in the group was a Canadian named Francois Payette, after whom the town of Payette, the Payette River, and the Payette National Forest are named. Francois Payette trapped and explored this part of Idaho off and on for about 18 years, and is said to be considered by some historians as one of the most important figures in the early history of southwestern Idaho.
At the time of McKenzie's return to Idaho, there was a great deal of fighting going on between the Shoshoni and the Nez Perce and other Shahptin-speaking groups. There was also a constant problem with vicious Blackfoot war parties raiding deep into Idaho from Montana. After a number of council meetings, McKenzie was able to bring relative peace, at least between the Idaho tribes.
In the eastern states, it had been the practice of whites to induce Indians to do the actual work of trapping, in exchange for trade goods. In the west, however, the male natives generally spurned trapping as women's work, but by the time McKenzie left the area in 1821, many of the Shoshoni had begun to trap.
During McKenzie's escapades in the Idaho area, he wanted to see for himself whether the Hells Canyon route was practical for travel. About 1819, he and a party of men pulled a barge up the Snake River, starting from the mouth of the Clearwater River. After almost two months of superhuman effort, they actually made it through, but it obviously was not worth it. Nearly 50 years passed before anyone was foolhardy enough to venture onto this stretch of the river with a boat.
The first recorded mention of exploration of the Weiser River drainage is that of a trapping excursion led by Alexander Ross in 1824. By 1826, American trappers had penetrated deep into the Weiser River country as far as Payette Lake, and the Weiser River had become one of the area's prime sources of beaver pelts.
12-8-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
The next expedition to venture near the Weiser River area was that of Captain Benjamin Bonneville. In 1832, Bonneville took a leave of absence from the U.S. Army to lead an exploratory expedition through the Northwest. Since claim to much of this territory in the was in contention between the United States and England, it was suspected that Bonneville might have been spying for the United States. No one has ever determined whether this was true or not.
By this time, more outposts had been established in the vicinity of the Columbia River. After spending some time at a base camp in southern Idaho, Bonneville set out for Fort Walla Walla. Apparently Bonneville, like Wilson Price Hunt, was either undaunted by a journey of several hundred miles in the dead of winter, or else he was not aware of the rigors of the terrain and climate he was to encounter. He began this journey on Christmas day of 1833, with 3 men, cutting across southern Idaho through the Snake River plain. Upon reaching the Blue Mountains, they encountered too much snow to continue west. As they had already traveled part of the way on the frozen surface of the Snake River, a decision was made to return to the Snake, and continue in this fashion down the river through Hells Canyon. To their disappointment, the weather had warmed, and the water had become relatively free of ice except for narrow ribbons along the banks, and occasional ice "bridges" that spanned the river. In spite of this, they went on, mostly using the ground along the shore when it was not too steep to do so.
Imagine what it must have been like for these men when they tested the ice. Picture yourself hundreds of miles from even the most crude outpost of civilization, in the dead of winter, on the back of a bug-eyed, snorting horse, as he edges across the rumbling, settling ice, while untold millions of gallons of water plunges mere inches below you through the deepest canyon in North America. What must the nerves of these men endured on that last stretch of creaking ice before they admitted that it was just too foolish to continue?
Where the ice was too thin and rocky cliffs plunged straight down to the water, the party sometimes climbed far up the side of the canyon. At one point, two of their horses fell into the river. One of these horses was rescued, but the other was swept away by the rushing water.
It is thought that they made it about as far as the mouth of Thirty-two Point Creek (just across the Snake from Sawpit Creek and Sheep Rock) before the steep walls of rock on either side made it impossible to continue down the river bank, and travel on the ice became too risky.
The party then tried to climb over the mountains on the west side of the river, but after making it almost to the summit, they could find no way through this incredibly rugged country. Their only alternative was to go back down the way they had come, but this proved even more difficult than the climb up had been. After an exhausting ordeal, using rappelling ropes, they were able to get both themselves and their horses safely back to the river.
At this point, they considered killing their horses, drying the meat for food, and using the hides to make boats in which to continue down the Snake. Before resorting to this dangerous alternative, they decided to try once again to climb over the mountains to the west. Knowing what we now know about the nature of the Snake River through Hell's Canyon, can you imagine trying to ride the rapids in a horse hide bull boat? I would have almost certainly have been the last mistake Bonneville ever made.
The party back-tracked about four miles up river where they found a more passable, though still difficult, route over the summit, and succeeded in reaching the Imnaha River. There, the starved and exhausted group found some Nez Perce Indians who fed and cared for them, and eventually guided them to Fort Walla Walla. The Nez Perce had always been friendly to whites. Captain Bonneville, as well as Lewis and Clark, noted that the Nez Perce were among the most friendly Indians they encountered in the West. This tribe continued to befriend white people up until about 45 years later when their kindness and friendship was rewarded with murder, imprisonment, and the theft of everything they held sacred.
Accounts written by Washington Irving of the hardships of the Bonneville and Wilson Price Hunt expeditions in the Hells Canyon area were widely read, with the result that the canyon, and the Wallowa and Seven Devils mountains on either side of it, were avoided, and remained relatively unexplored by whites for many years.
About 1834, the Hudson's Bay Company built Fort Boise on the Snake River. Two years later, the fort was moved to a location near the mouth of the Boise River under the charge of Francois Payette.
About 1840, the fur trade started to decline because of low prices in the East. As the white trappers faded from the scene along the Weiser River, the Indians went back to their old, undisturbed life-style. However, storm clouds were brewing on the eastern horizon.
12-15-94
History Corner
I got word from the courthouse last week that they were cleaning house and had some things the museum might want. The most exciting thing they had was a stack of Adams County Leader newspapers from 1918 and 1919. Until now, there were only three copies of 1918 Leaders remaining in existence, even on microfilm. Now we have ten more. There were no copies of 1919 Leaders before this find of 42 out of a possible 52 issues!
The Leader office was moved around town several times before it ended up where it is now.
In one of the moves, all of the back issues for 1916 through 1919 that were kept in the Leader office were lost. Former County Clerk, Matilda Moser, who was a member of the first family to settle in the Council Valley, was responsible for initially saving the issues found in the courthouse. She saved her issues of the paper for many years. The courthouse gang also gave us back issues that Matilda had saved for 1925 and 1948 through 1953. We will keep them at the museum with some other ones from various years. The Leader office also has these years issues on file, and they are on microfilm at the State Library in Boise.
There are lots of records that the County stores for a few years and then discards. Most of them are pretty boring statistics - records of routine expenditures, etc. Once in awhile something interesting pops up. In some receipts issued to Sheriff Ed Wade during the summer of 1941 there were some interesting expenses: 100 miles @ 7 cents per mile to investigate "Arizona cars with wild animals, supposed to the same people that were run out of Canyon County".
The same mileage rates were paid for these duties: Investigate two people "living in adultery" - "let get license at Council" ... "Move destitute woman from Hornet Creek to Mesa in order to keep them off Adams County" ... "Clear highway of crippled horse. Reported by Fred Muller." ... "Get prisoner at Weiser for stealing 1 1/2 ton Chevy truck from Mesa" ... "Get prisoner at Walla Walla, Wash. and return to Council" ..."Wreck South of Council - L.V. Davis - two trips in cleaning up wreck and taking party to hospital." I'll bet what goes on at the sheriffs office nowadays is just as interesting.
On many of the otherwise uninteresting documents that were being discarded were the signatures of some of Council's "Landmarks": sheriff William F. Winkler = signed as "W.F. Winkler", large, bold, sweeping across the page ... Geo. A. Winkler = energetic and sweeping, but not as big as uncle Bill's ... Fred E. Weed = stylish, moderate in size ... Matilda Moser = classic, flawless script right out of the penmanship primer ... Sheriff Chester Selby (Loraine Ludwig's father) = large and easily read ... William Lemon (Leader editor, probate judge, owner of the Pomona Hotel, and owner of the big ,square, stucco building next to the Leader office) = signed as "Wm Lemon" with the W and the L very large and stylish ... Sheriff Frank Yantis = a large, stylish F, plain Y, moderate size over all.
I thank Mike Fisk and the others at the court house for thinking of the museum. If anyone else has "junk" that might be historically interesting, please let me know.
After my inquiry about an outlaw corral somewhere in the hills east of Council a few weeks ago, someone told me about the remains of an old corral and cabin up Camp Crk. Sounded like it is on a ridge on the south "breaks" of the creek somewhere. Anybody know the story on this?
Since this column is so fragmented already, I'll go off on another tangent that is more or less related to history. This time of year you always hear a lot about people who "have forgotten the true meaning of Christmas." In order to understand the "true meaning" or "original meaning" of something, it pays to look at its history.
Way back before most religions were established, people were mighty glad for the time of year when the days stopped getting shorter and started getting longer. This happens on or about the 21st of December by our modern calendar. They used to call it the "Ule Tide" because it was kind of like the low tide of the ocean as it reaches the lowest point and then starts rising again. The celebration of this season was about the return of the sun to bring more light to the world. A few thousand years later, Christian missionaries decided to subvert this "pagan nonsense" with their own idea of a return of "the light of the world". Even though most historians and theologists agree that Jesus was probably born closer to summer time, they began to promote the season as the time of year to celebrate of the birth of their Messiah, Jesus. Since "The Church" dominated European culture and governments for quite a period we now have an indelibly established Christian tradition of "Christmas" in our culture.
There is a similar story behind Easter. That's why we have such a strange mixture of eggs, bunnies and sunrise church services.
So if you disagree with the way someone observes or doesn't observe Christmas, stop and realize that the tradition is thoroughly man made, and is not the original one. There is no reason why everyone - Jews, Muslims, atheists and Christians alike - should not make this season special in their own way.
I hope you have a very merry Christmas / Ule Tide.
12-22-94
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
In 1840, a branch of the Oregon Trail was established over the Blue Mountains, and by 1843 there was a flood of immigrants coming through the Boise area on their way to western Oregon. One of the wagons that came through on this route in the 1840's was that of the Allen family. Traveling with them on their way to the present site of Portland, Oregon was their young son, Levi Allen, who was later to play a key role in the history of the Seven Devils and the valleys along the Weiser River.
In 1846, the United States acquired what is now the Northwestern U.S. in a division of territory with the British, and even more settlers came through on their way to Oregon. Although the Weiser Indians were not directly influenced by the hordes of people, wagons and livestock, their neighbors along the Snake found the camp sites they had carefully used for untold generations destroyed. The camps and streams were filthy from the immigrant's domestic animals, and the surrounding areas were bare of grass, and stripped of fuel for fires. The Indians of the arid Snake River plain, who had already had to struggle to scratch out a subsistence, "... had to watch their food sources destroyed by whites ignorant of Indian culture and blind to the delicate balance of the area's natural resources."
Deprived of their usual sources of life, the Shoshonis and Paiutes resorted to preying on wagon trains to survive: stealing horses and livestock. Whites retaliated, and the situation quickly escalated into full scale war.
In 1854, Fort Boise was abandoned because of this serious "Indian uprising". For a number of years, native Idahoans along the Snake River massacred whites at every opportunity. Aside from futile efforts by military authorities, most of what is now Southern and Central Idaho was practically "given back" to the Indians. It was expected the vicinity would remain unsettled for another 50 years except as a stopping point for travelers who dared to pass through on the Oregon Trail under heavy military protection.
But the discovery of gold along the Clearwater River started the beginning of the end of this hostile standoff between the races. I've already written about the pivotal year of 1862 in this column - Levi Allen's discovery of copper in the Seven Devils, Goodale's cutoff, Dunham Wright's adventure and the gold rush to the Boise Basin.
At this time, most people came to settle or prospect in Idaho from more settled areas to the west of here, usually via the Columbia River. The town of Boise City was established in 1863. Freight started to be shipped to Boise from a landing along the Columbia at Umatilla, in a sort of reverse flow of the usual Oregon Trail traffic of immigrants. It was not until later that central Idaho became a planned destination for supplies and settlers from points south and east, as "civilization" filled in the vast unsettled areas in those directions.
I would like to thank Tom Gaston for a generous donation to the museum. Our balance is now about $2670.00 This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. We need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with the name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
1-5-95
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Soon after Idaho Territory was established, the valleys along the Weiser River began to be settled. The first non-natives to live along the Weiser were William and Nancy Logan who ran away from their parent's homes near Baker to get married about 1863.
At the time, Old's Ferry was about to be established to cross the Snake River at Farewell Bend about 12 miles below the mouth of the Weiser River. The Oregon Trail crossed to the west side of the Snake River at Fort Boise, near the mouth of the Boise River.
The Logans figured that wagons traveling the Oregon Trail would soon be continuing along the east side of the Snake until they reached the easier and safer crossing provided by the new ferry.
As things turned out, they were right, and they took advantage of the fact. The young couple built a house of willows and mud along the new route near the mouth of the Weiser River, and operated a successful road house for a short time.
When Thomas Galloway and Woodson Jeffreys arrived at the present site of Weiser in 1864, the area was nothing but sagebrush desert. Galloway opened a stage station and supply house, and generally catered to the traveling public. The location soon became known as "Dead Fall". In 1866, Jeffreys established the first post office here, under the name "Weiser Ranch". The post office was closed in 1870, but reopened in 1871 as "Weiser". The location changed official title again in 1878 or 1880 to "Weiser Bridge".
All of these activities took place at what is now the east end of the town of Weiser, close to the Weiser River. The name "Weiser Bridge" derived from the fact that there was now a bridge here across that river. After the railroad arrived in 1882, the main part of town shifted to the west, to its present location. In 1883, the name was changed permanently back to "Weiser". The original section of Weiser was sometimes referred to as "old town".
Before hordes of fortune seekers started occupying Idaho, fighting between Indians and whites had been mostly restricted to the area along the Oregon Trail. But after the non-native invasion of Idaho in 1862, the friction spread over a wider area.
During the 1860s, whites in Northern California, Nevada, Eastern Oregon, Idaho and Montana were in a virtual state of siege as Indians rampaged anywhere they could. The government tried a combination of treaties and military force to stop the depredation. At first, nothing seemed to work. Resentment toward the Indians grew to the point that statements were openly made in public newspapers advocating genocide. In 1867, one upstanding citizen recommended inviting all the Indians to a feast containing strychnine to poison every man, woman and child of them. Finally, in 1868, after a series of military confrontations referred to as the "Snake War", tensions were somewhat reduced.
Meanwhile, the loop in the Oregon Trail to Olds Ferry had brought large numbers of emigrants across the mouth of the Weiser river on their way farther west. This undoubtedly helped bring the Weiser drainage to their attention. Many of them must have felt like the children of Israel wondering in the desert after months of traveling through mostly desolate, sagebrush wasteland. By the time they got this far west, it was late in the season. The land would have been baked dry by the summer's heat and punctuated only occasionally by narrow strips of green along the rivers. As they trudged along, mile after mile, they must have grown weary of seeing land that was devoid of trees other than scattered Juniper. When they reached the mouth of the Weiser River, the scenery would still have been the same depressing desert drab, but far off to the north they would have caught a glimpse of forest-clad mountains. The word that there was a lush valley somewhere in that direction, surrounded by wooded hills must have peaked their interest.
With the winding down of Indian wars in the general area, the idea of ending their journey and settling in a mountain river valley prompted some of them to investigate the valleys along Weiser River. More than a few families continued on to eastern Oregon, settled down briefly, and then backtracked to this area.
Mann Creek, and the valley it formed, was the first farmable ground north of the flat land near the mouth of the Weiser River. Although not along the Weiser, it became the first settled land along the main line of travel up that river. My guess would be that an Indian trail followed a similar path to the present highway to avoid the narrow canyon just south of present day Midvale. From very early on, wagon trails to reach the upper Weiser River valleys went up Monroe Creek, then over into Mann Creek and on into Middle Valley.
The next valley up the Weiser River acquired the name "Middle Valley" because it was between the upper and lower valleys along the river. The first settlers came here in 1868, but the actual town of Midvale wasn't started until 1903. The first bridge across the Weiser River (other than the one at its mouth) was built at Midvale, on the site of the present bridge. The first road to points north crossed the river here and proceeded through the "sand hills" to the north east.
The next valley up the river was just north of the sand hills, and began to be settled about 1868. The community of Salubria was established here, a little over a mile south east of the present site of Cambridge. It was granted a post office in 1870. The location was named Salubria because it was said to be "salubrious", which basically means "pleasant and beneficial to ones health". The building of an actual town of Salubria began with the first store, which was erected in 1885. Salubria was the only town in that vicinity until Cambridge was established along the railroad when the tracks reached the valley in 1900. Almost no remnant of Salubria remains to mark the spot today. To reach the site of the old town, turn south at the power station just this side of Cambridge. Salubria was at the first intersection south of the highway.
The next valley up the Weiser, where the Little Weiser River joins the main river, was more or less an extension of the Salubria Valley. It was called "Indian Valley" because the Weiser Shoshoni often wintered there. The Salubria and Indian Valley areas began to be settled at about the same time, about1868.
About the time the first settlers began to inhabit the Salubria and Indian Valleys in 1868, the first non-native person to establish a home in the Council area settled on Hornet Creek. He was a 32 year old bachelor named Henry Childs. Just what enticed Childs to this area is not exactly certain, but he was known to have done some mining and trapping. He built a home and did some farming about 2.5 miles up Hornet Creek from the present site of Council. His place was located where the Old Hornet road now branches from the Council - Cuprum road and goes across to the west side of the creek. Hornet Creek was named after a nasty encounter that Childs had with a nest of hornets while he was clearing brush.
The Salubria and Indian Valleys, and even Middle Valley, were referred to as the "upper valleys" or the "upper country". The Council and Meadows Valleys were later included as part of the upper country. Early upper country residents referred to the Weiser area as the "lower country". This tradition continues today, and the terminology has evolved. New-comers hearing an upper country person say they are going "down below" are often confused until it is explained that this generally indicates a trip to anywhere between Weiser and Boise.
1-12-95
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Before I begin this column, I apologize for using the term "white" so much to indicate someone other than a Native American / Indian. Even though the word is not always correct (not all pioneers, settlers etc. were Anglo-Saxon), it has become deeply ingrained in American culture. Sometimes there are simply places where "white" is the only word that gets the meaning across without going to ridiculous lengths to be politically or technically correct.
All during the fighting of the 1860s, the Weiser Indians had mostly stayed to themselves in the more remote mountains of their territory. Even so, they were falsely accused of numerous atrocities. Typical of the mind-set of the time, Eagle Eye acquired an unearned reputation among many whites as being a murderous savage.
In 1867, based only on rumors, the Weiser Indians were declared to be hostiles. A scouting party was sent from Fort Boise to find them, but Eagle Eye moved his band into the Salmon River mountains before the troops arrived. At the Indian's abandoned campsite along the Weiser River, the soldiers found footprints measuring seventeen and one-half inches long. The newspapers made big news out of this, and the legend of "Bigfoot" began. (There actually was a hostile Indian named Howluck in the Owyhee mountains at this time that was called Bigfoot.)
In 1868, after false reports that the Weisers had been causing trouble, soldiers were sent from Fort Boise to capture Eagle Eye's band. The Weisers were forewarned and moved north, but the troopers caught up with them near the present site of Riggins. The forty-one Indians in the group, including Eagle Eye, were arrested without incident and taken to Fort Boise. Among their possessions was a pair of moccasins over sixteen inches long, stuffed with rags and fur. Apparently, these were the source of the fake footprints seen the year before.
After a personal meeting with the governor of the Idaho Territory, Eagle Eye was able to convince him that the Weisers were peaceful and would cause no trouble. The Indians were released, but public pressure to put them on a reservation continued. At this time, the number of members of the Weiser band fluctuated between 40 and 100 individuals.
Eagle Eye had no intention of living on a reservation. He had seen how other Indians had faired who had surrendered to this fate. Some of them were so destitute that they had resorted to begging on the streets of Boise. Eagle Eye let it be known that if the government would leave his band alone, they would live in peace without relying on support from the government. The newly arrived settlers in Indian Valley also didn't want the Weisers removed from their area. They realized that Eagle Eye's peaceful group provided them with some degree of protection from more hostile natives that were roaming the countryside.
For the next few years after the Snake War of 1868, there was little fighting between whites and Indians in Idaho, but there was constant friction. Groups of heavily armed Indians roamed freely throughout many parts of Idaho and Oregon. And they were not all well behaved.
All during the 1860s and 1870s, there was continual hue and cry to put all Indians on reservations. But the management of reservations was a bureaucratic quagmire, and the money sent from Congress to support impounded natives was pathetically inadequate. To keep the reservation Indians from starving, they were allowed to leave the reservations and fend for themselves for extended periods.
In 1873, the Modoc Indians in south western Oregon chose to fight rather than return to their reservation. The resulting Modoc War instilled deep apprehension in both whites and natives in Idaho. Everyone realized that the situation here was teetering on the brink of the same kind of disaster.
Even though Eagle Eye's band kept a low profile, they were the target of a great deal of white resentment because their territory was the site of larger and larger intertribal gatherings. As tribes from outside the Council Valley began to visit this last place of refuge in growing numbers, some of the outside Indians stayed permanently. In spite of the odds against peaceful coexistence, Eagle Eye was able to maintain relative tranquility between the whites and all the natives who visited, or lived, in his area.
In March of 1874, Eagle Eye was ordered to bring his band in to the Fort Hall reservation. He refused, and because of a lack of funds, the authorities were unable to enforce the order.
The next year (1875), the Wallowa band of the Nez Perce tribe was ordered to surrender to reservation life, and their lands were opened to white settlement. This was the band of which Chief Joseph was a member, and was the last of the free roaming bands of the Nez Perce. The Wallowas refused to come in, but the government was still too under-funded and disorganized to do anything about them or Eagle Eye.
The following summer (1876), settlers on the upper Weiser heard rumors through local Indians about a big Indian victory over the horse soldiers. The battle had supposedly occurred very recently in the buffalo country east of the Rocky Mountains. Days later, vivid accounts came from Boise of how Indian savages had slaughtered Custer's valiant Seventh Cavalry on the Little Big Horn River in Montana Territory. How the Weiser Indians had received word of this battle before local whites had heard about it left the settlers feeling uneasy. News of the Custer massacre only accented the fears of Idaho whites, and deepened their resolve to rid the Territory of Indians.
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $2670.
1-19-95
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
A while back, a couple of my History Corners were about wildlife in this area. Last week I had an interesting conversation with Jerry Thiessen who is researching a book on Idaho Wildlife. He wanted information about when the first elk were released in this area. I was able to provide him with some info on their release in the Meadows Valley in 1915.
Until I talked to Jerry, it was my impression that elk were not found in the Weiser River area before they were planted here. It turns out that there were scattered, small herds of elk in the Weiser and Payette River drainages when the fur trappers came here in the early 1800s. When these mountain men traveled in large groups, as they did with the Hudson's Bay Co. expeditions, they often killed as many elk (or any other food animal) as they could when they had the opportunity. They never knew when the next chance would be, so they stocked up. Travelers on the Oregon Trail helped finish off the elk population when they passed though, sometimes roaming miles off the trail in search of meat. As a result, the elk in this part of Idaho were gone by the 1850s. By 1885, it was feared that elk would become extinct in Idaho.
I had always wondered if reports of grizzly bears in this area were true or not. Some of them probably were. The salmon runs here would have provided a perfect food source for them. Jerry's guess is that there were probably not too many because they need a large area for habitat. Black bears, on the other hand, were probably very common.
I had read that Big Horn Sheep were abundant in the Seven Devils before they were killed out. Jerry says they may have been the most common animal in the State in the early days.
There were also antelope in the Indian Valley area, and probably in Meadows Valley during some parts of the year. They were very common in Baker and Malheur Counties in Oregon.
The Winkler family reported seeing many white tail deer around Council when they came here in 1878. White tails were sometimes called "Willow Deer" or "Brush Deer" because they liked the cover and feed that willows provided. The river bottoms along the Weiser River used to be covered with dense thickets of willows and cottonwood trees - prime white tail habitat.
The story of what happened to the white tail habitat in this area was repeated in many other places. First, livestock ate back some of the willows. Thorn brush (Hawthorn) began to be more dominant because livestock preferred the more tender willows. Then, settlers cleared the bottom lands for farming. When the willow thickets disappeared, so did the white tails.
Before the government organized to suppress forest fires, fires were more frequent but mostly burned the undergrowth, not the trees. This left much less brush in the forests than there is now. Because of this, there were fewer deer there, particularly mule deer.
Bitter brush has always been a prime source of feed for mule deer. This large, sage-like bush that is so common here now (sometimes called buck brush), was not common except in very rocky places where fires could not easily reach them. Bitter brush is not at all tolerant of fire. Willows are fire resistant, sprout very quickly and grow in moist ground. That's one reason the river bottoms remained brushy until they were cleared.
Over the years, as fires were less common, the brush in the hills increased and so did the mule deer. Their peak population was reached in the 1960s. (Remember when we could buy two deer tags and shoot either sex?) The brush is probably why white tail deer are becoming more common here now too.
All this is probably an oversimplified version of the story, but it gives the general idea.
Last week a very generous memorial donation was made in memory of Jay Quilliam by the "Royal Order of the Golden Neckyoke". This group, of which Jay was a charter member, is a "vintage collection of veteran farmers who, at some time, planted and harvested with horses." Much thanks. Jay was one of the nicest people and best story tellers that I've ever met.
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $2,770. We need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with the name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
1-26-95
Human beings are an interesting species. When the first non-native people came to the West, they acted as if they had no concept of the idea that natural resources like timber, grazing, game animals or land had any kind of limits. Like kids in a free candy store, they ate as much as they could as fast as they could. It took a few decades for the stomach ache to set in. Now, people have started running full speed in the opposite direction: don't cut any timber, kill any animals, graze any grass ... don't do anything that isn't "natural". And spend six million dollars replacing the wolves that our grandparents paid to have eradicated. I guess it would be more accurate to say they are "adding to" the wolves that are already replacing themselves.
Trying to instantly turn around the long - time, fundamental practices of a society in this way is like throwing a ten ton truck into reverse at 90 miles per hour. The only comfort to be found is in knowing that social tends often to go to extremes before they settle on a more sensible compromise somewhere in the middle. So there is hope.... eventually.
Last week, we were all shocked to hear that the Boise Cascade mill will be closing. Talk about a Landmark. Some of us can't remember a time when a mill wasn't there.
It all started in the fall of1938, when the Boise Payette Company bought fifty-three acres from Bill Winkler on which to build a mill. The paper reported, "It is said that the life of the local plant during the time of cutting the adjacent timber will be approximately twelve years. If, after that, the Meadows timber holdings should come to this plant, the life of the local plant would be indefinite." "When this operation was originally planned, the company had no idea of remilling and storing its lumber at Council but had planned to truck haul the lumber from the [portable] mill in the woods [at Old Davis on Crooked River] to Council, load it on cars there and ship it to Emmett for remilling." "Neither the present roadbed or bridges between Council and Crooked river and Bear will stand the heavy traffic required by this operation."
By the summer of 1940, the mill was in operation. The mill, the new technology and the aggressive logging activity of the company brought a growth spurt to Council. The population expanded as many new families moved in. About a dozen portable houses were moved to Council from the camp at Old Davis to house these new arrivals. The houses were put on land the company bought on the west side of the railroad tracks where remodeled versions of some of them continue to be used today.
Mechanized logging had started in the 1930s, but the Depression had put a damper on many business ventures. In spite of shortages of manpower and other basics during World War II, the demand for lumber and the momentum of the Boise Payette Co. was high enough to sustain a boom in the Council area. After the war, two critical factors came together to start a new era in the timber industry.
First, the housing boom that followed World War II created an unprecedented demand for lumber. Second, by that time, chain saws, logging trucks, crawler tractors and other machinery needed for modern timber harvesting had evolved to the point of being fairly dependable and available. In the old days, it had been a monumental task to build a road into the mountains to harvest timber. With "cats" miles of roads could be built with relative ease. Because logging had been on a comparatively small scale up until this time, there were vast roadless tracts of virgin timber on every side of the Council Valley. Within only three or four decades after 1940, most of the Payette National Forest (except for Wilderness Areas) was logged at least once, and the majority of the roads now in existence on the Forest were built.
As modes of transportation improved and the area centralized, the timber industry followed the same trend. Most of the small sawmills scattered around the country disappeared as it became more practical to haul logs to big mills like the one in Council.
The Council sawmill, and its associated logging operations quickly became a vital anchor of the local economy. In 1957, the Boise Payette Company merged with the Cascade Lumber Company of Yakima, Washington, and adopted the name by which we know it today: the Boise Cascade Corporation.
The next year, (1958) the fire siren sounded in Council in the middle of the night, and local citizens were stunned when they peered out their windows. The sawmill was engulfed in flames! The loss of this prominent part of the community was unthinkable. But a new mill that sported all the newest technology arose from the ashes, and it became even more of a source of pride than the old mill.
Now, the community faces the unthinkable once again. Looking at the big picture, the fifty-five year period from 1940 to 1995 has been a short one. Eventually, the pendulum will find its equilibrium, the emotionalism and ignorance will subside, and a sustainable way of managing the forests that is balanced with the needs of people will emerge...maybe. There is an enormous fly in the ointment.
At the time the mill was first built, there were just over 2 billion people on earth. That number has more than doubled to about 5.7 billion. The number of trees big enough to cut has not grown, or has even decreased. In another 50 years, the world's population is expected to double again if we don't wise up.
I apologize for climbing on my soap box, but I'm absolutely convinced that overpopulation is the most serious problem we face - not just in the future - not just in the "third world" - right here in Council, right now. The whole ball of wax - the salmon issue, the sustainable forest issue, and every other environmental problem is either directly caused, or greatly exacerbated, by more people needing more natural resources of which there are continually less. There is no amount of recycling, replanting or conserving that can possibly keep up with the suicidal growth rate we now have.
2-2-95
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
I'm sad to say that Council has lost another Landmark: Bert Rogers, publisher of the Adams County Leader.
The first newspaper in this area to regularly print Council news was the Weiser City Leader, established in 1882. It changed names and ownership several times over the years, but is essentially the same "Signal" paper as is printed there now.
The next was the Idaho Citizen, beginning in 1891 at Salubria. It soon became the Salubria Citizen, and when Cambridge was established, the paper moved there and became the Cambridge News. It is also still in business.
The first paper in what is now Adams County was the Seven Devils Standard at Cuprum in 1898, published by C.W. Jones. Jones was a man with big dreams who didn't seem to stick with anything very long. He sold out to D.C. Boyd in February of 1899. The Standard was shortly taken over by R.E. Lockwood and Frank Edlin. The paper lasted through July 1902 when it was moved to Meadows to be published as the "Eagle".
In the meantime, C.W. Jones is said to have established the town site of Decorah in late 1900. If Jones did indeed establish Decorah, he apparently had no grandiose plans to ride this horse to fame and fortune, and bailed out very early in the game. By 1902, he was in Council, busily publishing the "Advance" newspaper, in head to head competition with L.S. Cool's "Council Journal" which had been established in October 1900. The Journal office was located on the north west corner of Moser Avenue and Main Street. By 1905, Cool had acquired the Advance. He published this paper in his home across Main Street and north of his former address. This house later became the first Adams County Courthouse in 1911, and still later, it was Bill Winkler's home. The Advance ceased publication when Cool left Council for Weiser sometime in 1905.
Council had no paper for a few years, until in October of 1908, the first issue of the Council Leader was published by Ivan M. Durrell. It was a four page paper until 1910, when it became eight pages. Much of it was preprinted material that was syndicated to many papers, and contained national news and advertisements. In 1911, the paper became owned by stockholders in the community under the name " The Council Publishing Company". An attorney named James Stinson joined the Leader staff as editor, with Durrell as manager.
At this time, there were two other newspapers in the newly-created Adams County: the Meadows Eagle and the New Meadows Tribune. They were joined the next year by the Fruitvale Echo, and all four worked hard to promote their respective communities as the only one fit to become the center of government for the new county.
In 1912, Stinson was replaced by Fred Mullin who had been publishing the Long Valley Advocate. It is unclear where the Leader office was until this point, but in November of 1913, it was moved to a little building on the alley behind Dr. Brown's new brick structure on the north west corner of Galena Street and Illinois Avenue.
Mullin was fond of editorializing, and had an acid pen when provoked. An in-print feud developed in 1914, between Mullin and William Freeman of New Meadows who was running for political office. Freeman finally ordered Mullin to cancel his subscription, writing, "Kill it! Pie it! Hell box it! Anyway to relieve me." To which Mullin replied, "The above pus runs from a sore in the Meadows valley that has been lanced and he wants to represent us in the state legislature."
In 1915, the Council Publishing Company was dissolved, and the paper was sold to Fred Michaelson who also served as an Adams County probate judge. Michaelson had run a paper in Sauk Center, Minnesota where he employed a young man named Sinclair Lewis. Lewis later went on to become one of the best known authors in the U.S. It was Michaelson who changed the name of the "Council Leader" to the "Adams County Leader".
Unfortunately, all the issues of the Leader from mid 1915 through 1919 that were kept in the newspaper's office were lost when the office was moved to another location in town. Most of the 1919 issues have been replaced recently, from those kept by Matilda Moser at the Courthouse. But the others, aside from a few, scattered issues, are a priceless window into the past that is gone forever.
By 1920 the Leader was the only paper being published in Adams County. That year, the office was moved to an apartment house at __ Michigan Avenue. This big, old, square, stucco building is still standing, and can be seen in old photos from as early as 1912. It is rumored to have housed prostitutes in the apartments upstairs during Council's wilder days.
In May of 1922, the paper was sold to E.E. Southard. He started printing the first comic strips to appear in the Leader. In 1926, the paper was purchased by William Lemon, another gentleman who served as a probate judge for the County.
When the Pomona Hotel was sold at public auction in 1928, Lemon bought it and moved there with his newspaper. During the depression, the paper almost went under. It was reduced to its former size of four pages for a few years. In 1937, the present Adams County Leader office building was constructed at 105 Michigan Avenue, just south of its old headquarters (the big stucco building).
In 1937, Lemon leased the paper to his right-hand man, Carryl Wines. Wines ran the paper until 1944, when Lemon sold it to F.E. and Harriet Rogers of Long Beach, California.(Adams County Leader, Aug 4, 1944)
FIND WHEN F.E. DIED, THAT'S WHEN BERT STARTED HELPING HIS MOTHER. SHE RETIRED FROM ACTIVE PUBLISHING IN __ . NOTE BURT'S ACCIDENT,ETC.
Bert took over the Leader in 1948, and has run the presses ever since. As far as I know, it is the last publication of any kind to be still using the old lead type machines that were antiques long before now. Bert may have been the last person who really knew how to run one. How he kept the old machinery running, when replacement parts must not be made anymore, has to be a story in itself.
Our heart-felt sympathy goes out to Shirley and the family. Bert will be missed.
If anyone has old copies of the Leader for these missing dates, mid 1915 through 1918, please PLEASE let me look at them. The Leader has been one of the main sources of information for the history that I am writing. Also, any old clippings about local history from any source would be very welcome. Some of you have already contributed invaluable pieces of information like this, and you have my sincere thanks. Pictures are also very important. Fran Caward just sent a wonderful photo of Dora Black and another of Dora and Billie. Bob Thompson, an old Fruitvale boy (now in Spokane), called last week to say he is sending photos of the Placer Basin mill and buildings! He says hello to all his old friends here.
This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $2770. We need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with the name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
Record 2-9-95 no column this week
2-16-95
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
I've been interrupting the chronological flow of these articles with things that come up. This week, I'll get back to where I left off. You may remember I was telling about the Indian wars in Idaho in the 1860s, then how they subsided about 1868, and the Weiser River Valleys began to be settled.
I mentioned Henry Childs, who was the first known settler in the Council area. Another old bachelor, who lived farther up Hornet Creek than Childs, was John Mulligan. It isn't known just when he arrived here, but it may have been before the first family arrived in 1876.
By 1870, the heyday of placer mining in Idaho Territory was over, other occupations pulled ahead, and the population shrank from its previous high of 20,000 down to 15,000.
All during the 1860s and 1870s, there was continual hue and cry to put all Indians on reservations. But the management of reservations was a bureaucratic quagmire, and the money sent from Congress to support impounded natives was pathetically inadequate. To keep the reservation Indians from starving, they were allowed to leave the reservations and fend for themselves for extended periods.
In 1873, the Modoc Indians in south western Oregon chose to fight rather than return to their reservation. The resulting Modoc War instilled deep apprehension in both Whites and natives in Idaho. Everyone realized that the situation here was teetering on the brink of the same kind of disaster.
Even though Eagle Eye's Shoshoni band along the Weiser River kept a low profile, they were the target of a great deal of white resentment because their territory was the site of larger and larger intertribal gatherings. As tribes from outside the Council Valley began to visit this last place of refuge in growing numbers, some of the outside Indians stayed permanently. In spite of the odds against peaceful coexistence, Eagle Eye was able to maintain relative tranquility between the whites and all the natives who visited, or lived, in his area.
In March of 1874, Eagle Eye was ordered to bring his band in to the Fort Hall reservation. He refused, and because of a lack of funds, the authorities were unable to enforce the order.
The next year (1875), the Wallowa band of the Nez Perce tribe was ordered to surrender to reservation life, and their lands were opened to white settlement. This was the band of which Chief Joseph was a member, and was the last of the free-roaming bands of the Nez Perce. The Wallowas refused to come in, but the government was still too under-funded and disorganized to do anything about them or Eagle Eye.
The following summer (1876), settlers on the upper Weiser heard rumors through local Indians about a big Indian victory over the horse soldiers. The battle had supposedly occurred very recently in the buffalo country east of the Rocky Mountains. Days later, vivid accounts came from Boise of how Indian savages had slaughtered Custer's valiant Seventh Cavalry on the Little Big Horn River in Montana. How the Weiser Indians had received word of this battle before local whites had heard about it left the settlers feeling uneasy. News of the Custer massacre only accented the fears of Idaho whites, and deepened their resolve to rid the Territory of Indians.
(I can't remember who told me the story just mentioned. If anyone can give me the name of an old timer from whom they heard this, I would feel better about including it in my book. Call me: 253-4582.)
The family of George and Elizabeth Moser was the first white family to settle in the Council Valley, arriving in the fall of 1876. When the Mosers first arrived at the present site of Council, they camped along a tiny creek, a short distance west of where the creek flowed between a small, rocky knob and a larger hill that sat, somewhat conspicuously, in the southern part of the valley. This camp site was in what would someday be the west side of Council, just west of the present intersection of Moser and Railroad streets, near where the train depot later stood. The fact that much of the area was a jungle of brush indicated that there was good farm land underneath.
Near this location, there was a fork in the well-worn trail through the valley. The west branch was an Indian trail that went up Hornet Creek, and on to the Seven Devils Mountains. Even though copper deposits had been found in the Seven Devils fourteen years earlier, there was little or no mining activity there when the Mosers arrived. The main trail, probably also originally and Indian path, was being used by pack trains going on north to Salmon Meadows (later called Meadows Valley) and the gold mining country around Warren and Florence. There were still no wagon roads this side of Indian Valley at that time, but the trail north was well traveled. Since Warren had swollen to a population of about 5,000, pack trains of up to 100 animals sometimes traveled this route, just to supply the town with flour from Cuddy's mill near present-day Cambridge.
Soon, the Mosers built a log cabin (and another one shortly afterwards) just north of the creek and south west of the hill. The cabins were about where Ruben's is now, west of the town square (park). In one old photo, it looks like one of the Moser cabins may have stood right in the middle of what is now Moser Ave. Their homestead encompassed most of what would become the west side of Council, including the town square, Courthouse hill and the land on which the schools now stand.
You may notice that "Moser" Avenue is generally misspelled as "Mosher" on the street signs. This mistake was made at least as early as 1899 by an engineer who drew the first plat of the town. He spelled it right every time in the plat text, but when he wrote it on the map itself it was wrong. Elizabeth Moser didn't notice it for a good reason - she was illiterate. She signed the document with an "X". Every time the plat was copied from then on, engineers simply duplicated the names from the old plat. This is why we have lived with this insult to Council's first family for almost a hundred years now. Every editor in every newspaper within a hundred miles of here has ignored this stupid mistake and printed it as "Moser" when referring to this avenue. I think it's about time the name of the avenue was spelled correctly.
To remind you just what the plan is at the Council museum, if we can raise $10,000, Evea Harrington Powers will match that amount so that we will have $20,000 to improve the museum. We have plans drawn up and approved to build an addition onto the City Hall building where the museum is now housed in very a crowded space. We have about $2,900 so far. We have applied for several grants, but none have come through.
I would like to thank Carlos and Ella Weed for a very generous donation. Carlos reminded me of the fact that your contribution to the museum is tax deductible if you itemize. I hope you will think about helping with the project by donating. A museum with a higher profile in the community is the single most cost effective thing Council can do to increase its tourist trade. If you are serious about improving Council's economy, get behind this plan. If ever we needed this, it is now. We can sit and cry about our bad luck, or we can stand up and pull together. Mail contributions to the Winkler Museum, Box 252, Council, ID 83612.
History Corner 2-23-95
by Dale Fisk
The year after the Moser's arrived (1877), two more families settled in the Council Valley: the Whites and Lovelesses.
Robert and Ellenor White and their children had traveled West with the Mosers, but had spent the winter in Boise before continuing to Council Valley. Robert later became Council's first Postmaster, first school teacher, and probably the first justice of the peace.
Zadock Loveless was a widower who came here with his son Bill. They took up a parcel of land that joined the north end of the Moser property. Lucy McMahan, an early pioneer of the area, said that Loveless built the first house in Council in 1876, but didn't live here until 1877.
The new families had barely settled into their new locations, when a storm of terror blew in from the north.
The following story is purely fictional, although the names, ages, places and background events depicted here are true to the facts as recorded.
George Reibolt was dog tired and sagged wearily in the saddle as he rode into the Council Valley. He had been riding all night in a desperate effort to get to Boise as soon as possible.
As Reibolt approached the Moser place, there was a wagon and team out front. Sixteen-year-old Lewis Harrington sat in the shade of the wagon and watched the rider approach. Lewis's nine year old brother, Robert, and their younger sister, Mary, were playing along the creek about a hundred feet south of the Moser cabin. George dismounted in front of Lewis.
"Son, will you water my horse for me?" Lewis took the reins. "Make sure he drinks slowly, and not too much. He's pretty hot," George added. Lewis was irritated that the man would think he needed to be told how to take care of a horse. After all, he was practically a grown man.
George turned toward the cabin as two men sauntered out to greet him. Introductions were made all around. The younger man, who appeared to be about forty, was Reil Harrington. Harrington, a widower, had come to Indian Valley with his four children the year before. His oldest boy, James, had not come with them today on this trip to examine some potential homestead land on Hornet Creek. George Reibolt had never met George Moser, but he had certainly heard of him.
"You look like you're in a devil of a hurry, George," Moser said.
"Yes Sir, I am." Reibolt handed him an envelope. "I left Warrens late yesterday, and I need to get this to Governor Brayman as soon as possible."
Moser unfolded the letter, and, with Reil looking over his shoulder, began reading. The first sentence sent a chill up his spine and almost made him drop the letter: "The Nez Perce Indians are on the warpath." As he read on as quickly as he could, his anxiety grew. Names and locations of men, women and little children who had been murdered seemed to go on interminably. Worst of all, it was obvious that the savages were heading SOUTH. One statement referring to the little town of Mount Idaho jumped out at him:"It is greatly feared that the entire Settlement has been annihilated...."
Moser and Harrington finished reading the letter and looked up silently at Reibolt as if they wanted him to say it was all untrue. Instead, he added to their fears.
"It gets worse," he started hesitantly. "Cavalry troops had a fight with the savages in White Bird canyon, and got beat pretty bad ... lost 36 men. The hostiles are headed this way, and the soldiers can't stop 'em."
The shaken men abruptly wrapped up their conversation, and Reibolt went on his way south. Reil Harrington gathered his children into the wagon and hurried along the rough wagon trail in the same direction. The word was spread quickly, and soon the Whites, Lovelesses and Henry Childs followed Reibolt and the Harringtons.
-
Some of the early "information" that spread about the Nez Perce war was untrue or exaggerated, but is included because it is what the settlers heard. The last statement, attributed to Reibolt, is from a letter sent to Governor Brayman from Milton Kelley of Indian Valley, and sent on to Boise with Reibolt. Although it was initially reported in the letter that 36 soldiers had been killed at Whitebird, there were really 34 killed and four wounded. No Indians were killed until later battles.
When the Council Valley settlers arrived at William Munday's farm (at or near the present home of Ralph and Scotty Yantis), they found about 20 to 25 women and children, and about that many men, gathered in a confused state of panic.
Among this congregation was the family of Alex and Martha Kesler, and Alex's brother, Andrew. They had arrived in the Salubria Valley about a year earlier. Only about two thirds of the men had guns, and ammunition was very scarce. George Reibolt continued on to Boise, accompanied by Edgar or Abner Hall. They carried letters from the local citizens in which they practically begged Territorial Governor Brayman to send 100 well-armed citizens, 25 more guns for local men, and 2,000 rounds of ammunition. On the outside of one letter, was penciled, "Those Indians are blood thirsty. They are getting all the supplies and Liquor they want and will jump on fresh horse and come here in 36 hours after they leave Salmon if they come this way."
The fear that Council and Indian Valley settlers had of Indians during this time is hard to overstate. The morbid details of the Custer disaster, that had occurred almost exactly a year earlier, were still a common topic of discussion. Indians were pretty much roaming wherever they pleased all over the Territory during this time, and now there was serious concern that Eagle Eye's group would join in the fighting and slaughter every white person they could find.
The fear of Indian attack in this part of the Territory almost invariably proved worse than the actual danger. According to Indian Valley lore, in one tragic case, it was fatal. Margaret Hall was left home alone at Indian Valley a great deal of the time because her sons (Edgar and Abner) and husband (Solon) were often gone, carrying mail. She was hysterically afraid that Indians would attack her at these times. In 1877 her fear overcame her and she took her own life rather than live with such horror. Such stories are not altogether uncommon in the history of the West. More than a few pioneer women felt overwhelmed by feelings of being trapped and alone in the middle of nowhere.
Again, I'm sad to note to passing of another Council Valley Landmark. Ed Kesler was, if I have my facts straight, the great grandson of Alex Kesler, mentioned above. He will be missed. Ed was involved with the museum as much as his health would allow during the past couple of years. This column is written to promote support for the Council museum. The current balance in our account is about $2,900. We need at least $10,000 to start our much needed museum addition project. Please help. Donations made as memorials will be acknowledged in this column, along with the name of the person in who's honor the contribution was made. Please send contributions to P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. Make your check out to the Winkler Museum.
3-2-95
This column detailed the Nez Perce War
Started Pennies for the Past drive.
3-9-95
The 1878 Bannock War
3-16-95
End of Bannock War – solicited photos from the community
History Corner 3-23-95
by Dale Fisk
During the Bannock War, a significant wagon train reached Boise. This group of immigrants contained more people who would become pioneers of the Council Valley than any single group before or since. It also must have been one of the most complexly interrelated groups. Among the crew were:
Hardy and Rena Harp, and their two small sons
William and Jane Harp, and two sons
Sam Harp (single)
16 year old Elizabeth Harp
George and Martha Robertson (Martha was the sister of Hardy, William, Sam and Elizabeth Harp)
James Copeland and his very pregnant wife, Ida
George A. and Letitia Winkler and their children:
George M.(1856-1920), Mark (1858-1921), William F. (1866-1939), Lewis (1867- 1952), James (1869-1956)
The group was bound for the Council Valley, enticed there by the presence of the Keslers. Martha Kesler (Alex's wife) was Letitia Winkler's sister and Ida Copeland's mother. When the group had reached Missouri, George M. Winkler (George and Letitia's son) and Elizabeth Harp had eloped and gotten married before returning to the caravan. Now, the Robertsons, Harps, Copelands, Keslers and Winklers were all related to each other through one marriage or another.
Since Boise was the last real outpost of civilization in the general area, the Harps and Robertsons decided to stay near there until they could decide for sure where they wanted to settle.
The Winklers and Copelands rolled into the Council Valley on August 6, 1878. The worst of the Bannock War was over, but the settlers here were still spending time in the fort. When Ida Copeland gave birth in a small log cabin near the fort in September, William Copeland became the first white child to be born in the Council Valley. Edgar Moser has sometimes been credited with this distinction, but he was not born until about four months later, in January of 1879. The first white girl born here was Matilda Moser, in 1881.
It is interesting to note that about this time the Council area was often referred to as "Hornet" or "Hornet Creek". This seems reasonable, since it is at this point along the Weiser River that Hornet Creek enters it.
Lucy McMahan said, "In 1877 the settlers met to name the valley. The majority wanted to call it "Moser Valley", but Mr. Moser objected to the name. So they decided to call it Council Valley,...". The next year (1878) the Postal Department allowed "Council Valley" as the official name of the post office here.
George Moser's nickname was "Buckshot", and some early residents referred to the town by that name, even long after the it was officially named Council in 1896.
I would like to thank Mary Owens for a donation in memory of Ed Kesler. Thanks Mary. Our fund stands at about $3,240. The Pennies for the Past drive is kind of fun, and is bringing in a pretty good haul of them - about $50 worth so far. Keep 'em comin'! So far, none of our grant applications have panned out, but ACDC may be able to get a good chunk of money from Farm Bill funds. We'll keep our fingers crossed.
Don't forget the slide show Saturday night (25th) at the library at 8 PM. I guarantee you will learn some interesting things you didn't know about the history of this town.
Our plans to make plans with the state archivist didn't pan out last week (twice), so we are trying again today (Friday, 24th). We kind of have to wait until we meet with him to start our photo gathering campaign. The short version of the story is that we got a grant from the Humanities Council to copy and preserve historic photographs. Please start digging them out of the closets! This is our big chance to do it right. Remember, we are especially desperate for old Fruitvale photos. There don't seem to be any of the old stores. We need pictures of people, places, events .. anything relative to Council's history up to the present.
Next week starts the only real story of Indian vs Settler violence in the history of this area. Don't miss it.
3-30-95
by Dale Fisk
It was almost midnight as Edgar Hall approached the outskirts of Boise City. His horse stumbled and almost fell as the exhausted animal struggled to keep going through the blackness. The bottoms of Edgar's pant legs were stiff with dried, lathered horse sweat. He had been in the saddle for 16 hours without a rest. The bones in his backside felt like they had cut completely through the muscles to rub relentlessly against the hard leather seat of the saddle, and his legs ached for relief. He had left Indian Valley at 8:00 AM that morning, and the only thing that had kept him going for the past 100 miles was the hope that Sylvester Smith was still alive, and that Edgar could send a doctor to him in time.
The August 22, 1878 issue of Boise's newspaper, the Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman, was filled with accounts of various military units in pursuit of hostile Indians all over the West. Almost as a casual side note, there was a brief remark among the outlying-area news items. It said mail carrier, Solan Hall, had reported that Indians had stolen three horses at Indian Valley. This simple announcement would turn out to be opening sentence in one of the most violent and tragic chapters in the history of Adams County.
About a day and a half after the routine news of William Munday's stolen horses was printed, the quiet slumber of the troops at the Boise Barracks was disrupted about midnight by an exhausted, young man. It was Solon Hall's 19 year old son, Edgar. He said that a doctor was badly needed. Three men had been killed by Indians, and a fourth victim was lying seriously wounded at Calvin White's cabin at Salmon Meadows (now called Meadows Valley).
The story of the "Long Valley Massacre" has been retold and expounded until the real, factual details of the event may never be known. There was only one eye witness who survived the massacre, and he left no first hand account. It is known that the chain of events started on Saturday, August 17, 1878 when Indians stole some horses at Indian Valley. Stories of the number of animals that were taken range wildly, from three horses to sixty. Whatever the number, William Munday seems to have been the principle victim of the crime.
One improbable account of a possible contributing factor in the thievery was an incident that reportedly occurred earlier that summer. About 70 Indians under Eagle Eye's leadership were said to have been camped at Indian Valley near the farm of Tom Hailey. The Hailey place was south east of "downtown" Indian Valley, at or near the present Atkins ranch. Hailey was said to have had an Indian wife. The Indians were "holding pow-wows" in the evenings, on a hill near the Hailey house. Hailey told them "If you don't stop that, the Whites will kill every last one of you." So they stopped, but "kept plotting against the whites". Because of this, a grudge was supposedly initiated against Hailey and/or whites in general.
Spelling in those days was not standardized as it is today. This applied to names as well. The name "Hailey" was also spelled "Healy, Healey, or Haily" in various accounts.
Solon Hall and his sons, Edgar and Abner (Abby), farmed at Indian Valley and carried mail on the 125 mile route between there and Warren. William Munday was the Postmaster at the Indian Valley Post Office. His name could also be spelled "Monday". His house was at or near what is Ralph and Scotty Yantis's place now 9685 Indian Valley Road). If you remember, in a recent History Corner I told how the panicked settlers had gathered at Munday's place before they built a fort, during the Nez Perce War the year before.
One account says that Munday was working for Solon Hall at the time the horses were stolen, harvesting hay or grain. Munday reportedly left his team tied to a wagon for the night, and they were gone the next morning. Ellis Snow's account said that Munday owned a reaper drawn by four horses, and was cutting Hall's grain. He said the horses were stolen after they had been turned loose to graze for the night.
Munday was said to have been friends with certain Indians, and that he had hired them to help on his farm. It is doubtful that the horses were stolen by these natives. The Indians were probably one of many wandering fragments of hostile bands from outside the area that simply took advantage of the opportunity for the time-honored Native American practice of stealing horses from an enemy.
To be continued next week.
This column is written to promote the Council Museum. We are raising money for a badly needed addition to our current space. (Our bank balance is now up to about $3,350.) Please help by making a donation at City Hall, mailing a check to Box 252, Council, or by dropping something into the "Pennies for the Past" jars around town. You don't have to put your pennies into rolls. We can do it for you.
Hey! We had a great turnout at the slide show Saturday night. Thanks. Hope you all enjoyed it.
Bob Thompson sent photocopies of pictures of Placer Basin and more. He also sent a list of people he remembered working there. Thanks Bob! I also got a call from people in Riggins who will let us copy their photos of Tamarack taken in 1915. Fantastic!
We finally met with the state archivist concerning the photo project. I can't emphasize enough how important this project is. For one thing, we are using your tax money. That's where the Idaho Humanities Council grant funds came from = about $3500. To accomplish what needs to be done, we need your help. We need new pictures that I know are out there. This is the best chance we will ever have to preserve them. One photo we are looking for is one of Dr. Gerber. Surely somebody has a good one.
Also, we need to recopy some of the photos that you have already let us copy. Here is why. First, this time we will be using a much better camera for higher quality copies. Second, the negatives will be processed and stored in a way that will preserve them for the next hundred years and more, so that our grandchildren and their grandchildren will have the priceless heritage that we treasure.
The reason we haven't announced a time and place to bring pictures, etc. is that we need to wrap up a few loose ends first. In the mean time, please find your old pictures - even ones not so old. We are also interested in old, home movie footage, and are following up on some leads on that. If you have any questions or comments, please call me at 253-4582.
4-6-95
the Long Valley Ambush story continued.
4-13-95
Long Valley Ambush story continued.
History Corner 4-20-95
by Dale Fisk
After interviewing Sylvester Smith at White's Cabin at Meadows, Parker's volunteer group set out for the ambush site. For reasons unknown, Capt. Drum had not yet arrived at the site, even though his unit was much closer and knew about the attack at least a day earlier than the volunteers.
Parker's group found 14 empty cartridges scattered around the bodies of the victims; their cartridge belts lay empty beside them. The rifles contained only empty shells. This evidently was all the ammunition the men had with them, as it seemed obvious to Parker and the others that the Indians had not disturbed the bodies at all to steal anything. It appeared that the Indians had left in a hurry immediately after being unable to find Smith.
Figuring that the army troop would arrive soon and bury the dead, the four followed the trail of the Indians for two days and nights, until a heavy rain storm wiped out any sign of the tracks. They returned to the battle site, and found that the army had buried the bodies and inscribed the names of the victims on a rock above the common grave. Along with the names, were the date of the ambush (August 20, 1878) under and image of crossed rifles. A hand carved on the rock pointed to the grave.
Parker's group must have been completely out of rations, because they dug discarded bacon rinds out of the fire pits left behind by the army, and ate them. The next day, Parker's group found the troop, spent one night with them and then went on to White's cabin to check on Smith. The doctor had left for Boise the day before, leaving the assurance that his patient was recovering so well that he "could not be killed with and axe". The four then returned to Weiser.
Captain Drum later reported what he had found at the massacre site. He said that the bodies of the slain men were about sixty yards from the spot where they had been killed. He continued:
"The bodies had been thrown together in a pile by the Indians, but had not been scalped or mutilated. At the moment of attack Munday had been shot dead by a bullet through he heart and had fallen from his horse, leaving his gun hanging to the horn of the saddle. The gun was found where it had been dropped by Munday's horse when he ran from the scene. Groseclose was fatally shot soon after dismounting and his horse fell into the hands of the Indians, but being a vicious and refractory animal the horse escaped from them and was afterwards found running in the hills some distance from the scene of the murder and was with difficulty caught and brought in. Tom Healy made a fight with the Indians, from behind the rocks where he first took up a position, as three empty cartridges were found at that spot.
Parker reported that at least some of the horses had been killed, saying, "The carcasses of the horses were far apart in the valley."
Smith had said that there had been at least 75 Indians in the group that attacked his group, but Drum found sign of only fifteen at the most, and maybe as few as only five.
Drum's unit followed the Indians trail at least eight miles past the ambush site. Here, at "Pearsall's Diggins", they found the bodies of two prospectors who had evidently been killed the day after the Munday ambush, by the same Indians. One man was a Mr. Wilheim from Idaho City. Not description was given as to how or where his body was found, but the Statesman printed a grizzly account of the second victim, Daniel Crooks of Mount Idaho:
"Crooks was found some distance from the spot where the two were first attacked, lying in the grass on his back. The grass was beaten down all around him, as if a violent struggle had taken place. He had been shot through the body, and the last shot, which seemed to have been given where he was found, was in the head at close range, tearing completely of the frontal part of the skull and brain. He still held a rope in his hand and was probably running to get his horse,..."
Many years later, Bill Winkler gave the distinct impression that Three Fingered Smith knew exactly who at least four of the Indians were. They were supposedly Eagle Eye, War Jack(Shoshoni), Chuck (Lemhi Shoshoni) and Booyer (Blackfoot). Winkler said that, after spending "some years" in Wyoming, Smith traveled about the country, locating and killing Chuck and Booyer. Apparently he couldn't locate War Jack or Eagle Eye.
I find Winkler's story very improbable. All during the investigation, there was no indication that anyone involved had a clue as to the identities of the Indians. The only guess was made by General Howard, at Walla Walla. He believed it was hostile Nez Perce (returned from Canada) from White Bird's band who had done the killing. One would think that if Smith knew who had murdered three of his friends and neighbors, he would have immediately informed Captain Drum and anyone else who could bring them to justice. Aaron Parker met with Smith again only five years after the massacre (1883) and interviewed him a second time. Again, either Smith evidently said nothing about who the Indians were or about his having wreaked revenge on them. If he had, Parker would certainly have included it in his account.
It is no surprise that Eagle Eye was a prime suspect, as he was usually blamed for almost every real or imagined native depredation that occurred within a weeks ride. Ironically, there were eye witness reports that Eagle Eye had been killed in the battle with the Umatillas just the month before this massacre. These reports were false.
Old time Indian fighter Ewing Craig "Pinky" Baird, who was an independent Indian scout during this time, and who was later a Council resident, boasted to Bill Winkler that he had personally shot and killed Eagle Eye sometime after the Long Valley Massacre. Baird bragged that he had shot the Indian in the back while the man was getting a drink from a stream. Either Baird coldly executed an Indian that he thought was Eagle Eye, or he was a bald-faced liar. Eagle Eye died of natural causes years later. Whether or not Baird actually believed he had killed Eagle Eye, he went so far as to give Charley Winkler a pair of moccasins that he claimed Eagle Eye was wearing at the time he killed the chief. These moccasins are now in the Winkler Museum in Council.
Sylvester Smith eventually recovered from his wounds, but his health was never the same again. He probably wasn't actually known by his nick name "Three Fingers" or Three Fingered" until sometime after the Long Valley Massacre. He received this title after an accident. Visiting with a friend, Smith had one foot on the bottom rail of a fence, with his hands folded together, resting over the business end of his muzzle-loading shotgun. His foot slipped off the rail, his knee hit the hammer of the gun and it went off. When the smoke cleared, the middle two fingers on each of Smith's hands were gone.
In 1929, the Sons of Idaho organization mounted a plaque on one of the rocks at the massacre grave site. Part of our photo project, which is funded by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, will be to get some good photos of the grave site that were taken at about the time the plaque was placed there. I've been told the grave and markers are about 200 yards north east of the Cascade Reservoir dam. If anyone has better directions, give me a call. I would like to find the spot.
We have finally set a date for our open house and photo session at the museum. We will be holding two afternoon - evening sessions from 1:00 PM to 8:00 PM on consecutive Fridays, May 5 and 12 at the museum. Please bring your photos at that time to be copied. If you will not be able to do this, please call me and make other arrangements. If anybody has a light table (copy stand) that we could use for a couple weeks to copy photos, please call me. (253-4582) Stay tuned for more info.
4-27-95
Started with: “A photograph captures a fleeting instant... the way things were for the fraction of a second that the camera shutter was open.”
History Corner 5-5-95
by Dale Fisk
If you are reading this on Friday, May 5, the museum board is at the museum copying old photos, talking to people about the stories behind the pictures they bring in and generally having a good time while working very hard. Come on in, whether you have photos or not. We'll be here from 1 PM until 8 PM, and the same next Friday, the 12th. I have a cassette tape recorded to go with the slide show about Council's history, so if you want to see it, you can on either Friday. It's a half hour long.
I have to tell you about the wonderful photo discoveries so far in this project. Last week, I stopped at the Weiser Court House and saw Lisa McKnight, the great granddaughter of Frank Harris. Harris was an attorney and judge in this area in the early days. Lisa has a photo album with pictures of Frenchy David and his daughter, the inside of the Blue Jacket Mine with men at work, views of Landore that I had never seen, and more. She said I could copy any of them I liked. I felt like a kid in a candy store.
The next day, I visited with Willard Bethel in Boise. He is June Childers's brother, and a great guy. He was born, and spent many of his formative years, at Fruitvale. He had a few great photos, including area pioneers such as Bill and Jane Harp, Miles Chaffee and George and Martha Robertson. He also gave me the name and number of someone who probably has more.
Then I spent several hours looking through the files of the State Historical Library and Archives. I had done this before, and found over 60 photos that we don't have and are relevant to our local history. This time, I went through a set of files I hadn't noticed before, and found bunches more. Maybe the most interesting one was of Sylvester "Three Fingered" Smith, the man who survived the Long Valley Massacre that has been the subject of my last few articles. It is a very poor photo, but what an exciting find! We are working on a trade between the Historical Society and our museum for copies of some of these pictures.
It is really sad to think about all the wonderful pictures that have been lost over the years. I find mention of them once in a while in the old newspapers. Here are a few examples.
In the Idaho Citizen newspaper, Aug 7, 1891, there was mention that "Professor Rhodes has taken many photos of the Seven Devils recently." The same paper, in 1896, said, "Photographer, D. Marsh, of Weiser, is in Council where he will remain about a week." We may have some of his photos in our collection. The Weiser Signal, July 16, 1904, talking about happenings in the Seven Devils, said, "Every eight days, Stuart French, the official photographer of the company, takes views of the town (Landore) to keep tabs on the splendid progress." We probably have some of those too.
One that makes me very curious is a reference in the Council Leader, Apr 30, 1909. It mentions a "folder" published by the Pacific & Idaho Northern Railroad with articles and photos about the area between Weiser to Long Valley. What I wouldn't give for a copy!
In the Council Leader, Fri. July 2, 1909: "P. Van Graven, Weiser photographer took some fine photos of the Council area last week." In the Council Leader, Fri. July 2, 1909 it was mentioned that W.T. Colvin has purchased the Rocky Mt. photo car, and "will be a permanent stand hereafter at Council." Does anybody know what that was about?
In the Adams County Leader, Jan 23, 1931, it was reported that Frank Peters brought big timbers through town for the new bridge across the Weiser river at the mouth of Cottonwood creek, from Pole Creek with 2 four horse teams and special sleds. W.F. Winkler took a good photo. If we have those in the museum, I don't remember seeing them.
Just about everyone has seen the 1911 or 1912 picture of Adams County's first officials standing in front of the first court house. J.D. Neale was the superintendent of schools at the time and was in the photo. Years later, in 1936, Neale said, "I am always impressed with the brutal frankness with which myself and my friends there have their likenesses recorded for posterity."
The Adams County Leader, July 21, 1939 said that the July 10 issue of Life magazine featured a photo of "Hell's Canyon". Anybody have a copy of that issue?
There is a picture of Council in the library, and at the museum, that was taken from an airplane. We didn't know exactly when it was taken, but I ran across info on it in the Adams County Leader for Feb 6, 1948. The photo was on the front page. It was taken by Howard Jeppson (formerly of Council) and Fred Ulrich of Boise in January of that year.
Speaking of old photos and losing them. Right now would be a good time to get out your pen and write the names of the people on the back of your family photos. So many times, the older members of a family die and leave old pictures that nobody knows anything about. Please don't let this happen to the priceless legacy you have to leave your descendants. Go through your old pictures, write who, where and when on the back of them, and while you're at it pick out the ones that should be copied for the museum.
5-12-95
by Dale Fisk
Jim Camp told me something very interesting about the Long Valley Massacre site. It's underwater. [Later—It is not underwater] No wonder I couldn't find it. I knew that the Cascade Reservoir was only created fairly recently (1950s?). Jim says he's pretty sure that the remains of the men killed in the ambush were moved to another location. I have seen photos of a metal plaque (placed there in 1929) and of a marble headstone (placed when?) with the names of the men on it. The head stone was surely moved to the new grave site. If anybody has some information about this, especially the location of the new grave site, please let me in on it. This is such a dramatic story, that it would be nice to know.
We're making great progress on the photo project. We have copied about 75 new photos so far, and we know of more that will be brought in. I went to Geneva Barry's house last week and copied a bunch of pictures concerning Indian Valley history. She has one of her relatives standing in front of Solan Hall's old house. The Lindsays bought Hall's house in 1881. It stood about where Geneva lives now, at 700 Indian Valley road.
Geneva told me a little about how a number of women from this area went to work in defense plants in Seattle and Portland during WWII. During this 50th anniversary of the end of the war, most of the attention is, of course, going to the men who sacrificed so much. Geneva's story is an interesting example. She left two small children behind in 1942, and went to Seattle to work in a sheet metal plant. She assembled air ducts for airplanes. Then she worked as a welder at a ship yard in Portland for about two years. She said jobs were scarce in this area, and the jobs that a person could find, didn't pay much. I think she said they were paid 72 cents an hour in the defense plants, and that was pretty good money at the time.
Geneva is related to the Lindsays, Linders, Haworths and Mannings of Indian Valley. Mel Manning brought in some great pictures of the Mannings and other Indian Valley people, places and events. We copied some of the rodeo at the Adams County fair that was held in Indian Valley in, I think it was the 1920s. The "arena" seemed to be an open field with no fence around it, and the ground looks very hard to get bucked off onto. Some of the pictures of area cowboys of the time look like they came right out of Hollywood.
Speaking of the Mannings, one of the best stories to go with a photo is the one that goes with a picture of Edward Manning. He is said to have been the one who is responsible for bringing the first crab grass to this area. He raved about the hardiness and nutritional value of this new variety of grass, and bought enough to plant 40 acres. Well ... it certainly is hardy. Thanks Ed.
Hank Daniels brought in some prints and slides of Council in the 1960s. Remember when the drygoods department of Shavers was a bank? Remember the old Ham's Texaco station? Unfortunately, Hank didn't have a good one of the Texaco station. We have a good one of it in about 1925, but we would like a later one too. Doesn't ANYBODY have one?
A couple people have mentioned having old home movies of the Council area. The most exciting one was shot during the 1930s, and includes the Adams County Rodeo. We are going to look into how to preserve or copy or get still photos ... or ? ... from these. Anybody have any ideas or experience with this? We would sure like some info.
We are still looking for some pictures that we know are out there somewhere because they have been published in the local newspapers. One is a view of the town square with the "Addington Auto Company" in the background. It shows a large group of people planting the locust trees there in 1917 on New Years day. Please, somebody help us find this one! The text under the picture says that it came from "the Addington collection at the Council Library", but the library certainly doesn't have it now. It was printed in the Record - don't know what issue. All I have is the cut out clipping from the paper.
Another one that we absolutely must find shows the McMahan school at Fruitvale in 1907. It was brought to the Record by Millie Bethel - don't know what year, but it was January, and Don Mentor was the Council Mayor. It's not important when it was in the paper, but I hope somebody can tell me who has this photograph now.
Another one is of Council's main street (Illinois Ave.) looking west in 1913 or1914. It shows the Weed store, Freehaffer's restaurant, Rainwater's grocery, and the whole north side of the street from there west to where Shavers is now. It ran in the Record twice, and was brought in by Lydia Bokamper. Please help us track it down.
We will be at the museum again this Friday (May 12) from 1 PM to 8 PM copying photos that you bring in, and generally gathering info and working on our photo project. Bring in your photos or just drop by to get in on the fun. If you have photos that are in an album, we can copy them without taking them out or harming them in any way.
Don't forget about donating anything you can to our museum improvement project. The pennies are still rolling in. If this were a contest, the Seven Devils cafe and the Library would be neck and neck as to which penny collection jar received the most money so far.
I took my slide show to the fourth grade class last week, and they put together a donation of $9.67 for the museum. Then Jeremy Stoker brought me another $1.50 on his own.
Our bank balance is now close to $3800. Our very sincere thanks to all of you who have given to this cause, in whatever amount. It is very, very appreciated.
History Corner 5-19-95
by Dale Fisk
All the recent talk about state's rights reminds me of another time in America when people were outraged at the Federal Government for some of the same reasons as they are now. It resulted in the biggest loss of life in this country that ever came before or since. More Americans were killed over this issue than all those who lost their lives in the First and Second World Wars combined plus every other U.S. war in history thrown in. In just three days of this conflict over state's rights, almost as many men were killed as were lost in Vietnam.
Of course I'm referring to our Civil War. Slavery was one of the issues that led up to the war, but think about one obvious fact. Why would anyone give their life for something they already had? Slavery was perfectly legal in every state that rebelled against the Union. Slavery didn't become a major focal point of the conflict until Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation half way through the war, as a tactical maneuver designed to cause chaos in the South.
Then, as now, one of the main issues was that many in the South saw the government as an overbearing bureaucracy that was dominated by city people who didn't know or care anything about life in the South, i.e. - Northerners who represented a more urban and industrialized way of life. But enough about that.
I have to note the passing of a true Landmark in the Council Valley - Fred Lappin. He was a fine man. His father was one of the first fruit growers here, and Lappin Lane is named after the family. Fred ran the ranch that Rich Anderson has now, for many years .
Our photo session Friday was great. We started copying photographs just after 1 o'clock and didn't really get a break until we quit at 8 PM. We copied about 120 photos! It's hard to pick favorites, but Galen York should get a prize for bringing in the only known photo of the Middle Fork school. Galen also had pictures of teams and scrapers building the Lost Valley Reservoir Dam.
Other photos included one of a sawmill crew at Tamarack in 1915, the Shaw and Harrington families, the old Congregational church (the one before this one), the Adams County rodeo in 1949, Ike, Lillie and Herbie Glenn, and many more.
Bobbie Darland brought in a photo of a young Dr. Dora Gerber, our former resident Dentist of many years. This was in keeping with the fact that the Idaho Historical Society delivered some of Dr. Gerber's equipment to the museum that day. They brought her old chair, a white cabinet full of instruments, and boxes containing some other interesting devises, tools, denture making supplies, and ... a big box full of wicked-looking drill bits.
An boy did the stories start to fly! Almost everybody who came in had a story to tell about their experiences with Dr. Gerber. The general consensus was that she did not mind inflicting pain.
My own memories of her come from early childhood. The anticipation of the ordeal while in the waiting room was almost as bad as the actual drilling. She only had the old fashioned, slow, grinding drill that felt like your skull was going to vibrate apart. One of the most welcomed news in my young life was that my parents were going to take me to Weiser to a dentist that actually used novocaine to deaden my teeth before he drilled them!
People say that she did use novocaine for procedures other than simple drilling and filling. But that doesn't mean it was always used effectively. Many of you know what a good story teller Dick Parker is, and I can't do justice to his talent, but basically the story goes as follows. Dick had a couple of teeth that were bothering him. Dr. Gerber took a look at them and said (almost with what seemed like delight in her voice) something to the effect that he could kiss those teeth goodbye. The way she injected the novocaine was absolute proof in Dick's mind that speed and efficiency don't equal tender, loving medical care. The whole dose entered his gum in about half a second. The good doctor immediately brought out her pliers and wrenched the teeth from their sockets. Dick said that about the time he walked out the front door, the novocaine took effect.
On the positive side, people say she made some of the finest dentures to be found anywhere. I hear that her assistant, Mrs. Rubottom, was a valuable asset in this regard. There are still people wearing dentures that were made at Dr. Gerber's office. Her prices were also very reasonable.
It must have been in 1980 that the Health Department closed Dr. Gerber down. The Historical Society was called in to take her equipment. I'm not clear about how they could legally take it, but her methods had become pretty unsanitary. Even her fellow animal lovers probably didn't appreciate being worked on with dogs, cats and chickens wandering about in the same room.
The guys from the Historical Society said that while they were hauling her equipment out the door, she kept trying to grab things out of the various cabinets, etc. It was a sad end to the career of a genuine pioneer.
As near as I can gather, she came to Council from Kendrick, Idaho in the 1940s. Her office was on the north end of the upstairs of the old Drug Store / Doctor's office building that now houses the Ceramic shop. (On the north west corner of Illinois Ave. and Galena St.) She was born in 1889, and would have been about 80 years old when she was forced to retire. She lived to be over 100.
She had a gold mine somewhere up in the Salmon River country. She spoke the Nez Perce language, and someone said that it was the Indians who told her where to find the gold deposit.
I would like to put together more information about Dr. Gerber so that we can have some to go with a display about her and her work for the museum someday. We also need more photos of her. The only one we have shows her long before she came to Council. I would also like to collect more stories and information about her. We know that she has at least one daughter that is said to live in Alaska. If someone has her address, please get it to me.
I would like to point out that we do not have room for any of the dentist equipment, and it was crowded in along side the already crowded items in the museum. This is just one example of the kind of thing we face because we simply are out of room. The addition to the museum for which we are raising money will help solve this problem. We need your help. Donations can be dropped off at City Hall, mailed to me at box 252, Council, or put in one of the Pennies for the Past jars around town.
History Corner 5-26-95
by Dale Fisk
On Saturday, Anna, Blaine and I went on a ride with the Backcountry Horsemen. We went through some beautiful country along the West Fork of the Weiser River that has some interesting history. Unfortunately, much of the history that I have on this specific area is sketchy, so I would appreciate help from people who know more about it.
Some of the riders unloaded at what has been known during my lifetime as the Harvey and Hazel Harrington place on West Fork. It used to be known as the old Bridgewood place. I don't know much about James Bridgewood or his family. They were here in 1913, and the Leader said they moved here to stay in the spring of 1915 from Mountain Home.
The Bill Bear family lived on this place a few years later. Bill had a daughter named Frieda who was remembered as having a beautiful singing voice. She sang at Fruitvale literaries. Literaries were common in the days before TV and radio. People would get together at the local school house and entertain each other with popular songs and the recitation of long poems like "The Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight" and "Picture on the Barroom Floor".
I'm going to tell you about a tragic event about the side of life that is pretty much avoided (for good reason) by local historians. In talking to Heidi Bigler Cole, and other people who know about local history, I keep hearing "... that's not the whole story, but it gets scandalous, and their relatives are still living here." If someone were insensitive, they could undoubtedly write a whole book on the subject. Anyway, story of Frieda Bear is one in which "scandal and shame" led to her death. She became pregnant by a young man from a well known Fruitvale family of the time. She tried to abort the pregnancy herself, and died - probably from bleeding or infection.
At the beginning of our ride, we crossed the river near the mouth of Rocky Gulch, and passed near the old Ryals homestead. William Ryals married Laura Robertson, and they had a cabin there just after 1900. The cabin was just north of the mouth of "Ryals Gulch" on the west side of the West Fork. Their son, Everett (Mel Ryals's father), was born in 1904. William worked away from home much of the time. When he was gone, Laura was apprehensive about the mountain lions in the area, and sometimes had her sister, Millie Robertson (later Bethel) come spend the night with her. William died of what may have been stomach cancer at the age of about 29, when Everett was about four years old. Laura was better known as being married to her later husband, Jim Ward.
We rode up Muckenstrum Canyon, and stopped for lunch at the old Muckensturn homestead. Lee Muckensturn and his son, Frank, lived here, apparently up into the 1930s. Local people pronounced their name as "Muckenstrum" and the canyon is still known by that name. La Dell Merk thought their was a second son. Anybody know about that?
On top of the ridge west of the river, somewhere just south of where the power line now cuts across, we went right by the old Fred Aiken homestead. What a dry place this must have been. Aiken was a World War I vet who told stories about his experiences. The whistling sound that enemy shells made as they plummeted toward the trenches, and the boom when they hit the earth, was stamped indelibly on his memory.
During prohibition, Fred drank several alcohol - laden substitutes for liquor to get inebriated. Among his favorites were lemon and vanilla extract. Sometimes, he would take a wagon and team to Council by way of Hornet Creek, and come back intoxicated to the point of being semi-conscious. Occasionally, his horse would get him as far toward home as the Marks place. They would bring him in an give him a place to sleep until morning, when he would go on home.
Lemule Haines, a man with one wooden leg, homesteaded just to the west of Aikens's. Haines had several sons. At least one of them became blind from drinking the rot-gut moonshine that they made. Another son died from it.
As we rode south, back down the ridge toward the river, we could look down on the old Farlien place. Denny Rice built the house there, and Scisms own it now. Jacob Farlien, and his sons Dan, Henry (Hank) and Bill, lived on the east side of the river, north of Rocky Gulch. They were well known house builders in this area around in the early part of the century. Jacob died in 1913
A meadow along the river that is known by some as the "Dillon Flat" is farther up the West Fork, and we didn't see it on our ride. This spot was owned in the early 1900s by Benjamin (B. J.) and Lena Dillon. Both Dillons were school teachers around Council about 1903. They married here about that time, then moved to Hagerman, Idaho, returning to teach here in 1906. They probably established their homestead on the West Fork at that time. The couple lived in Cambridge for a short time shortly after 1909 while Mr. Dillon apparently moonlighted as a preacher in the Council and Cambridge areas. By 1911, the Dillons were again living here.
Ben was also an attorney, and was once described as "...one of the ablest speakers in the county ..." In 1912, he became the first elected Adams County Prosecuting Attorney. He resigned from this office in 1921.
Lena Dillon taught at the McMahan school house, at least during 1911, 1912 and 1922. Her maiden name was Wiffen, and her sister, Lillian, was married to Art Wilkie.
We were hunting mushrooms there a couple weeks ago, and noticed that there are a bunch of blackberry bushes still there at the Dillon place, and one lonely apple tree. The Fruitvale Echo newspaper reported that the Dillons had as many as three acres planted to potatoes here in 1912. Where the house must have stood, there are the rusted remains of a Majestic brand cook stove and a set of bed springs.
I would appreciate hearing from anyone who can add to this knowledge about the people I've written about here. 253-4582
Don't forget about the nice quilts that the Worthwhile Club made that are being raffled off to raise money for the museum. The quilts are on display in the window at Shaver's where you can buy tickets.
I keep forgetting to tell everyone that your donations to the museum are looked upon very favorably by the Idaho tax code. You get a 50% tax credit for donations up to $100 (maximum total) on your Idaho taxes for contributions to educational entities such as historical museums. In other words, a $100 donation to the museum could only mean $50 out of your pocket. What a deal!
6-2-95
I'm still getting conflicting accounts about the location of the Long Valley Massacre grave site. If I find it, I'll let you know.
The next year after the massacre (1879) there were several murders along the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, and Sheep Eater Indians were accused of committing them. Troops were sent into the area from Boise to capture the "hostiles". The Army spent four months struggling through the rugged country just trying to locate the Indians. Over sixty army mules or horses were lost; most of them killed by falling off the trail on precipitous mountainsides. Ironically, on August 20, exactly one year to the day after the Long Valley Massacre, one of the cavalry units sent after the Sheep Eaters rode into a very similar, fatal ambush. One soldier, Private H. Eagan was killed. This pathetic four-month-long campaign that became known as the "Sheep Eater War", managed to round up a total of 15 warriors and about 36 women, children and old people.
It's interesting to note that among the captured Indians were two men that were later rumored to have been involved in the Long Valley Massacre: "Tamanmo" (or War Jack) and a Weiser Indian named "Buoyer". War Jack was listed by Lieut. Brown, in his journal, as being part Bannock and part Nez Perce, and that he claimed to be the successor to Chief Eagle Eye. His wife and children were also captured. Brown said that Buoyer had only been in the area for about a year, and did not know the country well.
In the early 1880's some Indians still roamed the Idaho mountains. Most were eventually captured, or they surrendered, and were sent to the Fort Hall Reservation. Small groups of Weisers were allowed to leave the reservation from time to time to hunt, fish and gather berries in their old territory. This practice continued into the early 1900's. Many of the old timers around Council when I was a kid remembered Indians coming through here. An Indian woman took a liking to Ike Glenn (Georgiana Parker's father) and tried to buy him from his parents.
Two small groups of Weiser Indians under Eagle Eye and Indian Charley, secretly established permanent homes in a very secluded, out-of-the-way valley south of Long Valley, west of the Payette River, near present day Banks, Idaho. These families built cabins, raised gardens, and planted fruit trees. By combining both white and native life-styles, they were quite self-sufficient. Eagle Eye and Indian Charley were each able to die here, as they had lived: in peace.
I ran across an interesting item in the Salubria Citizen newspaper for June 19,1896 quoted from another Idaho newspaper, the "Index": "Eagle Eye, chief of the Dry Buck Indians is dead, and the tribes are making a powerful lamentation over his remains." It said they put his body in a pit for 10 days, and were taking it out and burning it. The paper blatantly made the claim that Eagle Eye, "was a leader of the band that killed Monday, Haley and Groseclose in Long Valley about 16 years ago."
It would seem that the type of unobtrusive settlement that Eagle Eye's group had established would have been an ideal solution to "the Indian problem". For many years, whites didn't even know they were there. But when they did find out about them, the dark side of human nature raised its ugly head. Even though the Indians filed for rights to their land under the Homestead laws, they were eventually coerced into giving up even this last fragment of their homeland. About 1900, the last remaining members of this group of free native people was imprisoned at the Fort Hall and Lemhi Reservations.
For native Americans, the concentration-camp existence they were forced to live under must have been almost impossible to bear. In their culture, everything sacred, everything that gave purpose and meaning to their lives was based on their relationship with mother earth, from who's arms they had been ruthlessly torn. What cultural values could they pass on to their children when almost every value they understood had been made irrelevant? It seems bitterly ironic that a culture that outwardly professed spirituality, but was really based on rampant materialism, brutally crushed a culture so totally immersed in deep spiritual values.
Today, the wrong that was done to the natives of this country is almost insidious...the stories of their lives mostly unknown... but their former presence here underlies everything that has followed them. The places where we now live, work and play, were all a precious legacy handed down from native fathers and mothers (Landmarks) to sons and daughters for more than 100 centuries longer than the blink of an eye that our European culture has been here.
Imagine a time line, with each foot representing 1,000 years. Going backwards from the present to a point14,000 years ago, about when the first Americans arrived here, the line would be fourteen feet long. Columbus arrived on this continent only six inches ago. Idaho Indians got horses about 3 1/2 inches ago. And the Mosers arrived to settle the Council Valley less than 1 1/2 inches ago.
You may remember my saying how where we live now is like a stage where many unknown dramas have been acted out. Maxine Hallett found an arrow head on the ground just outside her Coleman apartment last week. What stories lie behind it will never be known, but it represents volumes of fascinating tales that lie literally under our feet.
6-9-95
Settlement of this area didn't stop during Nez Perce, Bannock or Sheep Eater Wars. I mentioned Calvin White in the Long Valley Massacre story. It was he who discovered Three Fingered Smith lying wounded near Payette Lake.
White was the first settler in the Meadows Valley, and had only arrived there the year of that massacre and of the Bannock War (1878). He was born in Boston in 1833, and started out his long and eventful career when he was just a boy, going to work on sailing ships. He followed the sea until he was 30 years old, traveling all over the world. He apparently got gold fever and wound up in the Boise Basin during the heyday of that area in 1863. There is a portrait of Cal White, taken during this time, in the files at the State Historical Library.
At a social occasion near Falk's Store in the Payette Valley, White met, and quickly fell in love with Lydia Hopper, a girl from a wagon train headed west. After the train moved on, Cal caught up with it near Baker, and the two were married on the spot. This whirl wind romance apparently worked out. They eventually had nine children.
After living briefly in Garden Valley and Horseshoe Bend, Cal moved his family to Indian Valley about the time of the Nez Perce scare in 1877, and then moved to Meadows the next year, perhaps before the Bannock War heated up.
If you remember, by 1878 there were only a few families in the Council Valley. It was that fall that Robert White (no known relation to Calvin) became the first postmaster in this area when a post office named "Council Valley" was opened. The "office" was nothing more than a small box containing mail that he kept under his bed in his home just north of the present town. There were no individual post office boxes. People may have followed what was sometimes the custom in those types of situations in which each family looked through the box for their mail. So much for privacy.
When Calvin White made his move from Indian Valley to Meadows, the Meadows Valley was known as "Salmon Meadows". The name later evolved to "Meadows Valley". At the time, there was no road north of the Council Valley. White and his partner, W.C. Jennings took the first wagon through between the valleys. They followed the Weiser River bottom, crossing the river repeatedly as the canyon narrowed. They finally gave up this tactic just beyond Starkey. From there, they climbed up onto the ridge tops north and west of the river. Their exact route is unknown, but they reportedly passed through Lost Valley and Price Valley.
Soon afterwards, White and some of the settlers in the Council Valley, built a crude wagon trail between the valleys. The route went over Fort Hall Hill, then dove into the brushy canyon and forded the river 37 times between Glendale and Tamarack.
The White family established the first home (not counting Packer John Welch's layover cabin) in Meadows Valley, as well as the first store and post office. Cal was the first postmaster and carried mail between Indian Valley and Warren. Calvin White died at the age of 94 in 1927.
As nearly as I can tell, it was in 1879 that William Rayle Harrington, as well as Rufus Anderson, came from Indian Valley to settle on Hornet Creek .
It was during this time, before Weiser became established enough to have well-stocked stores, Council Valley residents often went to Boise or Baker City for supplies. A trip to Boise and back took from ten days to two weeks. Even after a wider range of supplies were available in Weiser, it was still a four day journey round trip with a wagon.
In 1882, the Oregon Short Line Railroad reached Weiser. The company was building tracks from Ogden, Utah to Huntington, Oregon to meet a line coming east from Pendleton, Oregon. Having a railroad as close as Weiser was a boon to the people of the Council Valley. It meant that they were that much closer to a real shipping point ... that much closer to being connected to the outside world. Thanks in large part to the closer proximity of the railroad, the population of the Council Valley area rapidly grew throughout the 1880s.
I got a call from Fred Thompson, a former Fruitvale resident (Bob's brother) on Saturday night. . Fred now lives in Bishop, California. He said he has a picture of the Bill Bear family that I mentioned as having lived on the West Fork. He plans to send us a copy of it and some other picutures. It's great to here from people who used to live here and who either still get a Council paper, or have a clipping of the History Corner sent to them. I hope any of you out there will keep in mind that we are still looking for old photos of this area. Don't hesitate to write to me at Box 252, Council or call (208) 253-4582. Also, if you have other things like scrap books or other information that can add to the story of this area, I am very interested in seeing them.
Don't forget our fund drive to improve the museum. Things have been awfully quiet on that front lately. Save your pennies too! Our fund is about $3782 right now.
6-16-95
This week, I have the great pleasure of announcing the most significant development concerning the museum since the launching of our fund drive. The museum project will be receiving $7,000 that ACDC applied for from Farm Bill money! This money will boost our funds over the top of the $10,000 that we need to match Evea Powers's pledge to equal that amount. This means that we can go ahead with final plans to expand the museum!
The museum belongs to the town of Council, and a general plan for the addition was approved by the City Council some time back. There are still some important arrangements to be made as to exactly how the museum activities and city activities will each compliment the function of the other. Hopefully, these loose ends will tie up easily and the project will get underway soon.
Even though this means we have reached a goal that we have been working very hard toward for several years, it doesn't mean we will stop raising funds entirely. The amount we have nailed down should get the addition built, but we will still encounter some expenses as we move and improve the displays. Basically, the more money we have to work with, the better job we can do of making Council a better place to live.
Last week, I ended this column by mentioning the rapid growth in the Council area in the 1880s. In another History Corner some months ago, I wrote about how the town almost got established north of where it is now. The first two post offices, the first store and the first organized school were located on Galena Street (which was the road through the valley) about a mile north of the present town.
The first business in the Valley was the Moser home, which was located about where Ruben's is now. They often housed and fed travelers in their cabin. The next business was probably a blacksmith shop established in 1884 by Frank Mathias.
By 1885, their were about 300 settlers living in the Council Valley. Activity in the Seven Devils had picked up with arrival of Albert Kleinschmidt. There were enough settlers living in the Cottonwood Creek area south of Council that a post office, called "Rose", was established there that year
In the spring of 1885, this "news" item from the Council Valley appeared in the Weiser City Leader: "There is a new town in this valley, which already has two saloons and a blacksmith shop; they will probably call it Snortville, or Spitfire. There is a young lady in Council who loans twenty dollar pieces to all parties who can give good security." One of the hallmarks of 19th century newspaper writers was heavy doses of inside jokes and good-humored leg pulling. Part of this item in the paper, especially the part about the young lady, may have been exaggerated or even untrue. Nevertheless, it does indicate the beginnings of a town, as opposed to a scattered community. The speculated names for the town were probably based on local nicknames. Robert White's nickname was "Uncle Snort" because he was such a story teller. The identity of the two saloons is a mystery, unless someone dispensed liquor out of their home, as there were no saloons here at that time.
John Peters came up from Weiser to establish the first store in the Council Valley (at the location I mentioned north of the present town) in 1888. By this time, so many new families had moved into the Valley that the Weiser paper said the Council Valley was "... cultivated clear up to the timbered foothills.
Plans are being made to have an old fashioned booth at a couple of upcoming local events, partly to promote and raise money for the museum. The events are the Arts and Crafts Festival at the Quilt Show on June 24, and the big fund-raiser for Council scheduled for August 5 & 6. Some help is needed from people in the community. A small, horse-drawn wagon may be needed if one hasn't been found by then. Also needed are: old-style "prairie" type dresses, bonnets, etc. for costumes ... two small, old-fashioned trunks ... and a small, old-fashioned table. The dresses, etc. can be dropped of with Nadine at the General Store in Council. Also, volunteers are needed to help with the booths. If you can help with any of these things, please call Irene Dodge (253-4711) or Mary Sterner (253-6930).
6-22-95
First sawmills in Council area
6-29-95
Early businesses in Council – Council Valley Hotel, etc.
7-6-95
The 1890s, saloons, gang robbed sheep camp on Cuddy one outlaw killed
7-13-95
1901, fire of 1902
7-20-95
1903,
7-27-95
Last week I received a history paper written by Grahm Doyle that he wrote when he was in high school here at Council in 1936. He now lives in Meridian. Mr. Doyle interviewed Bill Winkler, Robert Young and Matilda Moser to get some of the information he used, and his paper contained a few very interesting pieces of the puzzle.
One of the original five Council trees was still standing at the time the paper was written. When the Indians met here, they had a “race track” where they would race horses. Robert young remembered competing in some of these races. Young said that the track rand “from a ditch by Hallett's barn, northward for quite some distance...” [Asked if anyone knew the location of this barn]
Doyle's paper contains the names of most of the men that were in the [Dunham Wright] party. Robert Young had an explanation as to why Wright's party tried such a difficult route instead of going on up the Weiser River in some way, as the roads do now: “When Dunham Wright left the wagon train at Middle Valley he did not know of, nor could he see, the valley through her, because of the hills and valleys between Middle Valley and Council Valley. The natural thing the, would be to follow the 'Little Weiser' river canyon. In other words, they parted near the forks of the Weiser river and the Little Weiser and the latter (the right hand fork) looked the easiest.”
Mr. Doyle related that Dee Russell said a tree had grown up through the middle of one of the wagon rims at the burnt wagon site. Does anyone know anything about that?
Several histories mention there were two or three single men living in the Council area when the Moser family settled here. Henry Childs is often mentioned, but the others have been a mystery. Doyle says one man was Dan Gage who had a cabin 'up the valley a few miles,' and another man whose last name was Vanderford who 'resided down the valley.' They were said to be trappers.
Doyle remembered he had his first glass of 3.2% beer when Fred Weed (Carlos' uncle) opened a little beer bar about where Wilson's is now. He said, “This was right after FDR got rid of Prohibition and age hadn't become a factor yet. If you had a dime, you could have a beer.”
The Doyle family lived upstairs in the rear of the drug store building near Dr. Thurston's office, and shared a single toilet “just to the left of the stairs.”
Doyle continued, “I remember that Marion Young built probably the first 'sno-cat' in that part of the world for Dr. Thurston to get around in in the winter. Marion had taken a Model A Ford and put, either one or two axles and wheels between the original ones, and then rigged up some tracks to go around the rear axles and the thing worked reasonably well. He even had retractable wheels and skis on the front.
“I remember that Dr. Thurston made a call in this rig to the Jeff Yarbrough ranch up Hornet Creek in the middle of winter to deliver a baby. “I'm a little fuzzy here, but this may have been in 1933 or 1934. Winters were heavier than they have been since, and I believe an average snow fall was between two and three feet. Not many ranchers or farmers had money in those days, and the doctor took his fee, sometimes in chickens or wood or beef – just about anything.”
“Does anyone remember Al Bounds, a hulk of a man famous for his strength and size?”
8-3-95
History of the Council theater/ Eagle Hall
8-10-95
Fort Hall, early settlers at Fruitvale
It is hard to say exactly who established the fist permanent home at Fruitvale, but the first patented homestead may have bee that of William D. and Rebecca Glenn. They came West from Arkansas in 1881, living briefly in the Grande Ronde Valley of Oregon before moving just south of Council on Cottonwood Creek in 1883. William was 57 and Rebecca was 56 years old when they arrived here. Several of their children , some of them grown, came with them. The best known children were Tom, Joel (Joe), William M. (Bill), and Frank. There were reportedly three other brothers and four girls in the family.
There is some confusion as to just when the Glenns settled where, and when. I'll start with the least confusing.
William D. Glenn homesteaded a place about a mile south of Fruitvale in 1884 and proved up on it in 1889. Confusion come in because his son, William M. Glenn appears to have homesteaded at nearly the same location the same year. I'll refer to William M. Glenn as Bill from here on. Bill's place was about a mile southeast of Fruitvale. His cabin was east of the big white house that sits northeast of the highway cut through that rocky little hill (2514 Fruitvale-Glendale Road).
Ten years later (1894, at the age of 34) he married Mattie (Martha) Hinkle. Mattie's father, Elijah Hinkle, had homesteaded the next place south of the George A. Winkler homestead at about the same time Bill's parents had arrived in the valley. The Hinkle place was about 2.5 miles north of Council and about a half mile west of the present highway. [At the end of Hoover Lane, which is horribly misnamed!] The place later belonged to Ed Snow, and at this writing is occupied by Ned and Glenna Henderson.
Both Bill's and Mattie's fathers had fought for the Confederacy in the Civil War, and both families were from Arkansas. Mattie's father, Elijah Hinkle, wrote home during the war and told his wife to spend all their Confederate money. He foresaw that it would be worthless if the South lost the war, as it appeared it might. Mrs. Hinkle couldn't bear to do it, and the useless script was in the family for generations.
Like many families, the Hinkles came West after the war because things got so bad in the South. Family lore says that when they were still in Arkansas, Mrs. Hinkle was accosted by a black man who stopped her buggy by grabbing the bridle of the horse as she was driving home. She whipped the horses into a run and he let go. She didn't tell her husband because she said there had been enough trouble and bloodshed.
Bill and Mattie had two sons, Isaac “Ike” (1896 – 1975) and Herbert “Herbie” (c. 1894 – 1950).
Ike said when he was just "old enough to run around" (probably about 1900), he sometimes saw Indians ride into the valley near their ranch. They rode single file, in a line about a half-mile long, and sometimes made camp down by the river. They usually followed a trail that came down Fort Hall creek and went up the first canyon south of "McMahan's Bluff," the bluff that overlooks Fruitvale on the south. When the Indians came through, they used to buy squash and other vegetables from the Glenn family. On one occasion an Indian woman wanted more than vegetables. She tried to trade some beads and other things for Ike because she liked his pretty blue eyes.
Another of Ike's first memories was of a cougar hunt. A mountain lion had been killing livestock in the Fruitvale area, so one morning after fresh sign was found, the settlers got together to hunt it down. They spread out in a semicircle to the north of where they thought the cat was, and methodically closed in. Ike remembered seeing the lion cornered in the rocks on the steep, east-facing hillside just south of McMahan's Bluff where the men shot it.
It was Ike and Herbie who built the white house on the Glenn place in 1925.
In the spring of 1928, Bill Glenn was starting the morning fire in the cook stove when he heard Mattie scream in the next room. He ran in to find her engulfed in flames. The Adams County Leader reported that it wasn't known how she caught fire, but the family story says she was brushing her hair too near the open flame of a lamp. She lived for several days, and died on Friday the 13th. She was about 68 years old. Bill Glenn died in 1937 and is buried at Weiser.
Herbie Glenn was a justice of the peace during the early 1920s. The Adams County Leader noted that Claude Childers married Dora May Haydon at Herbert Glenn's house at Fruitvale. Both were from Wildhorse. No preachers could be found in town, so they went to Herbie. When he married people, Herbie wasn't big on long ceremonies. For instance, when he married Perry McCumpsy and his bride, he said a few mandatory things and then simply blurted out, “You're married!” [This story came from my father, Dick Fisk.] Herbie was a County Commissioner later in his life.
Herbie had served in the 347th Machine Gun Battery in WWI, which was said to have taken part in some of the heaviest fighting of that brutal war. When he came home, he had occasional trouble with what was then called “shell shock. Today it is called Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). He once remarked that he had seen a tank track run over and crush a man's head. I don't want to give the impression that Herbie was disablde in any way. He wasn't. And he was well-liked and respected in the community. But there were times when his traumatic experiences seemed to weigh on him. On one occasion, when driving some cattle with some other Fruitvale men, he road up through the herd as if in a trance, scattering cattle on either side of him. One day in the fall of 1950 my dad drove by Herbie and saw him sitting in his car, just staring off into space. Herbie was 67 at the time. The very next day, Dad heard that Herbie had gone into the bathroom in the house that he had helped build and ended his life with a Winchester rifle. [He fell against the door, and to get him out, men had to crawl in through the window.]
In the 1930s, Ike took a fancy to the teacher at the Fruitvale school, Lillie Barker. Ike married her and had two daughters: Marjory, who married Dick Clay, and Georgiana who married Dick Parker. Ike and Lillie's house sat where Dick and Georgiana now live on the old Glenn place, but in a different house. Ike used a stump puller to laboriously drag the original house down to that location from about a quarter mile east of there. Later, they moved into the big white house n the place and had no need for the old house. It was moved to its present location just west of the high school. I think Dick and Georgiana built the house that they live in now at the old Glenn house location.
Lillie Glenn died in 1968, and Ike died in 1976.
8-17-95 Glenn family continued
Herbie Glen never married. Also, about two weeks before his death, he had fallen and hit his head when he was helping to build the Masonic Lodge in McCall. He had very severe headaches from that injury that probably contributed more to his final state of mind than his war trauma did.
Wm D. Glenn is mentioned as having homesteaded both south and east of Fruitvale and about a half mile west of it. Last week I wrote about the one southeast of Fruitvale. That one seems to be the right one. Wm. D. Glenn died in 1893, and Rebecca died in 1914.
There are two places on the West Fork of the Weiser River that belonged to members of the Glenn family. One is where I live now and where the Fisk ranch starts. The other is the next ranch up the West Fork Road, where Schwartzes lived for most of the past 40 years. [2657 West Fork Road.] It belongs to Scisms now, and the Harold Hoxie family lives there. [2017 = home to Mr. and Mrs. James Scism. The Jame R. Finn family live here in a house above (north of) the road at some point in the early days.]
Just how it happened, I'm not sure yet, but Joe wound up with the lower place and Tom with the upper one. In the obituaries and other references to Tom, Joe and Frank Glenn, all mention their having homesteaded on West Fork. Ike Glenn once told me that Frank had owned Tom's place before Tom did. And I have found three newspaper reports that Frank was the original homesteader there. It may be that he just never received a patent on the land. Tom Glenn did get a patent on that homestead in 1903. He married a neighbor girl from up the West Fork, Amanda Farlien, just the year before that, in 1902. They had five sons (Roy, Jeff, Otto, Jake and Earl), and twin daughters, Viola Roberts and Margaret Hubbard. In 1915, Tom and his family moved to Pine Creek, Oregon. Amanda died of the flu in 1923. In 1937, tom was killed in a car wreck at Enterprise, Oregon. They are both buried in the Winkler Cemetery. The T.J. Glenn Ditch that comes out of the West Fork is named for Tom Glenn.
Joel Glenn, better known as “Joe,” built and lived in the house that I live in now, about a half mile west of the Fruitvale Post Office. Hardy Harp may have owned this place before Joe did. In Joe's obituary, it says he lived for many years near Fruitvale on what is known as the MdMahan place, and later moved to West Fork. No dates were given.
1902 seems to have been a good year for the Glenn boys to marry. In addition to Tom's wedding, Joe married a Long Valley girl named Cora Sult that year. Joe and Cora eventually had 14 children.
Joe Glenn was known for his deep, rich singing voice. He built this [my] house in 1910. Joe and Cora sold their place to his neighbor, E.F. Fisk (my grandfather) in 1924, and moved to Toledo, Oregon. Joe died there only four years later, in 1928.
Frank Glenn must have been the oldest of the brothers. He married Sarah Denton in 1871. She died in 1893. I have other into that says her name was Elizabeth. Apparently Frank moved back to Arkansas by 1915. He died in 1940. Frank's son, Johne Emsley Glenn (born 1878 in Arkansas) came West with his parents in ox-drawn wagons. He was known by his middle name, Emsley. He and his sister, Walsa, and their brothers attended the White School on Lappin Lane during the three summer months when school was in session. This would have been about a five mile walk. The school district was briefly known as the “Glenn District,” apparently because there were so many Glenn kids attending.
Emsley homesteaded the place about a mile north of the Fruitvale Post Office where the Doug Scism family now lives. On this place was a deep hole at a bend in the river. Circles of rocks were found near it where Indians are said to have had sweat lodges. The hole was also a very good place to spear salmon. A 25 lb. Salmon was caught there in about the 1930s. The hole was deep enough to swim in when I was a kind in the 1960s.
When the railroad came through Fruitvale about 1905, it is said that Emsley met the men who were laying the grade with a rifle in his hand. He would not let them set foot on his land until the right of way through it had been paid for.
Emsley married one of George Robertson's daughters, Mary, in 1903, and they had a son, George, later that year. When George was 9 years old, he got tuberculosis in his bowels. It was a slow, painful way to die. George died April 1, 1912. Fred Glenn, George's little brother that he would never know, was born only about a month later.
Mary divorced Emsley in 1929. She later married Ed McGinley. She died in 1967.
Emsley spent a lot of time working in various sawmills around the area. It was this general occupation that eventually killed him. In 1936, both Emsley and his son, Fred, were working at the Placer Basin mine. On the night of August 21, Emsley came to visit as Fred ran the mine hoist. [The cable-driven cart that went up and down the inclined mine shaft, carrying ore and/or miners.] Emsley had never stopped in like this before, and the two men had a good visit until Emsley left about midnight. When he finished his shift at 4:00 AM, Fred went to bed. At about 8:30, he was shaken awake as he heard someone saying, “Wake up Fred, your dad's dead!”
Emsley and Ernest Ludiker had been falling trees, clearing a path for a pipeline. The very first tree they had cut down that morning had fallen into a dead tree. The impact of the fallint tree caused the top to break off of the dead tree, exploding wooden shrapnel out and down toward the ground. Ernest ran one way, and Emsley made the fatal mistake of running the other. A knotty piece of limb hit Emsley on the top of his head with such force that it killed him instantly. His false teeth were knocked out of his mouth and found 10 feet away from where he fell. Emsley was 58 years old.
Fred Glenn was a very handsome and popular young man around Fruitvale. He played guitar for dances, and was said by some of the local girls to be “ the only boy in the area that was worth dating.” Pretty stiff competition for my dad, uncles and the other Fruitvale boys. My aunt, Amy Fisk , was the girl Fred married. They had one boy, Tommy, and two girls, Maxine (Nichols) and Nelma (Green). Fred and Amy operated Fred's father's ranch and the old Robertson place for many years. In addition to his other services to the community, Fred was an Adams County Commissioner, and was a state Senator for two terms. He died in 1986.
8-24-95
Another early family at Fruitvale was the Robertsons. About 1878, the Harp and Robertson families came west with the wagon train that brought the Copeland, Winklers and Keslers to Council. Both the Harps and Robertsons stayed briefly near Boise, and then lived other places near Council before they settled at Fruitvale.
George and Martha Robertson went on to the Council area in 1883. they lived on Mill Creek first, where their daughter, Mary, was born in 1884. In 1885 they moved to the farm the Robertson family descendants have owned for generations, located about a quarter mile north of the Fruitvale Post Office and just west of the Fruitvale Glendale Road.
The following is a fictional account of an all-too-real event. Most of the details are based on factual information:
As Martha Robertson awoke, she could hear birds singing outside. The June sun was just starting to throw an amber glow onto the ridge across the river to the west. “A perfect morning to do some gardening,” she thought to herself. As she lit the morning fire in the cook stove, her two oldest children, Albert and Mary, staggered in, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.
As she cooked breakfast, Martha thought about her husband. George had been gone almost two months now. He had gone to find a job where he could make more money than he could scratch out of their farm. The previous summer had been the driest on record, and almost nothing had grown.
The winter had been the most severe that anybody in the area had ever seen. Spring, which had been a nightmare of ice jams and flooding on the river just below their house, was the last straw. She knew his working away from home was probably best, at least for the summer, but it concerned her that she hadn't heard from him.
Working in the garden always got Martha's mind off of her worries. Before she went out, she stepped into the room where Lena, her 14-month-old daughter, was still sleeping peacefully. Martha smiled and remembered how precious Lena had been lately. She had just figured out how to pull herself up onto her feet by clinging to the leg of a kitchen chair. Lena would tentatively let go, stand for a few seconds getting her balance, and then take a few awkward steps to the next chair. Martha kissed her sleeping baby gently and went out to the garden.
As Martha weeded, her mind wandered to dreams of future improvements she and George had planned for their homestead. It was such a beautiful morning, it was easy to be optimistic. Her pleasant musing was shattered by Mary's bone-chilling scream. Martha turned and looked up the slope to the house. Billows of smoke were coming out of the windows, and ugly orange tongues of fire were licking the door frame.
For an instant, Martha's mind wanted to just shut down, to deny that this could be real. The image of Lena asleep in her crib hit her like a fist slammed into her stomach, ans she heard herself scream.
The next few minutes were a blur of hysteric confusion and numb disbelief. Albert, Mary and Laura looked at their mother with helpless, pleading eyes, hoping that somehow she could make everything alright. At some point, Martha was aware of her neighbor, Miles Chaffee, racing up to her and asking her something. She watched as he circled the burning house, trying, as she already had, to find a way to get inside to the baby. But it was hopeless. She slumped to the ground and stared blankly as the holocaust slowly tore out a piece of her soul and reduced it to ugly, charred nothingness.
The fire occurred on June 11, 1890. No one seems to have known just how it started. The Robertson house was rebuilt, and burned again in 1926.
George and Martha had a total of eight children: Albert, Mary, Laura, Lena, Oliver, Millie, Elizabeth (Beth) and Pete.
In 1894 George Robertson and Loring Sevey (also spelled Sevy) dug the Robertson – Sevey ditch that is still in use today. The men had no transit or sight level to guide them in the project. They turned in the water as they went along, and used it as a guide as they worked.
8-31-1995
George Robertson grew sugar cane on his ranch, and had his own mill to process it. The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Oct 7,1905, said, "George Robertson has just closed down his cane mill after making several hundred gallons of sorghum.... The molasses made from the cane raised here is pronounced by Missourians - who ought to be capable judges - equal to the best made in the eastern states."
As late as 1933, the Robertsons were still growing and producing sugar cane.
The summer of 1914 was an eventful one for the Robertson family. On May 10, Beth, who was about 14 years old, went to visit another Fruitvale girl, Ada Walker. That night the girls couldn't be found anywhere. The next day, George Robertson and Mrs. Walker went to Council to see if the girls had gone there without telling anyone, but there was no trace of them.
Several weeks later, a telegram came from the sheriff in Charleston, Nevada, saying he had the girls in his custody. They had been in the company of two boys named Walker and Grebe. Whether one boy was related to Ada is not clear. The newspaper quoted the sheriff as saying, “The boys had escaped, but that the girls were still held and were in a destitute condition.” Sheriff Weaver of Council traveled to Nevada to bring the girls home. Just what the punishment was for the girls is not known, but their parents had to pay $260 to the county for expenses in the case.
This wasn't the Robertson's only financial loss right then. Just a few days before the sheriff returned with the girls, George had driven a wagon pulled by a team of two horses to Council and tied them to the hitch rack behind the Lowe and Jones store. This store was located about where the Shaver's parking lot is today.
One of the horses had a bad habit of pulling back when he was tied, and evidently George hadn't taken proper precautions. After the team had been tied for some time. Mr. Lowe happened to be out behind his store. He found one of George's horses lying strangled to death on top of the other horse who was also well on his way to the same fate. Apparently one horse had reared back on his tie rope, thrown himself in his panic, and knocked the other horse down in a tangle underneath him.
As an interesting side note, the same issue of the Council Leader that reported the above mentioned episodes contained an account of a unique way the Robertsons had transported fire wood at Fruitvale: “Albert Robertson assisted by others, floated about thirty ricks of wood down the ditch to the store lot Tuesday, thus economizing on transportation.”
Martha Harp Robertson died at the age of 63 in 1923. she didn't live to see another troubling episode in the family's history five years later. As a number of their neighbors did during Prohibition, Albert and Pete Robertson made moonshine. Although the rest of the family knew about what they were doing, they didn't really have much to do with it. One day in 1928, a man asked Pete about buying some liquor, and Pet told him to come by the house sometime. Pete told Mary that the man would be coming by, and instructed her to give the man some of the fruits of Pete's distilling labor. (By this time, Mary was married to Emsley Glenn, and their son, Fred, was about 16.) In a few days the man stopped by and got the booze from Mary. The man, who turned out to be a revenue agent, promptly arrested George, Albert, Pete and Mary.
News of the arrests made the local newspaper, which reported that “quite a booze factory” was destroyed at the Robertson ranch.
About three weeks later, the Robertsons were tried in Federal court in Boise for violation of Federal Prohibition Act. George, by that time, was approaching 80 years of age, and was not inclined to get involved in the moonshining operation. The family's lawyer tried to prove his lack of participation in court, but George became confused on the witness stand and incriminated himself. They were all found guilty. Pete was sentenced to 10 months in jail and a $500 fine. Albert got 5 months and a $300 fine. George got two months and a $200 fine. Mary also served some time in jail.
George Robertson died in 1933 at the age of 82. After Emsley Glenn was killed at Placer Basin in 1936, Mary married Ed McGinley. She died in 1967. Pete spent his entire life on the original Robertson place, later living there with Mary in their old age. If I remember right, Pete died sometime around the same time period that Mary did. Amy Glenn now lives on the old Robertson place, in a home built at the approximate location of the original house.
9-7-95 Didn't write one for this week.
9-14-95
Another arrival at Fruitvale in the 1880s was Miles Chaffee. After originally settling at Indian Valley, he came to Fruitvale and homesteaded 160 acres west of the little hill that sits all by itself just west of “downtown” Fruitvale. John Elsberry lives on the old Chaffe place now, just south of that little hill. [2589 Monroe Street. Mel and June Ryals lived there all the time I was growing up in the 1950s and '60s.]
Chaffee had been a cavalry soldier for 18 years, serving much of this time involved in the Indian wars of Idaho Territory. He had served as wagon master under Col. Nelson Miles and General O.O. Howard. He used to thrill the Fruitvale kids by rolling up his pant leg and showing them a scar on his shin that had been inflicted by an Indian arrow or bullet. [My dad told me this.]
Miles Chaffee was one of the men who polled their resources to establish the Fruitvale townsite.
A few years ago, I was interviewing Lorne and Edna Rice, and almost as an afterthought I asked if there were any interesting stories about early Fruitvale that they had heard. Edna said, “No,” and mentioned that of course I had probably heard the one about the gold buried by outlaws at Fruitvale. I about fell off my chair. I had never heard anything about it.
The story says that outlaws came through the valley before anyone lived there, carrying a load of stolen gold. They supposedly buried their loot somewhere on the little hill that I've been referring to, and never returned for it. At least part of the hill was on Chaffee's homestead. Chaffee dug holes in the hill for many years, looking for the buried treasure.
Miles Chaffee never married. He lived out the last years of his life with the Roy Bethel family at the present site of 2608 West Fork Road. (Where Ward Fry lived for years. Helen Glidden lives there now.)
Chaffee died in 1931, at the age of 82. In the Adams County vault, I ran across his will, which was written in 1918. In it, he left everything he owned to Ethel Rosa Shelton, wife of Thomas J. Shelton of Fruitvale. It said that Chaffee had no living relatives except for a sister, Sophia Chaffee Wilmot and her children. He left nothing to his sister. I don't know who these people were, or why Chaffee would have left his possessions to them.
Just a few weeks before he died, Chaffee sold his ranch to J.H. McGinley. McGinley's son, Sterling, owned the main part of the place later. Other portions of Chaffee's homestead went to Jim Ward and Everett Ryals. Later Everett's son, Mel Ryals, acquired the whole place. As I said, John Elsberry now owns the main part where the house was. Lately John has started tearing down the old log barn. As nearly as I can tell, it was built in *1894. The Salubria newspaper made note of it when he was building it, saying that it was, “the biggest barn in this part of the country.”
[*John Elsberry told me he found a sign or board in the old barn with that date on it.]
The other day I was told another tidbit about local history that I had never heard. It's about chicory – that stemmy weed with the blue flower that has grown so prodigiously this year. Elizabeth Moser is supposed to have brought chicory to this are because she wanted to put it in her coffee. The root was (is?) dried, ground up, and put into coffee to flavor it. It's use was especially prevalent in the South during the Civil War when the blockade sopped many coffe shipments. (The Mosers were from the South.)
Delpha Hutchison told me that she thought someone has a personal diary that Matilda Moser kept for a long time. Anybody know more about that?
9-21- 95
The townsite of Fruitvale was established in 1909. It was made up of property owned or bought by Art and Rich Wilkie, Miles Chaffee, Isaac McMahan, Josepsh Carroll, Fred Brooks, George Robertson and Vollie Zink. There was not much there at first but a railroad siding and Art Wilkie's planer mill.
The first store was owned by the Lincoln Lumber Company. The company was wined by the Wilkies and a few other men who were in the lumber business. When a post office was started in the store in 1909, the obvious name was “Lincoln.” The post office was given that name, but within a matter of months the name “Fruitvale” began to be used for the community. The post office soon changed to that name. Andy Carroll (secretary of the Lincoln Lumber Company and Joseph Carroll's son) ran the store, and was the postmaster.
During our photo gathering project for the Museum, we ran across a postcard with a very rare "Lincoln" postmarked on it. The card was mailed from Earl McMahan to Millie Robertson on April 10, 1909.
In 1910, Joseph Carroll built a new store building. The Lincoln Lumber Company store was discontinued, and its stock of goods, along with manager Andy Carroll, moved into the new store in July. In September of that year (1910), Carroll sold the store to E. E. Cook, formerly of Colorado.
Also in 1910, Rich Wilkie opened the "Fruitvale Real Estate Agency." In the terminology of the day, he advertised that he did "conveyancing," which meant he drew up deeds, leases and other documents concerning the transfer of title to property. He also sold fire insurance and was a notary public.
By 1912, the community reached its peak, having several retail businesses. The stores at Fruitvale were all located on the east side of Main Street (now the Fruitvale Glendale Road), and except for the hotel/Grange Hall, were just north of Rome Beauty Avenue. Because they were on a hillside, they were slightly elevated from the road, and steps were necessary to get up into them from the street.
The year of 1912 was one characterized by a wild game of merchandising musical chairs. First, another store was set up by O. A. Selman, and the post office was moved to his building. Then, Frank Harp opened a confectionery with a lunch counter in a room of Rich Wilkie's real estate office building. This building was apparently also headquarters of the Fruitvale Echo newspaper.
Frank Harp's most recent claim to fame before this, was getting shot with his own pistol three years earlier. While driving a wagon, he had left the pistol in his coat pocket beside him on the seat. When the coat bounced off the seat, the pistol discharged, wounding Frank... apparently not very seriously.
At the same time Harp was opening his business, Perry McCumpsey rented Selman's store and sold groceries and dry goods. That fall, Philip Walston bought Harp's confectionery, and W. T. Walker bought McCumpsey's stock and took over the Selman store. No sooner had McCumpsey taken over the store than Selman sold it to Albert Robertson. The post office had continued in that store through all the changes, and when Albert bought it, he became postmaster. Finally, things had settled into a less frenetic pace... at least for this building.
Meanwhile, in January 1912, C. G. Nelson (or Nielson) had set up shop in the Cook store, selling candy, nuts, cigars, tobacco and stationery.
In March, while Nelson was cleaning up after a small fire in his store, W. T. Walker was building a blacksmith shop on the corner of Main Street and Jonathan Avenue. Not one to let grass grow under his feet that year, Walker was also helping Dr. Starkey install his power plant at this time, and later briefly operated the Selman store, as I mentioned. After McCumpsey's short stint at the Selman store (before Walker), he jumped to renting the Cook store.
Finally, at the end of 1912, Frank Harp sold his confectionery in the Wilkie real estate building to Philip Walston, and Walker shifted to the Cook store, buying out McCumpsey's stock there.
For the next few years, things seemed to settle into a more stable routine. Robertson continued to run the store and post office, while Walker ran the other store.
9-28-95
By 1923, Charlie Cox was running the Fruitvale store and post office in a building belonging to a Mr. Reams. He had formerly run a blacksmith shop just northwest of the store, and, if my guess is right, was in partnership in the "Cox and Winkler" blacksmith shop in Council at the turn-of-the-century. Just who Mr. Reams was, I don't know, but he had the first radio in Fruitvale. It was a little set that you had to wear earphones to hear. The only station it could received was KGO from San Francisco.
In 1924, Jim Ward and/or his step son, Everett Ryals, started running a "new store" at Fruitvale. Whether Ward and Ryals built the store I don't know, but evidence points in that direction. The Ward family took up residence in the back of the store that fall. In the spring of 1925, Cox sold his store, turned over the postmaster job to Jim Ward, and moved to Payette. From this time on, there seems to have been only one store in Fruitvale.
By this time, a number of local people owned cars, and the state highway had been built right in front of the store. Ward capitalize on these facts in May 1925 by installing a gas pump out front. At about the same time, Everett Ryals was appointed postmaster. It was Only a few weeks after this that he married Bertha Spears. Their son, Mel Ryals, was born the next year. Mel says his claim to fame is being the only human being ever born in the Fruitvale store.
In 1928, Oliver Robertson bought, or at least assume the management of the store, just before and being busted for helping with the family booze factory. It is unclear who ran the store during Robertson's incarceration, but it was probably Ryals or Ward. By July 1929, Robertson was again running the operation, selling groceries, men's furnishings, confections (candy), tobacco, cold drinks, tires, tubes, gas, oil and grease. Ryals and Ward went into the fur business, raising foxes. That fall, the store was purchased by Ray and Anna Sailor.
Everett Ryals bought the store again in 1931, and ran it through most of the Depression. In 1932 contained this interesting note:
"Everett Ryals, Fruitvale merchant was in town Thursday attending to business affairs. He says the depression hasn't hit Fruitvale community noticeably except that people have no money. Of course money isn't much of an object now days anyway – things to eat and where is the important problem. Everett furnishes those items, so why should the folks worry."
S. E. McMahon (Ernest, also known by his nickname, "Peck”) took over the Fruitvale store and post office in the fall of 1937. He sold out to Robert and Josephine Caseman the next year. Josephine (1819 - 1965) ran the store and post office while Robert continued as Adams County assessor. They changed the name of the business from "Fruitvale Cash Grocery" to the "Fruitvale Mercantile," the name by which it was known for the rest of its existence.
There had been a telephone in one store or another at Fruitvale, probably since before 1920. It was also one of the first buildings in the community to acquire the use of electricity. Bob Caseman rigged up his own generator in 1940, but it was superseded by a power line that reached the store that winter. Several homes close by were also wired at this time.
Josephine Caseman's brother, F.S. (Sterling) McGinley (1893 -1969), and his wife, Alma (1892 -1974), took over the store in 1944, and ran it until they retired in 1964. All of the other small stores in Council's outlying areas (Mesa, Bear, Cuprum, etc.) had closed by then. The Fruitvale store was the last holdout; the last vestige of a bygone era. The McGinley's daughter, Anna Katherine Kamerdula (1930 -2013), and her husband, Henry, kept the store running until it closed in the 1970s. Anna still operates the post office in the same corner of the old store building that the office has occupied for many years. [The post office continued to operate with Anna as postmaster until she retired on December 27, 1996.]
10-5-95
The year of 1912 seems to have been the peak of Fruitvale's existence the "Fruitvale Echo" newspaper began and ended publication that year. We have several months worth of issues at the Museum, and the State Historical Society has put them on microfilm. The main purpose of the Echo seems to have been to get people to vote for Fruitvale as the county seat in the election that fall.
One of the businesses advertised in that weekly paper was for a photographer named Professor F. Gleason. Just why there doesn't seem to be any remaining photos that he took is a mystery to me. The fact that Gleason set up shop in a tent may be an indication of how long he stayed in business at Fruitvale. There was also a dentist, a Dr. Burke, who practiced at Fruitvale. According to one source, there was a pool hall in one of the buildings. A man named J. D. Kennedy is said to have had some type of business at Fruitvale. He had a homestead just over the top of "Fruitvale Hill" – the hill northeast of the present post office.
I neglected to mention that the photo in last week's column was contributed to the museum (we copied it) by June Childers. June's maiden name is Bethel. Her family is the one that Miles Chaffee lived with in his declining years. June's dad, Roy, built one wing of the old house that still stands at Fruitvale. [It has since burned down.] The east wing of the building was one of the old stores, and was dragged down to its present location as an addition to the house.
The building at Fruitvale that still stands at 2592 Fruitvale Glendale Rd. was originally built as a hotel. Jim and Pam Joslin lived there now. I'm not sure just when it was built, but it must have been some time around 1909 or 1910. Art Wilkie owned and operated the hotel for a time. In 1913, the Fruitvale Grange bought the hotel and turned it into their meeting hall. They raised the ceiling, did some repairs, and held dances there in addition to their meetings.
In 1917 Isaac and Lucy McMahan reentered their former occupation as merchants when they bought the building and converted it to a store. The post office was in this building for a time, undoubtedly during the period that the McMahans had the store there. Charlie Burt bought the building in 1928 and did some remodeling, including lowering the roof substantially.
In one of my latest columns, I mentioned Andy Carroll, Fruitvale's first postmaster, and his father, Joseph Carroll. Joseph's name always appeared in the papers as “J.L.B. Carroll." Almost everybody has written about in the newspapers in those days using their first two initials and last name. It has been hard sometimes for me to figure out a first name. I read about L. L. Burtenshaw through over 35 years worth of Council papers without ever finding a clue as to his first name, until he died. In his obituary the paper said his first name was Luther, and he was always known as "Burt." Anyway, Joseph Carroll always stood out because he had three initials before his last name. I don't know what the other two initials stood for.
Joseph Carroll and his wife, Maranda, hopscotched up the valley along the Weiser River, operating successive general merchandise stores. He ran a store in Middle Valley (Midvale) during 1899, then in Salubria the next year, and in Council the year after that (1901). Their Council store stood just south of where Ruben's is today. [Ruben's was on the Southwest corner of Moser Avenue and Michigan Street.] The Carroll family bought the Lick Creek Hotel and ranch in 1903, and began operating it in 1904. Miranda became the postmaster of the Bear Post Office in 1905.
Sometime between 1905 and 1910, the Carrolls moved to Fruitvale, and were some of the founders of the townsite. They lived on Monroe Street. [I think this was the old house at 2583 Monroe Street.]
Joseph was the teacher at the Glendale school in 1911. He was also elected on the Socialist ticket as Probate Judge in the Fruitvale Precinct. One of the sons, Charlie Carroll, was involved in the lumber business, and worked at various sawmill in this area. In 1909 Andy married Olda Davis, the daughter of Byron and Nancy Davis who lived where the wild horse Road works from the main Council-Cuprum Road.
Tragedy struck the Carroll family twice in the next few years. In 1912 and he died of pneumonia. He was not quite 26 years old. Just two years later, Miranda died at the age of 53.
10-12-95
The children of early residents of Fruitvale had to walk all the way to the White School, three miles north of Council. About the time that the Fruitvale townsite was established in 1909, Fruitvale built its own school on land donated by Isaac and Lucy McMahan. This was about a half mile southwest of the center of "town," just across the pond the center of "town," just across the pond (East) from where Della and Dick Raffety lived until recently. The "McMahan" school, as it was called, was very up to date, being a frame structure set on a cement foundation. It measured 24 X 36 feet, and was 18 feet high. By 1911 there were 40 pupils enrolled.
In 1917, the Fruitvale teacher was W.E. Tyson. He arrived at the school about 8:30 AM, and started a fire in the stove. He carried in a load of wood, turned to go for another load, and had almost reached the door when "an explosion occurred that broke the stove into small pieces, scattering the wreckage, including stove pipes and contents of stove all about the room." Fortunately, Tyson was not hurt. Sheriff Ham was called to investigate, but evidently the source of the explosion remained a mystery. Tyson was convinced it was dynamite.
The teaching profession in general was not held in high esteem by many in the early days. If a teacher was disliked by the students, it was almost traditional for them (especially the boys) to make the teacher's life as miserable as possible. Turnover in the job was often rapid, and it was not uncommon for a community to need to hire more than one teacher during a given year. Female teachers were considered a good catch for a single man. The Gould boys had a handy source of espousal prospects since the White School he sat right at the end of their lane. Lester and Clarence both married women who taught there.
A barn was provided at the McMahan school in which to keep and feed the horses that students rode to school from more distant points. The school board provided the hay. The teachers also sometimes rode horses to school. One of them was Irene White who often boarded with local families. When staying with the Emsley Glenn family, their son Fred, rode double on the horse with Irene. He took a lot of teasing about this from the other students, but he didn't mind because "Miss White" was so well-liked by all the kids.
Irene began teaching here in 1923 at the age of 19, and had already been employed at the Ridge School. Irene had a way with children. She had a kind way of maintaining discipline that earned respect and love from her students. She was full of fun at times too. In the winter she used to sled and ski down the hills with the kids during recesses. About the only time anyone remembered her losing her temper was once when Carl Finn hadn't attended to his studies. When Irene asked him about it, he made some smart aleck remark that made her angry. She drew back her hand as if she were going to hit him. In an effort to dodge a blow that was not delivered, Carl ducked his head sideways and hit his head on a nail that was sticking out of the wall. Apparently Carl was not seriously hurt, but the kind-hearted Irene felt bad about the incident.
Irene married Fred Burt in 1924, and lived the rest of her life in Fruitvale. She became a life-long friend of many of her former students. Irene White Burt died in 1973. He the next teacher at the Fruitvale school was Katie Marble, beginning in 1926. After teaching many other places, she taught here again from 1943 through 1953.
The McMahan schoolhouse was used up until the end of 1928, when a new school was built just up the hill, east of downtown Fruitvale. The new school was built on land that was purchased from Everett Ryals in 1928. The December 28, 1928 Adams County Leader reported in the Fruitvale news, "Our new school house was near enough completed that we were able to have our Christmas program." A Miss Ross was the teacher at the time.
For the next year, the old McMahan school building was regularly used for dances, and till it was auctioned off to Lester McMahan for $80. About three years later, the old building fell in under the weight of heavy snow. Lester said he had planned to tear down "the old shack" anyway. When Isaac and Lucy McMahan moved back to Fruitvale from Portland in 1934, their sons built a little house for them to live in on the old school's foundation.
In 1934 there were 20 boys and eight girls attending the Fruitvale school. Until this time, the school's heavy bell had on the porch of the building. That year a new belfry was constructed. By 1940 there were only 18 students. By the 1950s there was a major overhaul of the school systems in the Council area. Many school districts were consolidated into Council District B-13, including Fruitvale, Glendale, Orchard, Lower Hornet, White, Ridge, Johnson Creek, Cottonwood, Crooked River, Goodrich, Middle Fork, Mesa and Upper Dale. (Some of these schools had already been closed for years.) All the kids from these districts were bused to Council.
The old Fruitvale school was bought by Lillian and Marvin Imler. They converted it into the nice house that it is today.
The museum project has reached an interesting point. In the process of clearing final plans with the City Council, I have been told that IF the city hall is moved to the old Boise Cascade office building, the museum M AY get more room in the present building. Because of this definite possibility, the preparations for an addition have come to a halt until we find out if this is really going to happen or not.
10-19-95
Wrote about the Wilkie Cemetery and the photo project funded by the Idaho Humanities Council.
10-26-95
About the same time that the town of Fruitvale was established in 1909, the Wilkie brothers built the Ridge Road. They used it to haul lumber from their Hornet Creek and Crooked River sawmill sites to Fruitvale where their planer mill sat near the railroad. The area between Hornet Creek and the Weiser River had acquired the name "Pleasant Ridge," a name that became informally shortened to the "Ridge." The area was unclaimed land for some time. When Isaac McMahan moved to Fruitvale in 1903, he began to graze cattle on this, and other, open land. Ranchers on Hornet Creek also enjoyed this free grazing, particularly in the spring, but their unrestricted use of the Ridge was disturbed when homesteaders began to fence off lots of land there.
One of the first homesteaders was Albert Lewis in 1902. His place was located just southeast of where the Ridge Road tees at the cattle guard. [The intersection of Ridge Road and N. Ridge Rd.] One old home site on Lewis's old home place still has a rectangle of bushes, a few trees, an old shed and a cement-lined cistern.
The Weiser newspaper reported that Lewis harvested 650 bushels of grain per acre on his an irrigated ground and not in 1905. [This had to be in misprint; 50 bushels per acre might have been accurate.] The paper continued in its standard exaggerated style of the day: "Besides the grain, he has succeeded in raising a splendid crop of vegetables without irrigation and is making of what was three years ago a piece of supposedly worthless sage brush land, a beautiful and profitable home. There are several sections of government land yet subject to homestead entry in the vicinity of his place."
Lewis eventually sold his homestead. One corner of it was acquired by my grandfather, Jim Fisk, in 1912. My father, Dick, and his siblings, Herbert (Hub), Amy (Glenn), Sam and John were born in the house that was located on the old Lewis place. They later moved a short distance north, closer to the Ridge Road. There are still some Iris plants, a few rotting boards and a hand dug well at the latter location. This is at the base of the first Canyon South of the road, East of the aforementioned cattle guard. The original house location was at the head of the Canyon. There are still rows of rocks up there that Dad and the other kids used to mark the walls of imaginary play houses.
The main part of the Lewis place later belonged to Jim Henson. Fred and Amy Glenn later bought it, and Amy still has it. It is some of the best land on the Ridge, but I'm sure it never yielded the 650 bushels of grain per acre credited to Albert Lewis.
Between 1909 and 1921, 25 homesteads were patented on the Ridge. In 1915 a school house was built, due to the influx of new homesteaders. The "modern, one-room building" cost $1000. It was located about a mile northwest of the old Lewis place, just west of the road.
I mentioned Irene White Burt in one of my last articles, and said that she once taught at the Ridge school. When she taught there, she sometimes boarded with Jim and Lottie McVey, who lived just a few hundred yards south east of the school. (There is a well and pump house there now.) Lobby is remembered as being an abrasive woman. She was said to have been so wasteful with food that somebody once said, "Jim brings the food in the front door, and Lottie throws it out the back."
Lottie seems to have been jealous of Irene, who was very well liked by everyone. On one occasion, when Irene was staying with the McVeys, Lottie accused Irene of stealing a ring from her. Humiliated by the accusation, Irene resigned from her position at the Ridge School. The students were saddened when Irene came to school in tears and announced that she had to leave. It was a very emotional scene because the kids liked her so much. The missing ring was later found.
Miss Cora Nunnalee took Irene's place as teacher, and the kids hated her. Not only had she taken the place of their favorite teacher, but she had little patience with children and was overly strict.
The McVey's son, Ernest, was one of the older students at the school, and was almost the size of a grown man. His attitude got him in trouble at least once with Miss Nunnalee. One day she asked him why he wasn't studying. Ernest replied, in a none-too-respectful tone, that she hadn't given him any work to do. Without saying a word, Miss Nunnalee picked up a thick geography book from the desk just behind Ernest's (which happened to be my dad's). She gave Ernest a terrific blow to the side of his head, knocking him halfway out of his seat. Then she stepped around to the other side of his desk and repeated the procedure, slamming him back into his chair. I don't think she had much trouble with Ernest after that.
Another incident involved my dad directly. There was no well at the school, and the boys were assigned to carry water from a spring. On one occasion when dad and another boy were given this task, they filled a 5 gallon bucket with water and carried it [one boy on each side] back to the school. As they lifted the heavy bucket up onto the porch, the bottom of it caught on a board and the water went spilling all across the porch floor. The boys looked up to see Miss Nunnalee standing on the porch with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. She shouted, "You clumsy boys! You go right back down and get more water." The boys were so terrified that they were unable to move a muscle. Miss Nunnalee then clapped her hands and stomped her foot and screamed, "Immediately!" The boys snapped out of their trance and went running for the spring as fast as they could.
At its peak, the Ridge school had just over 30 students, attending grades one through eight. By 1926 it had only 10 students. Finally in 1935 the Ridge school closed because of lack of attendance. The Ridge school met the same fate as the old McMahan school. It collapsed under the weight of heavy snow on the night of December 8, 1992. There is nothing left at the site today but the foundation.
11-2-95
November 2, 1995
At first, all the homesteaders on Pleasant Ridge planted wheat, barley or oats, and the crops were bountiful. Crop rotation was an idea in its infancy during the first years of the 20th century, plus the Ridge farmers knew little about what else would grow on this dry ground. They continued to plant grains until the ground started to play out. The year of 1922 was extremely dry, and the grain crops were almost a complete failure on the Ridge. That year, my grandfather, Jim Fisk, tried planting some Siberian Cossack alfalfa on his homestead. It turned out to be a big success, growing to a height of 4 feet in some places. After that, other Ridge farmers started growing alfalfa as a hay crop, rotating grain for a year or two when alfalfa started decreasing production in a given field. I the 1930s alfalfa was the principal crop on the Ridge, the seed often yielding higher profits than alfalfa hay.
When people started settling on the Ridge, prices for agricultural products were good. This continued through the first world war, but the bottom fell out immediately afterward. The 1920s were a time of depression on America's farms. Almost all of the farmers on the Ridge sold out. All but a couple of those who held on through the 1920s went under during the Great Depression years of the 1930s. My grandfather managed to survive by working as the road overseer in the area and buying some of the other places that went under.
One of the places he bought was that of Mike Pfann (pronounced “Fawn”). Pfann lived where the spring and cattle guard is along Ridge Road. Actually, I think some people named Gardner owned it when grandpa bought it, but dad still calls it the Pfann place. Mike Pfann's brother, George, was better known around Council. George was a blacksmith in the area for many years.
After leaving the Ridge, Mike Pfann evidently moved to Hornet Creek. One legacy that he left behind their was balls of twisted up wire along the fences on his place. Apparently he didn't have any fence stretchers, wrapped and twisted the wire around a hammer handle to take up any extra slack in the wire. The handle was then pulled out, leaving balls of wire that remained there for years after Pfann moved on. To this days, some people on Hornet Creek call this method of make-do fence stretching "Doing a Mike Pfann.” [I got this information from Al Harrington.]
In 1930, stockyards and loading docks were built along the railroad northwest of the Fruitvale store. That soon became a busy year for the loading docks. In two days in February, 65 gallons of cream was shipped out. In one-week span that fall, the train took on sheep, apples, and sugar beets there.
Sterling McGinley was the principal sugar beet grower, with the Fisk ranch producing lesser amounts. McGinley was getting a 20-ton per acre yield at one point, and shipped out 8 train carloads, each containing 44 tons, in October 1931. Wielding a whole in McGinley's beet fields provided employment for a number of Fruitvale youngsters during the early years of the Depression.
Another crop that was grown in the Fruitvale area in the 1930s was peas. In an attempt to generate more business for the railroad, LeGrande Young, the General Manager of the P&IN railroad, convinced the San Diego Fruit and Produce Company, to rent to ground and grow peas in the Meadows Valley, beginning in about 1927. In 1936 the company planted about 100 acres on the Abshire place on West Fork. (This was the old Tom Glenn place where Hoxie's live now – 2657 West Fork Road.)
The Pea harvest supplied a certain amount of local employment, but the company also brought an outside help. The migrant workers that came to pick the peas provided Fruitvale people with their first contact with people that some referred to as “Oakies.” The introduce another hereto for unknown planned product to Fruitvale: marijuana.
11-9-95
In this column, I told the story of Walter Johnson that is in my Landmarks book. Then:
The ranch that Steve and Elsie Shumway now own just south of the Highway 95 wye (2405 Highway 95) was homesteaded by Bill Hartley in 1886. Hartley sold to James J. Jones in 1906. Jones lived in the Council Valley since 1884, and was a partner in the Mercantile business in Council with J. F. Lowe since 1902. The Lowe and Jones store was about where the Adams County Real Estate office is now. Jones retired from the Council store in 1910. Jones' his wife was Tobert Biggerstaff's daughter, Olive. Iit was Jones who built the present Shumway house. When Adams County was created the next spring (1911), he became the first County Assessor.
There are not too many anecdotes about J.J. Jones to tell us what kind of man he was. The only story I have is one that Ike Glenn told me. Sometime before 1917, Ike had a run-in with Jones at Shingle Flat. Evidently Ike and Jones both grazed cattle on this Forest allotment. Ike moved a mixed bunch of cattle up higher on the mountain than Jones thought was appropriate. The two men got into a heated argument, and at some point Jones was on the verge of getting violent with Ike. Ike pulled out a .32-.40 pistol that he always carried in a pocket in his chaps, and Jones's attitude changed considerably.
Jones moved to Oregon in 1917 and died in Beverly Hills, California in 1942.
I don't know who had this ranch next, but it was later bought by Lester Gould. He married Helen Clement, who was teaching at the White School. Helen continued to teach in Council into the 1960s. The Goulds sold the ranch to Steve and Elsie Shumway in the 1970s and built a new home just north of the wye (2448 Fruitvale Glendale Rd.). Lester died in 1987, and Helen died not long afterward.
11-16-95
I don't have a lot of information about the first place up Highway 95 from the wye toward Fort Hall Hill. It apparently once belonged to Hardy Harp early on. In the 1930s it belonged to G.T. Hamill. Mr. Hamill and his sons, Ray and Harold, are best remembered for running the mine at Placer Basin.
In the old Adams County Leader newspapers from the 1930s, I read that G.T. Hamill was riding a horse along the highway near the wye, and a car hit his horse. Both animal and rider were knocked to the ground. The driver of the car didn't even stop.
G.T. Hamill came to the Council area in 1910. He served in the Idaho Legislature at one time, and is pictured in a group of framed photos that are in the museum. He sold his place to Cecil Dopp in 1935. Hamill died in Baker, Oregon in 1939. Dopp came here from St. Anthony, Idaho. He lived on this place for a number of years and died in 1964.
Louis and Emily Harp lived in a house a short distance up the highway, on the north side. The museum has a picture of their house. There is no sign of a dwelling at that location today. Emily Harp was a sister of Tobert Biggerstaff. She married Louis in 1879, before they came West.
The Harps were salt of the earth people and good neighbors. To some Fruitvale people, even those who themselves were not very sophisticated, Louis and Emily seemed like stereotypical hillbillies. Lewis was illiterate and signed his name with an X. The couple used to sit on their front porch and smoke corncob pipes.
A short way on up the highway, on the northwest side, there is a little stand of locust trees. This was the site of the George and Mary Tomlinson house. Their children were: Harry, Henry, Ed, Sarah (married Ralph Yantis), Emma (married James Harp), Edna (married Rollie McMahan).
The Tomlinsons came here in 1902 and lived here until they died. Mary died in 1919 at the age of 71. I don't know what became of George.
Ed Tomlinson was a likable character who never married. He had a cabin on the bench land east of his parents place. He had a few cows and a little farm ground. Ed ran his cattle on the Warm Springs grazing allotment of the Forest, and one day he and Amos Camp went looking for a steer that Ed wanted to bring home. They found the steer, along with a dry cow, near Lost Creek, just south of the reservoir dam.
A difference of opinion soon arose between the steer and the two cowboys. The men wanted to head south, and the steer didn't. After a few rounds that went to the steer, the men decided to tie the steer to the cow with a rope. The obstinate steer fought this arrangement belligerently, resulting in a wild dance that ended with both cattle in Lost Creek where the cow proceeded to drown.
In an effort to save her, Amos quickly cut the rope, but it was too late. As the cow drifted down the creek, and the steer lit out for new territory, Ed summed up the situation by philosophizing, "There goes an old how, and a damn good rope!"
Ed gave up on the steer. He saw some fresh deer tracks nearby, and being very fond of venison, went hunting instead. Some say that Ed practically lived on venison at times. It was deer hunting that later led to a tragic and for Ed. He was killed in a hunting accident in November 1937.
[Adams County Leader, Nov 19, 1937 – Ed Tomlinson shot and killed by his nephew, Fred Yantis, in hunting accident. (I believe Ed was wearing a black coat, and Fred mistook him for a bear.)]
[Leader, October 17, 1952 – “Harry Tomlinson of Council was accidentally shot just above the hip Sunday morning while hunting about 2 miles west of Evergreen. Mr. Tomlinson was riding a horse when he was shot.”]
11-23-95
On up the highway from the old Tomlinson Place, was the Ralph and Sarah (Tomlinson) yet this place. It's on the east side of the road, where Jack and Donna Yantis now live. [2560 Highway 95]
Ralph apparently came to this area in 1906. He married Sarah in 1908, and homesteaded this place. They had three sons: Ray (Stub), Frank and Fred.
In order to get water rights from the Weiser River, the Yantis family diverted water from the Salmon River side of the divide near Railroad Saddle, and brought it into the Weiser River drainage by way of a ditch.
Late in 1928, Ralph got the flu. Before he was quite fully recovered, he delivered a load of turkeys to the lower country somewhere, in a truck that was not well enclosed. He became seriously chilled, and died not long afterward.
Ray Yantis lived on the original place for many years, and now lives with his wife, Fay, in Council. Fred ranched at Fruitvale for a long time before moving to another ranch just northwest of Council. He died not long ago.
Frank was Adams County Sheriff for a time. He was killed when a log fell on him while loading logs at the old Mesa railroad siding. [Adams County Leader, Nov 28, 1958 – Frank Yantis was killed Thursday morning at Mesa Siding south of Council. “Mr. Yantis, who had been the sheriff of Adams County for approximately six years, resigned recently and took a job driving a logging truck for Hug and Riggs. The accident occurred when the logs were being unloaded from his truck and a log fell on him.”]
Today, near the top of Fort Hall Hill, there are about a dozen houses. There were only two or three homesteads in the early days. The main two, where most of the houses are now, both belonged to members of the Baker family. One of the Baker places survived in one piece until fairly recently.
James Baker was my great great grandfather. He was born in New York, the son of a Methodist preacher who was also the son of a Methodist preacher. After growing up in Illinois and Iowa, and teaching school in Colorado, he followed the family tradition and became a Methodist minister in 1898. He pastored several churches, and came to Cambridge to preach about 1903. It was about that time that he and his wife, Mary, homesteaded land just south and west of the Fort Hall Hill Summit. James worked the homestead and preached in several places at the same time.
One of James's sons, Clarence Baker, performed in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show and traveled the world doing rope tricks. There was another man named Johnny Baker (unrelated) who was one of the stars of the show.
Another son, Ernest Baker and his wife, Ella, established a Homestead just on the other side of Fort Hall Hill in 1905. My maternal grandmother, Mae, was there oldest child and was about six at the time they arrived. The following is from a brief autobiography that Mae wrote. My editions and comments are inside brackets [ ].
In the spring of 1905, Papa and I got on the train to go to Idaho to see my father's parents who were Methodist pastors at Cambridge, Idaho. We arrived in April or May, I don't know which. My father went to work on a ranch to get his health back, as he only weighed 90 pounds. He had miner's consumption from working in the smelter so long. But Idaho air and climate soon had him back to health again. [Lucille Baker Balderson said he had a cough the rest of his life, but he also smoked cigarettes.]
I stayed with my Grandmother while my father worked out on ranches from Cambridge. Meanwhile my Grandfather and father had gone to Council Valley and filed on a homestead for each. [The grandfather to whom she refers was James Lyman Baker the Methodist preacher. His father, and his fathers father had been Methodist preachers. James may already have filed on his homestead before this time. Homestead Patents were issued for the Bakers: James - Mar. 30, 1908 Ernest - Jan. 23, 1914]
Mama and brother Leslie (Spike) came to Idaho in August, just a bit before school started. I started to school at Cambridge until we moved to Council Valley to our homestead by wagon and team of horses. [James Baker's was in the basin just south of the top of Fort Hall hill; Ernest's was just on the north side of the summit.] We arrived late in the evening, so they put us to bed in a big box on the wagon. The next day was a time of looking things over. There was a small log cabin on the place, and a log barn. We cleaned and moved into the cabin, and spent our first winter there. The snow got so deep that winter, our house looked like a heap of snow with smoke coming out of the top.
I went to school when I could, with some neighbors. We had about 2 1/2 miles to go. [to the school on the Isaac McMahan place south of Fruitvale.] [Lucile said they also had a 12' X 14' tent as part of their living space that winter. The log cabin may have been the old Biggerstaff stage station.]
11-30-95
In the spring [1906] when it began to thaw a bit, we used to walk on the crust, and Papa proudly showed Mama where the lines were for his and Grandpa's places. The snow covered all the low bushes, so we were surprised when the snow was all gone, to find we had a very brushy piece of land. That is still in the same shape, as not much land was ever cleared on our place. Grandad worked his land though, and opened up quite a large area to plant into potatoes, grain, etc. Dad and Grandad used a grubbing hoe, horses, and a stump puller that you wound cable around a drum with a horse going 'round and 'round until it tightened up on the clump of bushes, tree, or whatever, it gradually pulled until it pulled the top off or got it out by the roots. It was slow, but a bit faster than an ax or grub hoe, as you couldn't plow until the roots were out pretty well. There were pine trees, willows, service bushes, thorn bushes and chapparell: a kind of sprawling evergreen bush that grew about 4 or 5 feet tall, but covered a large amount of ground. It only had a small crown with roots and flat green waxy leaves. The willows were about the hardest to get out.
After the brush was out, it was piled and burned. That's where Mom and we children came in. We would lead, or ride the horse on the stump puller too, but we could drag the brush to a pile to be burned. [A stump puller was a winch type of machine that was anchored to the ground or something very solid. A chain, cable etc. from the puller was fastened to the stump. A horse then pulled a lever on the puller around and around in a circle. This turned gears that operated a very slow, but very strong, winch mechanism that pulled the stump out of the ground.]
Then the men got a disk plow that worked fine on meadow ground, or just sod, but when it hit a willow, or other root, it would really buck and roll, and you had to be pretty alert, or it would throw you off. One day as we were burning brush my Grandfather was plowing. He hit a root and it bucked him off right into a pile of burning brush. Fortunately, he wasn't burned, or hurt badly; just shook up a bit. He got right back on the plow, and went on as if nothing had happened. Of course the horse got pretty tired after pulling the plow all day, so [they] had to have lots of good hay and oats. My father was pretty particular about the feeding and watering of his team. Also, they had to be brushed and curried or "cuffed down" as he called it, each morning, and after a hard days work.
My father sold the timber off his homestead to get lumber to build a house on his homestead. The second winter, we had a large tent on a frame with floor, a smaller one to sleep in up by the spring where he was building the house. It was a two story house so as to have more rooms without having very much roof to build, as the roof was the hardest part to make. He found a real straight grained tree not far from the house that some friends helped make shingles for the house out of. Dad split and sawed them while the friend used a drawing knife to shape them thin. We children took our little wagon and hauled the shingles to the house and piled them. Those shingles were still on the house when it was torn down around 50 years later, and the house never leaked, as far as I know.
The next winter [1906], we moved into our new house, even though it wasn't finished - only a few loose boards on the upstairs floor, but we children slept up there. That winter, the 13th of December, a sister was born (Ethel) and we had no Doctor, just an older neighbor lady who was very efficient: a Mrs. Tolbert Biggerstaff that lived in the canyon by the Weiser river, where the Glendale School was later built. She was a very good mid-wife. [Ethel was born Dec 13, 1906.]
[Grandma's autobiography skips a few years here. The Ernest Baker family lived at "the Pearson place" during the winter of 1908, to watch a sawmill that was there. This place was the only house between Starkey and the present location of the Glendale pond until the 1970s. This ranch is the one that Jepsens lot from Jim Williams.]
12-7-95
When I was 9 years old, I stayed with Sarah Yantis while Ralph [Yantis] and two brothers in laws (Ed and Harry [Tomlinson]) built a ditch from East Fork so they would have water for 2 desert claims. That was the winter Stub (Ray) Yantis was a baby (1909) and they lived in a small house on the place where Ray still lives. [2560 Highway 95]
Council Leader, Sept 23, 1910 – Rev. J.L. Baker sent to Council by "Methodist conference for a year and that denomination will establish a church organization here." [This church stood on the south west corner of Illinois Avenue and Highway 95/Dartmouth Street. Evidently it didn't attract much of a following and was torn down after a few years.]
My brother [Leslie or "Spike"] and I were both going to school by this time, and we had a horse to ride. We went to the old Fruitvale school built on the Isaac McMahan place (now known as the Earl McMahan place). [In 1990, it is Dick Raffety's place, about 3/4 mile south of Fruitvale, east of the main road: 2554 Fruitvale-Glendale Road.] This school was a small unpainted building, but was full of children. Before the one year was out, we moved into the new school house that stood there a good many years. The last teacher to teach there was Hattie Vasser. She later married Lester McMahan. Some of the pupils were Millie, Beth, Oliver, and Pete Robertson... Earl and Earnest McMahan... Myrth and Isaac II Whiteley..2 boys and 2 girls of the Walker family... [an unclear name that looks like "Knaves"]...Harry and Joe Tomlinson... Sam and Jasper Harp... Mae and Leslie Baker... Harold, Hallie, Charles, and Bill Hamm... and several others that I can't think of now. Some of the boys were nearly grown men, and used to tease us younger children. I went there until I was in the 4th grade. There were several of us Bakers that went through that little school to the eighth grade, and for some of us that was all the education we got. Leslie and I had each 2 years of High School at Council. Grace went to Caldwell for 2 years I believe too.
[The children of Ernest and Ella Baker were Mae, Leslie (Spike b.Mar 1901 - d.1965 at McCall), Ethel Jones (b. 1906 - d.1938 at Merk farm, Fruitvale), Grace Clemens (b.1908), Roy (b.1914 - d.1956), Lucille Balderson (b.1917 - d.199_), Albert (b.1920 - d.1971), Bill (b.Dec. 1911), and Wayne (b.1922 – d.1991).]
By that time, the Glendale school was built, and Grace Ludwig was our first teacher. [She was] from Indian Valley, and Clyde Stewart would drive clear up there with team and buggy or sleigh to get her Friday nights. She boarded through the week with the Biggerstaffs. Mr. Biggerstaff was a small man with a fiery temper, but was good to us children as a rule, and she was so good too. They had an apple orchard, and that was a rare treat to have an apple. So every once in a while, they would call us children in that went by their house, and give us apples or cookies.
One time when I was a girl, I was helping the Lester McMahans through haying ($3 a week) and George was a small child. He ran to the barn yard to meet his daddy. As he came from the field for dinner (noon) a colt following the team kicked him in the face, and laid his little face open. We had old doctor Brown come to sew it up. We had dinner nearly on the table, so we cleared it off and put a sheet on, and used it for an operating table. Lester and I held his feet, his mother his hands, and his grandmother [Lucy McMahan] gave the chloroform while doctor Brown put in some new gadgets (small hooks) to hold the cut. [George] pulled his hands loose, and pushed them all out, so [Dr. Brown] had to sew it with sewing thread, as the doctor hadn't brought cat gut along. [George] still had the scars the last time I saw him.
We lived on Dad's homestead until about 1919, then the folks moved to Grandad's place for a long time - I'm not sure just how many years. Then, after my father died [1938], Mom and the 2 youngest (boy and girl) Lucille and Wayne bought Grandad Bakers place. Wayne still has the place. [Wayne sold out in 1969] It now has electricity and running water.
12-14-95
This week I'll wrap up the story of my grandmother, Mae Baker Merk.
Her grandfather, James Baker, died in 1920. To illustrate what kind of man he was, I'm going to include a few lines from the Cambridge newspaper. First from 1915:
The News, Cambridge Idaho - Sept 24, 1915
"It is hard to imagine anybody else but Rev. Baker as minister of the Methodist church here [Cambridge]. It was Baker that built the parsonage and it was Baker that built the church, but he has decided to devote a few years to his ranch up near Fruitvale. He wants some 'wherewith to lay his head' in his old age. Rev. Baker will be missed by the church-going people in Cambridge. He was one of those quiet, unassuming persons who never sounded a trumpet before him, but somehow he always got results."
When he died, I was amazed at the extent of his obituary and the tributes to him. Flowery obituaries were common in those days, but his was at least twice as long as any I've seen, and it was really hard to-felt. Here is a very small, edited portion:
“His sermons were master pieces of spiritual uplift; his life the embodiment of every true virtue. No man was ever revered in Salubria Valley as 'Good Old Brother Baker.' The poor, the well to do, the young, the old, the saint, the sinner, Protestant, Catholic, Scientist, and Agnostic all universally united in saying "He is a good man." No man has been able to say a harsh or unkind word of the greatest preacher the Upper Country ever had. There is no one to take his place in the affection of the people of Cambridge and the Upper Country. But his influence will live forever and all who came in contact with his kindly spirit will always be better because of the exemplary life that he lived.”
My grandmother, Mae Baker, married Alf Kite about 1918. They had a son (Melvin) and daughter (Wanda) before Alf died in 1921. She had a really rough time surviving for a few years after that. The following is from her autobiography. My additions are within brackets [ ].
Then in the spring of 1926, I believe April, I went with Dad and Bill Jones (brother in law) to Crooked River to Cook for the men at a new sawmill Jim Ward and Mr. Rooker were building. [This mill was located about 1/2 to 1 mile past the old Kramer stage stop. It was actually on Dick Ross Creek, a branch of Crooked River. It was not far to the west of the where the main road is today, and may have been quite close to where the old road used to run.--- Apr 30, 1928 W.S. Rooker, manager of the Crooked River sawmill...]
I lived, slept and cooked in a small tent. At first I left Melvin with Mom to go to school, or finish the term. As soon as the mill was cutting lumber, they built me a cook shack, and I started cooking for the mill crew. The log cutters camped, and some of the other help lived in tents, but soon lumber jack shacks were built all over the flat so a good many lived up there. But I still had 20 to 30 men to cook for.
Russell Merk and Clarence Wedding were cutting logs up there, and they batched, but Russell built a bed room on the cook shack for me, so we got to know each other pretty well. [Russell Merk, born Dec. 31, l903, at Salubria, had come to Fruitvale in 1924. His parents were John C. and Ida Lyons. Bill Baker said he was also working at the Rooker sawmill, and helped Russell build the bedroom.] Then we all went to the summit as it was called [also called "Kramer"], to shivaree 2 couples that had just got married. Russell asked me to go with him, so that's how our romance started. We were married that July 3rd about midnight, at Fruitvale.
[Adams County Leader, July 9, 1926 - "Russell H. Merck (sic) and Mrs. May Kite of Fruitvale were married at the latter place on July 3 by J.J. Larkey, a justice of the peace."]
Bill and Ethel took us down. Mr. Larkey was a justice of the peace there. [He lived at the east end of Johnathan Ave. (2275), on the south side.] We got him out of bed to marry us. He had us sitting all around the room. He explained to us the laws of Idaho etc., then said, "I pronounce you man and wife," so we weren't sure we were married until we got our marriage license or certificate back.
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That's the end of the quotes from my grandmother's memoirs. Two kids were born to this marriage: LaDell and Alma (my mother). Mae and Russell lived for a short time in the old Fruitvale Hotel building where Joslins live now. When mom was born, they lived in a building that had been one of the stores at Fruitvale. It was just south of the post office. It was later moved to just northeast of the old bridge across the main Weiser River, a half mile west of Fruitvale. It is long gone now. They also lived in what had been a bunkhouse that was located just north of the southern railroad crossing on Monroe Street, between the tracks and the highway. There was a railroad cattle guard at this Crossing during the 1920s.
My mom and Uncle Dell pretty much grew up on "the Abshire" place just above me here on West Fork, which was the old Tom Glenn Homestead. When I was a kid, Granddad and Grandma Merk lived in the old McMahon house on Monroe Street in Fruitvale where Rices later lived, and where Peggy Karen now lives. After living several other places, they wound up in Weiser. Mae/Grandma died in 1975, and Russell/Grandad died about a year later. They were outstanding people and I miss them.
12-21-95
No History Corner
12-28-95
There has been some confusion as to whether the first road between Council Valley and Meadows Valley went over Fort Hall Hill or followed the Weiser River. Many older people in the area remember the main highway going up the river, and the idea caught on that this must have been the oldest route. The truth is that this was the main route of travel for only about 20 years, between 1920 and 1940. No road went clear through by the river route until sometime after 1912.
The first road seems to have followed a similar path to the present highway as it climbs the southern slopes of Fort Hall Hill. The old road followed of the creek bottom more closely, to the west of the present highway. It topped the hill at about the same place it does now (maybe a few yards more to the northwest) only there was no cut there. From there it followed the first canyon down to the Weiser River.
At the top of this canyon, Tolbert Biggerstaff had a stage stop as early as the late 1880s or early 1890s. It was known as the "halfway station" between Meadows and the stage company's headquarters at Bernard Snow's ranch at Indian Valley.
Biggerstaff's ranch was down near the river, and my uncle, Bill Baker, thinks that is where the stage station was. Hugh Addington said it was near the summit of the hill, and the photo in the museum collection looks a lot like it was taken just north of the summit. That would put it right beside Ernest Baker's Homestead. My grandmother (Mae Baker Merk) mentioned that there was a structure on the homestead, near the summit, when they arrived, and I have always speculated that this may have been associated with a stage station.
Tolbert Biggerstaff once owned Starkey Hot Springs. I'll be writing about that later. His daughters married several well-known pioneers of the area. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, Emily married Louis Harp. Anna married Bud Addington (Hugh's parents). Ova, whose nickname was "Josie" married Robert White Jr., the son of Council's first postmaster. After Robert died, she married Charley Allen, son of Levi Allen first discovered copper in the Seven Devils. Josie is famous for beating a schoolteacher half to death with a club, and later for trying to kill Charley with his hunting rifle.
Olive Biggerstaff married J.J. Jones, the man about whom I wrote a few weeks ago as having owned the store near Shaver's store and built Shumway's house.
There is a pond at the old Biggerstaff place at the bottom of the above-mentioned canyon today. (I think it was put in some time in the early 1970s.) Harry Bradley later owned this place in the 1920s. In the late 1960s it was owned by Russell and Jewell Byers. The day of Russell's death is a tragic one that I will always remember. He was arc welding in his shop there at the Glendale when a spark landed on a box of dynamite. An instant later, there was little left but the cement slab floor of the shop. [Of course this is speculation, since no one was there to witness what happened.]
The Ernest Baker Homestead was the scene of another tragic death in the early 1930s. The Bakers were living on James Baker's old place at this time, and the Cox family was staying in the house that Ernest had built. There was a little "Spring-house" near the house. In the days before refrigeration, people use to keep milk and other such perishables in the damp coolness of a small house or box built around a spring or seep. This particular one had a little pool of water in it. One of the Cox's little girls fell into this pool and drowned. There is still a small depression on the old place today where the spring house stood. I don't think any water comes out there now, ever since one of the Bakers thought they could improve the flow with some dynamite.
Before the railroad came through, the area between Starkey and Tamarack was usually referred to as “the Canyon." The name "Glendale" seems to have been a name that arrived with the railroad to indicate the spot along the tracks about where the pond is now. Someone has tacked the old railroad signed to a stump above the present road. Now that we are losing the tracks, this sign might be a valuable piece of history that the museum wouldn't mind preserving.
A school was built just north of the tracks at Glendale in 1909. By 1912 (if not before) there was a railroad depot almost at the front door of the school. At this time, there were 11 students at the school. This number stayed about the same until the school closed in 1941.
1996
1-4-96
Remember some time ago I wrote about the flu epidemic that followed WW I? One of the local people who died was Leo J. Rainwater, who owned the store where Sam's TV and electric is now. About all I knew was that his wife and baby moved away soon after he died in 1918. As it turns out, that baby grew up to help invent the atomic bomb and received a Nobel Prize!
Born in Council December 9, 1917, Leo James Rainwater he was given nearly the same name as his father, Leo Jasper Rainwater.
After studying physics at the California Institute of technology, he worked on the ultra-secret Manhattan Project, and in doing so, helped invent the atomic bomb. From 1946 to 1952 he was a professor of physics at Columbia University. During that time, his research on the structure of the nucleus of atams so advanced the knowledge and that field that he was awarded the Nobel Prize for physics in 1975. Rainwater died May 31, 1986. Evidently this information has never received much attention in Council.
Back to our progress up the canyon. I don't know much about the next old place up from Glendale – the place where Otto Bodmer lived so long. [2755 Highway 95]
From Glendale, the first route, established in 1878 by Calvin White, continued up the river bottom. It reportedly forded the river over 30 times before it reached Tamarack/Price Valley. In 1888 the fords were superseded by 10 new bridges. They lasted just a few months until spring runoff totally obliterated them.
Before long, the route of the road was changed. The route became one that started at the Fort Hall Hill summit and followed the bench above the east side of the river. This bench was easy-going until the steep, timbered hillside just before the East Fork. At East Fork, the road had to negotiate a steep dip to cross the creek by way of a bridge located just east of the present highway. From East Fork, the road continued along the hillsides east of the river all the way to Tamarack/Price Valley.
Just when someone established a stopping place at East Fork, I don't know. It may have been as early as the 1860s when mail first started moving through here. The first mention I can find in newspapers of a stage station near the mouth of the East Fork is found in the spring of 1895. The paper said that Elisha and Ella Stevens ran "a stage station, hotel, stable and general stopping place in the Canyon 10 miles above Council."
The following year (1896), the new stage line contractors started using the Stevens station instead of Biggerstaff's for their halfway station. The station was located on the bench north of the East Fork, east of the present highway. The oldest Stevens house is said to have been the one that stood just south of the road (that leads up onto the bench) until just a few years ago.
When the railroad was being built up the canyon in 1906, Jim Ross put a sawmill on the bench at East Fork to cut railroad ties.
An interesting story appeared in the Weiser paper that year. Just north of the house where the Vogts and Pierces now live, there is a very high, steep bank that drops abruptly down to the river. In the summer of 1906, a railroad worker named James "Shorty" Dunn had been drinking near there. The paper said that he toppled off "a platform on the edge of the 100 foot cliff and back of the Stevens house." Thirty feet down, he hit a rock, cutting a 9-inch gash in his head. He then turned about 20 somersaults before he reached the river. He survived the mishap and was reported to be recovering.
This steep bank was also used as a convenient place to dump trash at the time.
By 1909, there was a Forest Service Ranger Station build a short distance south of the East Fork, on the bench just across from the Stevens stage station. It was also called "Stevens Station" and has been a source of some confusion ever since. The museum has two great pictures of the Stevens Ranger Station. I don't know when this ranger station closed. The house that the Pierces live in at East fork is said to be the old Rangers house, and was moved to that location. [2810 Hwy 95].
1-11-96
On up the canyon, there is a "Filley Creek." I find the name Lewis and Pete Filley associated with the area in the old newspapers. Pete was the Tamarack postmaster for many years, retiring in 1942.
Gaylord Creek is named after someone by that name. In a 1905 Weiser Signal I read, "Mr. and Mrs. Gaylord of Weiser will move to Mr. Gaylord's ranch in the canyon above Stevens station. He has had a painting business in Weiser for some time."
Construction of the railroad in 1906 ended at "Evergreen." Evergreen was a very popular name in the U.S. around this time. Practically the whole Canyon area was known by this name at one time or another, so the exact location of Evergreen can depend on what exact time one is talking about. Starkey was even known by this name for a short time.
The place where the rails ended was at the first big clearing down the river from the present Evergreen campground.* People and supplies bound for points north had to unload from the train here and go on by other means. After the tracks made it this far, the stage line stopped operating between Council and Evergreen, but continued to run from Evergreen North eventually a livery stable, a freight house and several other buildings were erected here. A Weiser store owner named Ernest E. Record and his wife, Addie, built a hotel here in 1907.
*Approximately 44°53'7.02"N 116°23'10.25"W.
At 2:30 AM one September morning in 1909, residents of Evergreen awoke the crackle of fire. The stables and sheds of the Idaho Stage Company were ablaze. Three horses were killed, and one stagecoach, five sets of harness and a quantity of feed went up in smoke. It was thought that a drunk sheepherder had been careless with a cigarette.
The hotel and stage station were discontinued when the tracks were completed to New Meadows in 1911. The present Evergreen campground was established by the Forest Service in 1923. In 1937 Marvin and Lillian Imler build a service station along the highway just south of the campground. This business continued, to various degrees and under various owner, up until the 1970s. At this writing the building is home to Bob and Lila Coates.
About a mile south of Pine Ridge, on the west side of the highway, is Woodland Creek. A spot along the railroad tracks, also named Woodland, is about a quarter mile north, on the east side of the river where Beaver Creek enters the Weiser River. The Woodland sheep driveway used to come through here, and there were facilities for loading sheep onto rail cars.
For many years, the Wooldland Sheep Driveway was heavily used. It branched off from the main Weiser-Seven Devils Driveway between North Hornet Creek and grouse Creek, then went east along a ridge, crossing the West Fork of the Weiser River near mouth of grouse Creek, then on east to Woodland. In 1948 the Woodland sheep driveway was officially discontinued since it was no longer needed.
The story of how the modern highway got to be where it is, is an interesting story in itself, and I'll probably go into that soon. Essentially, the road follows the old route along the hills east of the river until the 1920s when the "North-South" highway was built through the canyon. Much of this old road is still visible or even in use. The most evident part of it is on either side of Beaver Creek on the east side of the river. One of the old concrete bridges is still in use where that old road comes onto the highway just South of Tamarack.
The original road to Lost Valley didn't leave the highway at Pine Ridge as it currently does. Instead, it went west from near Tamarack. I suppose traces of the old road must still be there.
1-18-96
The last place on our "tour" of the Canyon is Price Valley, named after Tom Price. Price was a California pioneer who was also an early arrival in Idaho. Although he was somewhat of a nomad, he settled at Indian Valley long enough to become the first mayor of a town that he named "Sourdough." The name didn't stick, and the spot became known as "Indian Valley."
Price was reportedly a military scout during one Indian war or another. He married an Indian Valley woman, Levina Anderson-Logan, in 1884. It was also about that time that he ran a soda mill on Mann Creek. He is said to have lived on Hornet Creek for a while also.
The way that Price Valley acquired Tom Price's moniker was that in about the early 1870s, Price was a mail carrier and frequently used a stopover cabin near present day Tamarack. The cabin became known as "Fort Price," and is the first known structure in that immediate area.
In 1904 there was a roadhouse at Price Valley, run by a man named Norton. It was a stage station and saloon, and evidently had facilities for overnight guests. The next year the station was taken over by Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Riggs.
In 1905 a ranch owned by Weiser sheep man named A.G. Butterfield is mentioned as being at, or near, Price Valley. Butterfield had thousands of sheep and several ranches. I would guess that Butterfield Gulch that runs into Lick Creek was named after him.
The railroad was built up the canyon from Evergreen in 1910, and it made it to new Meadows in the first days of 1911.
Sometime before 1910, Steve Richardson established a sawmill at price Valley. In 1911 Richardson established the first post office in the his store here and named it "Tamarack." The Council Leader referred to Richardson in 1912 as "Tamarack postmaster, merchant, sawmill man and lawyer."
The vicinity had evidently attracted a number of residents by that time. Many were probably sawmill employees. It was that year (1912) that Richardson donated a piece of land here for the construction of a schoolhouse.
By the end of 1912, there were four sawmills operating at Tamarack. Richardson's mill sat right by the railroad depot. The Hawkeye Lumber Company mill was about a quarter mile south of Richardson's and was managed by R. E. Shaw. The Nord & Co. mill, run by James O. Nord, was another quarter mile down the canyon (south). A Mr. Combs operated a mill about 2 miles north of Richardson's at the edge of the Valley.
A tragic accident happened to a Hawkeye lumberjack during a log drive in the spring of 1913. A young, educated Swedish man named Carl Nelson was helping run logs down the Weiser River to the mill. Carl had never been on a floating log in his life. His inexperience, combined with the fact that the river was still running high with spring runoff, proved to be fatal. He fell into the swift water and was drowned under the logs. His body was packed in snow until his brother arrived to bury him. The Hawkeye mill continue to operate here at least until 1929, when it encountered financial problems and evidently went out of business.
Nord & Company continued to operate at Tamarack until the mill was bought by Jerry McCatron in 1940. About 1945 or 1946, Roy Nine bought into the partnership and ran the mill while McCatron logged in the woods. The mill was sold to W. I. Moffit in late 1958 or early 1959. M.B. Hitchcock, the owner at this writing, acquired the mill in 1964. The mill was originally on the east side of the highway to be near the river. It was replaced by a new mail and electric co-generation plant on the west side of the highway in the late 1980s.
1-25-96
I was given some more information about our Nobel Prize winner, Mr. Rainwater, who was born here. Gary Rogers found the book, "Nobel prize winners" that even has a picture of him in it. Leo Jasper Rainwater was his father who owned the store in Council, and he was also a civil engineer. Mrs. Rainwater's name was Edna. After Leo Senior died, she moved to Hanford, California where she remarried.
Leo Junior was raised at Hanford. In 1942 he married Emma Smith. They had a daughter who died in infancy, and three sons. Leo James Rainwater died in Yonkers, New York, May 31, 1986. His obituary may be in the New York Times, June 3, 1986.
I got a call from Walter Stevens, grandson of Elisha Stevens who ran a stage station at East fork. We will be getting photos and information from him.
This week I'm starting a series of articles centered around the Hahn family. A while back, I got a call out of the blue from a lady named Frances Krommenhock who was passing through Council with her husband. They were nice enough to call me and I met with them in town and copied a couple of their photos. Frances is a relative of Hahns, Drapers, and Fifers, who were all well known families here early in the century. Later she sent me an enormous bunch of information and Agnes Hahns memoirs, which is 283 pages of fascinating reading.
Frank Hahn married Alice Fifer, and they arrived in the Council Valley sometime between 1900 and 1904. [Added later: Frank bough the Council-Meadows stage line from Ross Krigbaum and the estate of the recently deceased Marion Crowell in January 1904.] Alice's brother, Will Fifer, owned a store that stood about where shavers parking lot is now. Fifer was a jeweler, and the building also hosted a Barber shop and the Council State Bank at one time.
[The rest of this column was the beginning of a story about Frank Hahn's stage trip up through the Canyon, which is in my Landmarks book, as well as a future History Corner.]
2-1-96 & 2-8-96 continued the Hahn stage trip story.
2-15-96
Frank Hahn married Alice Fifer in the 1880s, long before they came to Council. As I mentioned before, Alice's brother, Will Fifer was a jeweler here. I'm told that a clock he made still hangs in the courthouse. Her sister, Margaret Fifer, married Abraham Beckstead. They lived on what is now the Gould place (3 miles north of town), and *built the main big ranch house there. Later they traded ranches with the Goulds for their place on Cottonwood Creek (now the Frasier place). [Check this. Todd Nelson said Wisdoms built the house.]
Frank and Alice arrived in Council sometime shortly before 1904, when our story of the past few history corners occurred. Frank soon sold their stage line and livery stable, and settled into a life as a rancher on what is now the Barr Jacobs place, about 4 miles north of Council. The house was, and still is, down along lane and across the river, west of the highway.[2381 Highway 95]
The Hahns had six children. In 1910 their son, Will, married Agnes Calkins. Agnes was in Council visiting her sister, Emma Draper (wife of Charles Draper) when they met. If you are getting the idea that this family tree is starting to get complicated, you are right.
Will and Agnes lived on Frank Hahn's ranch, then homesteaded their own place that joined it on the west. They had four children, the youngest of whom is still living. Agnes later wrote down her life story, at least that part of it, up through their time here at Council. It is really an interesting read. She describes many aspects of life in those days: how they made soap and butter, maintained coal oil lamps, the prices of various items, a little about the way houses were furnished and decorated, the way babies were dressed, how hogs were butchered and the meat cured; some of the early, informal rodeos held in this area, and and the agricultural depression of the 1920s. Her memoir will be put in the library sooner or later so you can read all of it.
I have to quote what she said about babies: "People did not handle newborn babies then as they do now, nor were babies dressed the same. Each baby must be dressed in flannel, a wool shirt, a flannel band, which was wrapped firmly around the baby's middle and at first almost reached his armpits, and over this went a pinning blanket which was made from a strip of outing flannel about 21 inches long and gathered onto a wide band. This was wrapped around the baby, overlapped and pinned, and folded up over the feet. Over this went a flannel petticoat, and over that an outing flannel nightgown or wrapper. With a baby blanket wrapped over all this, the baby was a stiff bundle with no way of exercising its own little limbs or back muscles."
Agnes said after having her first child, "Finally I had completed the 14 days then required for lying in bed, and the day came for me to get up and dress." Today you are lucky if the hospital let you stay overnight after giving birth.
Agnes told about how they cleared the brush from their Homestead, and shot and trapped hundreds of ground squirrels. There are still a lot of squirrels on that part of the Ridge, and people still shoot a lot of them.
Agnes writes about the flu epidemic of 1918. Her husband almost died from it, but survived. Ray Selby (Loraine's uncle) worked for the Hahns during that time, and she told about his death. She didn't mention that Ray and his mother died the same day. She also told of the death of L.J. rainwater from the flu.
Four years before a bridge was built at the home on ranch, they struggled with high water during the spring. They often had to go across the rolling hills east of the river, all the way to the bridge at Council, just to get across. Sometimes they risked the crossing in a small boat. This almost resulted in a drowning on more than one occasion, and a young boy actually was drowned while swimming in the river there one summer.
2-22-96
When the U.S. entered WW I in 1917, Frank Hahn Junior and his brother, Joe, insisted on joining the Army. It was decided that they would go to Boise to enlist. Most of the family, the boys, two of their sisters, and their parents, Frank and Alice, piled into their old Ford for the trip. The following is Agnes is us account of the terrible tragedy that ensued on August 6, 1917.
"Six people made quite a crowd for the little Ford car. After the boys enlisted, and on the way back to Payette, the Ford developed some trouble, and the boys worked on it before starting to Council. They left early the next morning after an early breakfast. Frank and father sat in the front seat, Frank driving and Alice sitting on her father's lap. Joe, Mother, and Elsie were in the backseat. Of course, Grandmother Fifer (who lived in Payette) cautioned Frank to drive carefully, and he mentioned that he would not drive fast, as the brakes were not working very well. A few miles out of Payette the highway turned at right angles and crossed the railroad tracks. The crossing was partly obscured from the road by an orchard.
"No one will ever know how the dreadful accident occurred, for the Ford had crossed the track where there was a little incline, and then, maybe because of some faulty mechanism or due to some other cause, the car engine must have stopped, for the car rolled back down onto the track and was struck by the oncoming passenger train. The Ford was completely demolished, Frank and Elsie killed instantly, and Father, with Alice locked in his arms, was pinned to the front of the engine and carried 300 feet down the track before falling.
“Joe was still alive, and Mother, when they were picked up and loaded into an empty car on the train and. Someone said that Mother had just died, and Joey who had seem to be unconscious said, 'For God's sake don't tell me.' A little later he raised his hand and stated, 'Joe Hahn, Council Idaho,' and that was the last word he spoke.
"Meanwhile, at home Will had gone to the main farm to work where his remaining brother and his wife were staying. Will was hot and tired, and went into the house for a drink of water. As he passed through the front room, the telephone rang, and when he answered it, a voice said, 'I am the undertaker from Payette. They are taking all the bodies to one parlor, and I want my part of the business.' And this was the way will heard the news of the accident, and that his people had been killed."'
Frank Senior was 60 years old, his wife 54, Frank Junior 25, Joe 20, Elsie 17, and Alice 13.
"We left for Payette as soon as we could get organized. When we reached Payette, we found that Alice had survived the wreck and was hospitalized in some hall at the time. She was unconscious and terribly hurt, bruised all over, and she remained unconscious for over a month."
2-29-96
After Alice Hahn woke up from her month-long coma, she had to be told that most of her family was gone. It took a long time for her to recover from her physical trauma, and even longer to get over the mental one. Ironically, years later, Alice's husband was killed by a train.
The train accident was the beginning of the end for the Hahn ranch. Before Alice had even regained consciousness, their cattle on the Forest grazing allotment began to die from eating Larkspur. They eventually lost about $3,000 worth. In today's dollars, it would be equal several times that much.
Frank Hahn's estate was divided between the two remaining brothers, and will bought out his brother. Then there were the hospital and funeral costs. Will had to put a second mortgage on the place to pay all the expenses. It was about this time that Will received a notice that he was being drafted into the Army. Fortunately he was given a deferment after the situation was explained.
Then came the flu epidemic after the war. Will caught it and the came very near to dying. He was so delirious at one point that he didn't even recognize his own wife or children. Dr. Brown told Agnes that Wills fever had raged for so long, and the medication had been so strong that he might never be right in his mind again. All their hired men left to get away from the virus, except one: Ray Selby. Will started to recover about the time that Ray's mother caught the flu and Ray went home to take care of her. Soon, Ray caught the deadly virus. He and his mother both died the same day. Ray was the brother of Chester (Chet) Selby, who later had a daughter many of you know: Lorraine Selby. Chet came to work for the Hahn's while will was still recovering from the lingering effects of his illness.
The mortgage Will got on the ranch was through the Council State Bank, which was in the building owned by his uncle, Will Fifer, as I said before, it was just west of where shavers is now. The banker was a new man in the position, and was very friendly. When Will went in to make the first payment, the banker told him that considering the hard times everyone was going through, that the money could be paid at a later date. Agnes tells the story in her memoir:
"Honest, trusting soul that he was, Will could hardly believe his good fortune, for we truly did need the money. 'Isn't he a great guy to do this for me?' he asked."
"I asked him if he had all that down in writing or any kind of paper to show for the agreement, or we would just be delinquent on our mortgage. 'Hell no!' he exclaimed. 'That man is honest, and I have his word, and that's all I need.'
"Will went ahead, used the money as he needed it, and seemed not to be worried about it until one day a neighbor came by and told us the bank was foreclosing on one of the Hornet Creek dairy men. Farmers began to get together and compare notes and to wonder, for all of them were indebted to the bank.
"On the first day of December the sheriff rode out and served us with foreclosure papers. Will was absolutely stunned! The sheriff was a good friend and hated to serve the papers, but he told Will he was only one of several farmers who were having the same experience."
In the agony and depression of being maliciously put into this trap, Will made plans to go to the bank and shoot the banker and then kill himself. Fortunately, Agnes was able to talk him out of it. The Hahn sold every piece of personal property they could get in an effort to pay the mortgage, but failed. They packed up the few belongings that remained and sadly left the country, feeling like homeless vagabonds.
Agnes's description of all this, and their last trip out of the long lane to the highway, past the land they had worked so hard to keep, is heartbreaking. One thing that makes history most interesting to me is knowing where the stories happened. Now when I drive by that long lane to what is now Barr Jacobs' is place, I think of the Hahn family.
3-7-96
Story of Starkey Hot Springs, which is in my Landmarks book.
3-14-96
Starkey continued
3-21-96
Starkey
3-28-96
Starkey
4-4-96
Starkey
4-11-96
One of the owners of Starkey that a mentioned was Dr. William Brown. I skipped over his story to tell the one of Starkey.
There were two Dr. Brown's in Council, so it is sometimes a little confusing when someone mentions "Dr. Brown." I always have to ask "which one?"
Just a brief synopsis of the other Dr. Brown:
Dr. Frank Brown was one of the founding fathers of Council, arriving about 1900 when the town started to boom. He was said to be Council's first resident doctor, although I don't think that is totally accurate. He was the first to establish a long-term practice here, and was the main doctor in the whole area for many years.
He was a charter member of the Congregational Church, served on the school board, and was very involved in other public matters. The most lasting legacy he left to Council is the beautiful brick building on the northwest corner of Galena Street and Illinois Avenue. He had it built in 1913 to house his offices upstairs and a drug store on the bottom floor.
Dr. Frank Brown moved to Salem, Oregon in 1916 and died in 1958. There is a small book at the library about him.
Dr. William Brown
[William Martin Brown was born Nov. 18, 1860 at Morning Sun, Ohio, which in now an unincorporated community that is part of the Dayton, Ohio Metropolitan Statistical Area. He was the eldest of 8 children. ]
The first mention I've found of Dr. William Brown is in an 1893 Salubria newspaper when he was involved in what Heidi Bigler Cole called a "ride by shooting." Dr. Brown was driving a hack by someone's house in Salubria when a dog raised a hostile racket as he went by. It made the doctor angry, and he let go around from his revolver at the animal. Evidently the doctor wasn't a very good shootist. The bullet went wild, going through the front window of a nearby house, almost hitting two young children. The homeowner was understandably outraged, and a lawsuit against Brown was thought to be likely. The matter was evidently dropped, as there was no further news about it. Even in his early days in Salubria, Dr. Brown was well respected.
Dr. Brown and his wife, Emma, arrived in Salubria as newlyweds in the 1892. [Married Oct 1, 1889 at Douglas, Nebraska.] Earlier that year, Emma I had given birth to their daughter, Winifred, in Nebraska. [March 13, 1892]
[Emma Sherman was born January 15, 1861 at Hebron, NY.]
Dr. Brown was a tall, slender gentleman, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. The 32-year-old doctor quickly established a reputation as a brilliant diagnostician. He was the 42nd doctor licensed in the state of Idaho.
In partnership with Eugene Lorton, Brown bought a drugstore in Salubria from John Cuddy in 1895. Brown later sold his share to Lorton. This store moved to Cambridge when the town of Salubria died, and continued in the Lorton family until just a couple years ago. Seems to me the Lorton name is still on the front of the drugstore in Cambridge.
In January 1897 the Browns had the second, and last, of their children: another girl, Mildred. It was about that time that the Pacific & Idaho Northern Railroad made plans to build a line into the Seven Devils Mining District. Dr. Brown was persuaded to be the railroad company's the physician in the mining district where construction was to begin soon. The company built a hospital building in the new town of Cuprum, and the Brown family moved there in 1899. The hospital had a drugstore in the front section, a hospital ward in the middle, and a kitchen in the back end.
It was soon evident that the railroad was not going to be built into the mining district, but Brown stayed there. He had already been bitten by the mining bug, and played at prospecting over the years. In 1937 he and my grandfather, Jim Fisk, went up someplace on the Salmon River looking for a gold prospect that Dr. Brown had discovered 40 years earlier.
In 1901 the Browns bought out the Cohen & Chris store in Decorah (just a few miles up Indian Creek from Cuprum) and moved their business there. About 1902 they moved the short distance to Landore where their business included "drugs, chemicals, confectionery, stationery, fresh fruits, cigars and tobacco, groceries, provisions, gent's furnishing goods, hats, gloves, boots and shoes, paints and oils, powder, caps and fuse." A post office was soon added to the mix, and a telephone was installed in the store.
4-18-96
Dr. Brown received his pharmacists license in 1905. In those days pharmacists mixed most of their medications from scratch, and he often concocted his own remedies. It would be interesting to know what they were. I bet some of them would be very illegal now.
Dr. Brown also functioned as the local optometrist, a practice he continued for many years. Emma acted as nurse in the medical practice, often treating minor injuries when the doctor was away.
The Browns were cornerstones of Landore social life, and were involved in most civic affairs. The doctor had a fine tenor voice, and sang at many of the early social gatherings. In 1912, Dr. Brown was elected to the state legislature, becoming the first representative from newly formed Adams County. He served only one term, but was instrumental in getting the short-lived Black Lake Game Preserve created, and in getting elk and trout planted in this area. His political activities led him to become a close friend of Senator William E Borah. It was also about this time (1913) that Brown became the deputy assessor for the Seven Devils vicinity.
When the mining boom ended, the Browns were among the last to leave Landore, moving to Council in 1916. It was that year that Dr. Frank Brown moved away, so the timing worked out well for the community. Dr. William Brown established his office in the building that now houses Elite Repeats on the main street through town. [The old First Bank of Council building, built in 1909.] He and Emma built a home that is still standing in Council, and where Dr. Thurston later lived. [NE corner of E Whiteley Avenue and N Clarendon Street.]
Dr. Brown soon became the county physician and corner. As I mentioned, when Brown and Griffith bought Starkey in 1920, the doctor continued his practice in town two days a week. Emma continue to live in Council for a short time before moving to Starkey. After retiring in 1928 and selling the Hot Springs to Winnifred and Bob Lindsey, the Browns bought a home in Phoenix, Arizona, and spent much of their time there.
Dr. William Brown died in Phoenix in October 1941. [Death certificate says he had lived there 3 years.] I have no record of when Emma died. Our museum has several items that belonged to Dr. Brown: his medical bag, a glass office sign, a machine for making pills, a big set of lenses for eyeglasses. [Later note: He died in St. Joseph's Hospital on Oct. 10, after spending 12 days there. Cause of death was “cerebral hemorrhage due to hypertension.” He was buried in the Greenwood Cemetery at Phoenix on Oct. 13. In 1950 Emma had him moved here where she knew he would have wanted to be – in the Salubria Cemetery. She died August 2, 1952 at, or near, Los Angeles, CA and was buried beside William in the Salubria Cemetery.
Winifred Brown married Robert Lindsay on September 2, 1922 in San Francisco, where Bob was in the hardware business. As I mentioned, they took over Starkey in 1929, and ran it the rest of their lives. I have no idea what became of Winifred sister Mildred.
Winifred, born 1892, died February 16,1978 at San Mateo, California and was buried in the Salubria Cemetery. Mildred was born at Salubria on January 13, 1897. She married Fred Forbes (1899 - 1961) in 1917 in Idaho. She died at Los Angeles in 1982.
4-25-96
I was asked recently to do some investigation into the historic quality of fishing in the Weiser River. People have been coming to the Council area to fish for centuries. In my research, I read that one name the Indians had for the Council Valley was "Kos-ni-mah" (pronounced Quashnima). The term supposedly indicated "redfish," in other words, salmon. The old-timers thought the word was Nez Perce, but I talked to one of the Nez Perce dancers who came here last summer who spoke Nez Perce pretty well, and he said that wasn't their word for red fish. I'm hoping to check with someone who speaks Shoshoni to see where it came from.
It could be that the term Kos-ni-ma is a term some white person came up with, like the fictitious Indian origin of the name "Idaho." As many of you know, Idaho or "E-da-how," which supposedly meant "sun coming down the mountain" or some such, was made up by a white person who thought the name and story sounded good. A group was looking for someplace to give the name "Idaho" to, and almost gave it to Wyoming before we got the honor. I've said it 1000 times, a good story is so much better than the truth to many people that myths often get preserved better than reality. The myth of the location of "the" Council tree is one such story that just drives me crazy.
The Weiser River was always a major salmon spawning stream, with several species running up the river at different times over the summer. The Shoshoni would gather at various locations along the Weiser to harvest the fish, generally catching them in willow weirs.
Salmon contributed to the diets of Council area people up until the dams were built on the snake River in the late 1950s the salmon would sometimes be so thick in the water that a person could throw a pitchfork into a pool in the river where the salmon were the thickest and almost certainly spear one.
My dad told me of the time when he was walking across the bridge over the West Fork. He threw a salmon spear, which will had a rope attached, into the water, hit a salmon and kept on walking home with his catch without ever slowing down. [Dad later told me this was not quite accurate - he walked along the bank, the spear wasn't on a rope - he walked up, speared him and came home practically without stopping]
The old pioneers of the Council area said that fishing was always very good here. They considered the main Weiser River the best place to fish for trout, especially the deep holes in the river. In 1903 Dr. Frank Brown caught 325 small trout in the East fork of the Weiser River. The next day L.L. Burtenshaw caught 180 and T.W. Johnson caught 45 there. Three years later, Dr. Brown and Steward Piper caught 400 fish on the West Fork of the Weiser. In 1912, some Council men reportedly caught over 600 fish in the Bear Creek and Lick Creek area, and trout as long as a man's arm were being caught in Lost Lake. In 1905 fishing was allowed year around and the limit was 20 pounds, with a limit of 30 pounds in possession at any time.
5-2-96
Wrote about our agreement with Evea Harrington Powers to expand the museum.
5-9-96
Since writing about the Steven station at East fork, I have received more information about the Stevens family. Caryn Fieger gave me the address of Walter Stevens who had stopped at East fork some years ago. From Walter and his relatives I got some good info and photocopies of pictures.
Elisha Stevens, who along with his wife, Ella, ran the Stevens stage station, was born in Illinois in 1845. By the mid-1860s he had married and had two daughters. No one seems to know what became of his first wife and children, and it is surmised that they died. Elisha was a pony express writer for a time, and then became an Army scout at Fort Richfield, Utah. When the Blackhawk Indian War began in the spring of 1866, he was sent to bring the settlers of the nearby town of Alma into the Fort. They remained there for three years because of the war. The town was not resettled until 1871 when it was renamed "Monroe."
For his part in aiding the settlers during the Indian war, Stevens's name was inscribed (along with a number of others) on a historic marker in the city park at Monroe, Utah.
This and more is in my Landmarks book and in a future History Corner.
5-15-96
Wrote about cap and ball pistols.
5-23-96
If you read anything about the history of the old town of Decorah in the Seven Devils Mining District, one fact that is usually mentioned is that the town was started by a man named C.W. Jones. And that's about all you will hear about the man, except that he was not related to T.G. Jones who established the town of Landore, just a stones throw up Indian Creek. I have run across other references to C.W. Jones that show him to have been an ambitious man with itchy feet.
The earliest mention of C.W. Jones is in the Salubria Citizen newspaper in 1898. "Charlie," as he was called, was a justice of the peace in the Lick Creek precinct. Jones was mentioned in the same newspaper the next year as the owner of a big Coppermine (the Copper Chief) on the Snake River. He and another man were going to float down the Snake from Huntington to check on the feasibility of running a steamer from Lewiston that would Haul ore on its return trip. This was only the millionth time this type of scheme had been investigated. It seems like people found it very hard to grasp the fact that the Snake River was not navigable by a ship big enough to haul much cargo. Bear in mind that this was several years after Kleinschmidt's famous disaster with his steamboat, Norma.
The vessel on which the men set sail on the trial run was a scow dubbed "Hotel Weiser." They made it at least as far as the mouth of Deep Creek, but the paper made no further mention of the trip or its success or failure. It is interesting that the paper mentioned the mouth of Deep Creek as being in "Hell Canyon." This name was not in common use in those days – not in fact, until fairly recent years.
Jones shows up next as a saloon owner in business with a man named Degitz, in Cuprum in 1900. The next year (1901) the Cambridge Citizen newspaper had this to say: "The first sale of town property was made in the new town of Decorah on March 28th, when C.W. Jones sold his entire interest in the saloon business, including buildings and fixtures to Nick Klosaner of Cuprum for $4,000." An elegant billiard table was included in the bargain.
Decorah had been granted a post office that January. The town didn't last long. In 1903 the post office was closed – a sign that Decorah was in serious decline. In August 1904 the Weiser Signal reported that the town of Decorah was being moved to Landore.
If Jones did indeed establish Decorah, he apparently had no grandiose plans to ride this horse to fame and fortune, and bailed out very early in the game. By 1902 he was in Council, busily publishing the "Advance" newspaper, in head to head competition with L. S. Cool's "Council Journal." Neither newspaper lasted more than a year or two, and Council ended up without any newspaper for a number of years, until the Council Leader started in 1908.
The year of 1904 found Jones living in Landore, in charge of the Peacock, White Monument, Helena and several other mines. He occupied himself in this direction at least into 1905. For now, I don't know what became of him. No doubt he changed careers several more times before his earthly time was up.
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I'm really excited about some incredible pieces of local history that have come our way recently! A week or two ago, I got a letter from Sally Thurston Clarke, Dr. Thurston's daughter, who lives in Boise. She said she had 8mm movie footage that her father had taken, starting in the early 1930s, that she would be willing to share with Council. Since then, Sally has sent 17 reels of film that include some absolutely wonderful footage. I put one reel on the other night and couldn't believe I was watching Bill Winkler smiling and talking (without sound of course) on the screen. There is movie footage of:
-The CCC camp on Middle Fork, showing many of the buildings, the Middle Fork schoolhouse, and some Mesa tramway towers.
-A drag saw in operation cutting firewood.
-A brief shot of the old Council sawmill burning down in 1958.
-A horseback trip into Wildhorse by the doctor to see a patient (this one includes a quite young Helena Schmidt).
-A parade in downtown Council in the 1930s.
-The buildings and mill at Black Lake.
-A passenger train pulling into Council Depot, pulled by a steam engine. -Dr. Thurston's "snowmobile" made from a model A Ford.
Some of the other people that are identified: Carl Swanstrom; Charlie, Esther, Henry and Si Winkler; Bob and Ted Hagar; Alta, Mae, Bonnie and Alva Ingram; Goldie and Jean Russell, the Vern Brewer family, Robert Hancock, Art Hollenbeak; Gene, Jim and Ruth Perkins; Jim Poynor; Winifred, Bob and Mary Drennan Lindsay; Ellis, Edwin, Melvin and Helen Snow; Paul Schaff, Harold McClymonds; Mr. and Mrs. Frank Planert, Earl Miller, Grahm and Robert Doyle, Vern Kidwell, Donald Foust, Edwin Stanfield, Clyde Rush, Dot Burnett, John Hoover; Janet and Sally Thurston; Lucy and Billie Jane Spahr; Olive Addington and her mother, Mrs. Emery; Dr. John Edwards; Gene and Wendell Lawrence.
There are many more people who are unidentified, such as members of the Worthwhile Club 60 years ago.
5-30-96
An interesting item that was recently donated to the museum is an old book of minutes from meetings of the Cuddy Mountain Cattle and Horses Growers Association. Like other groups of its kind, it was formed to organize the ranchers who grazed cattle on a given area of the National Forest. This, and other organizations like it, continue today. For the ranchers, they spread the workload of managing the cattle and maintaining facilities. For the Forest Service, such associations save having to deal with each rancher individually.
The first meeting of the Cuddy Mountain group was in April 1916 when the association was organized. J.B. Lafferty was the supervisor of the Weiser National Forest at the time, which included the area where the association members would be grazing cattle. Lafferty Park along the Council-Cuprum Road is named after him. Lafferty spoke at the meeting and helped organize the association. Ellis Hartley was elected president, John , vice president, and P.H. Miller, secretary.
Historically the relationship between ranchers in the Forest Service has not always been smooth. When the National Forests were first established early in this century, some ranchers bitterly opposed any infringement on their "right" to put animals on public land as they saw fit. In some cases, this resulted in severe overgrazing. After the Forests were established and grazing associations were formed, this conflict too often continued. From the minutes of its early meetings, it would appear that the Cuddy Mountain Association had no problems with the Forest Service.
The association started with about 45 members. The 1917 list includes a number of notable personalities: Arthur Huntley, Pete Kramer, Frank Peck, Albert Campbell, Robert Harrington; Ed and Billie Myers, Archie and Claude Emery, Frank Myers; Victor and Manuel Oling, R.A. Williams, Dan and John , S.J. Stephens, Henry Blake, William Bingham, F.J. Baily, A.F. Lozier, H.E. Warner, Bill Shearer, John Kampeter, W.J. Wilson, Orville F. and J. A. Long, John Darland Keithly Lakey, M. Johnson, D. E. Smith, G.C. Gilmer, C.F. Smith, Joe Russell; R. (Rasmus?), Bill and Nelson Hanson; E.C. Haynes, A J. Thompson, WH Stutsman, Albert Rankins, JD Eads, R. A. Widdle, WR and Ed Haines, Fred Milroy, R. W. and Enos Carter, L.G. Andrews, E. Walston, Frank Famming, C. E. Rogers and W. S. Rucker. A number of these people probably had only a few cattle or horses.
The grazing allotment evidently covered quite a wide area, going about as far north as Cuprum. At the south end, Goodrich and Johnson Creek ranchers are also listed: Albert Ferguson, E. H. Gallant, John Ogilvie, Abraham and Alfred Schmid, C. H. Glasscock. Cyrus Kilborn and James Thorp.
One of the constants of range management, then as now, was buying and distributing salt. Pieces of salt are placed at locations that not only provide cattle with a vital nutrient, but lead the animals to stay longer in certain areas. Today one of the main goals of salt placements is to avoid concentrations of cattle in riparian areas (along streams).
When the ranchers bought salt in 1917, it cost $14.35 per ton and came in 100 pound sacks. It was probably rock salt as opposed to the square-shaped blocks that are often used today. Rock salt is more or less in its natural state as it comes from the ground. It is irregular in shape (like chunks of rock) and has impurities in it. Salt blocks are molded from almost pure salt, with other desired minerals sometimes thrown in. It has been debated in grazing associations as to whether the cheaper rock salt or the more expensive block salt is a better investment.
In the summer of 1917, there were 2,019 head of cattle on this part of the Forest, and 28,756 pounds of salt was purchased. The next year there were over 3,000 cattle on the allotment. During WWI, the Association members stated that they would volunteer to fight fires on the Forest. They would be paid $.40 per hour, plus a dollar a day for the use of their horse.
Minutes of the January 1917 meeting declared no mules or "stags" over two years old would be allowed to graze on the allotment. In 1919 there is much mention of the "Bill Boyles Gang" of cattle rustlers. Evidently they had been quite a problem until they were caught and prosecuted.
6-6-96
One of the most striking attitudes of our ancestors was their bigotry. In reading the early newspapers of this area, it quickly becomes obvious that anyone who didn't fit the classic white Anglo-Saxon Protestant mold was openly denigrated. African-Americans were frequently depicted as being a happy, simple-minded subclass of beings. Chinese people were despised as filthy and immoral. At one point, newspapers publicly proclaimed that all Mormons should be run out of Idaho. When it came to Native Americans, people sometimes openly advocated genocide of these "savages."
Women's rights have been a bone of contention in this country at least since 1848 when it was first suggested that they should be allowed to vote. The 19th amendment giving women the vote was passed, after 72 years of struggle, in 1920. The struggle of women continues today as our society skirmishes with itself over gender issues.
Dr. Dora Gerber is a person from Council's not-so-distant past whose life was touched by both the attitude toward Indians and toward women's rights. Gerber went very much against the attitudes of the day when she decided to become a dentist. In about 1912 she was the first woman to graduate from the Dr. Miller's School of Dentistry in Portland, Oregon. Her dentists licensed certified that she could be trusted to do all kinds of invasive repairs in people's mouths, but she wasn't allowed to vote.
Dr. Gerber grew up in the Grangeville area (mostly Kendrick), and learned to speak the Nez Perce language from her Indian playmates. Her father was hired by the government to teach the Nez Perce how to farm. I guess this would be called "retraining" today. It didn't go over too well with them. Teaching a wild and free people to farm might be a little like retraining loggers to knit doilies.
6-13-96
One of the most evident attitudes that you find in reading local newspapers from Council's history is found in the glowing, romantic descriptions of the abundance of Council Valley's Orchards, farms and mines. These writers were not just overflowing with entusiasm, they were salesman selling their community. They were advertising to get more people, industry, and "progress" to come to their little corner of the world. "Growth" and "progress" were synonymous buzzwords of the day. In a country that had only recently been wilderness there seem to be no limit to the land or the bounties it could yield. Nature was an obstacle to overcome, and opponent to be conquered and subdued. The dogma of "Manifest Destiny" was unquestioned.
In 1908 the Council Commercial Club set out to implement a systematic plan of advertising the Valley with the goal of bringing in more people. This seemed to be taken for granted as being the most important factor toward improving the area.
Idaho even had an Immigration Commissioner who spread promotional material throughout the East and Midwest to attract people here to settle. Not to be outdone, Edgar Heiho, general manager of the P & I N Railroad, announced that he would give free train passes to immigrants seeking homes around the Council, Cambridge for Midvale. (The tracks hadn't made it to Meadows Valley yet.)
This worship of growth has continued without much challenge until fairly recently. Our whole economic and social system has become addicted to an unsustainable pyramid scheme based on eternal growth. The current state of the Social Security system is only one example of the folly of depending on ever increasing population for the sustainability of anything.
Another sign of a different attitude in the past is noticeable in how people felt toward violence. I'm convinced that people had a higher tolerance of violence in the old days – maybe even more of a desire for it, at least among the males of our species. Both work and play were hard and physical.
On Saturday nights, community dances would often last all night. Part of the fun of these shindigs would usually include several knockdown-drag-outs between the young men. Boxing matches called "smokers," were held fairly often in the 1920s and 1930s. On the other hand, we see more violence on TV in one night than a person back then saw in a lifetime.
Our area, and the West in general, has been influenced by Southern culture and attitudes. After the Civil War, great numbers of Southerners migrated to the west. In looking through the records of who settled the Council area in the 1870s through 1910 or so, it's interesting what a large percentage of those people came from the South, especially Arkansas, for some reason. The only vestige of that regional culture that I can think of, off the top of my head, is calling the evening meal "supper." I never heard supper called "dinner" when I was growing up here. Dinner time was always at noon. There are undoubtedly a number of idiosyncrasies of the southern culture here that we take for granted.
6-20-96
How often have you heard, or read about, and old-time person saying, "I've never been sick a day in my life"? This statement implies that ill health is a product of the modern lifestyle. Another thing you read an old accounts around here is how there were few doctors and people just didn't seem to need them as much. Personally, I don't put much faith in that. Life was shorter and harder, and I think people mostly put up with more suffering.
Health was a constant concern in the old days. Illnesses that today are thought of as being relatively mild took the lives of thousands. In the days before antibiotics, a simple scratch could easily lead to death. Frank Smith of Bear was a classic example of that. Frank stepped on the head of a bisque doll with his bare foot. He suffered only a small cut, but he died quickly from blood poisoning.
Anyone who has ever walked through an old cemetery has noted the high rate of infant mortality. In 1900, 10% of babies died at birth and 16% didn't survive their first year. The average male life expectancy was age 47.
Rheumatism and arthritis were no easier to bear in a time when homes were usually uninsulated and often drafty.
Mental illness was more commonplace than it is now. Just after the turn of the century, newspapers in this area contained a story almost every week about someone going violently insane. This may have been due to the use of substances that were not known at the time to be toxic. Lead is a primary example. Lead was one of the principal ingredients in paint. Even worse, tin cans, from which some people in isolated locations eight much of their food, were sealed with a solder that had an extremely high lead to content. Also, popular patent medicines of that day often contained cocaine or toxic and/or easily-misused ingredients. Mental illness is central to the story of Preston Anderson.
[The story of Preston Anderson is in my Landmarks book.]
6-27-96
In this column I wrote about museums in the West that I had recently visited, and then complained about Moser Avenue being spelled “Mosher” Avenue.
7-4-96
After my article about old book of minutes from the Cuddy Mountain Grazing Association, I got two interesting reactions.
Glenn gallant told me that Ferguson basin is named after Albert Ferguson mentioned in the minutes, and that he now lives on the old Ferguson Place at Goodrich. I also got a letter from James Thorp in Boise who said his uncle, Victor Oling and grandfather, Manual Oling, on one side of his family, and his grandfather, James Thorp, on the other side, were mentioned in the minutes. He said that his grandfather Thorp is said to have been the one who discovered Jim Summers' body on Cuddy Mountain. This gave me the idea of doing a column on Summers.
Before I get started though, I never did hear anything about the Bill Boyles gang of cattle rustlers on Cuddy in 1919. I'm still hoping someone has some information they can give me.
7-11-96
I wrote three columns about Jim Summers, which I will essentially include here.
Summer's Grave-
On the north west part of Cuddy Mountain is the Grave of James Hazen Summers. Summers was a prospector, but was better known as an Indian fighter. During the 1860's Summers prospected the area around Pine Creek on the Snake River. He later prospected in Brownlee Creek, and owned the Galena mines on the northern part Cuddy Mountain. He also developed claims on Rapid River, and a mining district in that area was named after him.
Jim Summers
Born in Kentucky in 1838, and most likely coming to this area in mid 1870's, Jim Summers was a prospector, but was better known as an Indian fighter. He came west to California with his cousin, just after the 1849 gold rush to that state. While they were working a mining claim somewhere in California, an Indian shot from the brush, and killed Summers' cousin. From that day on, Jim hated any Indian, and if one can believe his stories, took pains to kill every one he could. He joined in the Modoc Indian war of 1873 in northern California and southern Oregon as a volunteer. During the 1860's, Summers prospected the area around Pine Creek on the Snake River. He later prospected in Brownlee Creek, and owned the Galena mines on north Cuddy Mountain. He also developed claims on Rapid River.
His irrational hatred for Indians is illustrated by a story he told to Judge Frank Harris of Weiser. Summers was sitting on a log near Crooked River when two Indains passed him on the trail. One was a large young man, the other was smaller and older. Both men were carrying packs on their backs. Summers coldly shot and killed the younger Indian who was in the lead, and then the older man. When he examined the packs the Indians had been carrying, he found they contained pressed bear meat. Summers dragged the bodies into a hole made by an uprooted pine tree, and covered them. Several years later, he was passing to spot where he had murdered the two Indians, and stopped to see if anything remained of them. As he approached their impromptu grave site, the biggest bear he had ever seen in his life stood up in front of him. Summers, who was armed only with an old .44 pistol, was terrified. The fact that the Indians had been carrying bear meat when he had killed them must have made him wonder if the spirits of the dead men had returned in the form of the bear to seek revenge! Fortunately for Summers, the bear simply dropped to the ground and loped away.
Weiser Leader, Sept 13, 1889
Jim Summers and Mr. Ruth of Mineral have made some claims in the Rapid River area. The district is referred to as "The Summers District"
from Freehafer essay: "... the escapade of Jim Sommers and Jack Said, better known as Rattle snake Jack. The above two parties had followed some Indians down into the canyon, about two miles above the canyon, about two miles above Salt Creek. They camped all night on the bluffs and the following morning, when they espied the Indian camp, they fired on them, wounding one Indian. However, they had failed to notice the placing of pickets on the bluffs around them. When they fired on the Indians in camp the pickets answered them likesise. In the skirmish which followed, several Indians were wounded, and so was Jim Sommers. They finally excaped by swimming the Snake river and getting out of their reach."
Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman, June 22, 1880 - "...Jim Summers and another man, ... became suspicious that there were some Indians near the mouth of Crooked river, where Lieut Calley saw a lot of supposed horse thieves which he took for Indians last summer. Summers raised a small party and went out there, and saw a horse, and went towards him, and when near enough they saw an Indian was picketing the horse; and about the same time they were fired upon by a band of Indians some distance off. One ball hit Summers in the shoulder, and another man was struck or graxed by a bullet near his mouth. Summers party think there were ten or fifteen Indians. At all events, the whites left the Indians as they were too strong for them. all this occurred about three weeks ago."
The following is a story involving Jim Summers that I have pieced together from a confusing tale told by Jesse Smith on a tape recording made by Jim Camp in 1971.
Early one morning when Jesse was very young, he awoke to a commotion outside. Indians had been in the barn, and were coming out through the corral, when they were discovered by the family. The Indians made their escape, and Jesse's father quickly put some harness on their old bay mare and took off after them. He evidently didn't catch up with them.
Word spread of the incident, and Jim Summers, a man called Rattlesnake Jack, and possibly a couple of other men, got involved in hunting for the Indians. There had been Indians camped near the Bisbee place on Wildhorse, and Summers picked up some Indian tracks in that area. The men evidently followed them to a spring on Summers Creek west of Sheep Peak where they found about 30 Indians camped.
It's unclear just who attacked whom, but Jesse described a hot gun battle in which Summers was shot in the hip, and several Indians were killed. The bodies of the Indians were buried on a grassy ridge near Sheep Peak. Afterwards, Summers went to Pine Valley where it took about a year for him to recover from his wounds.*oral interview with Jesse Smith and Anna Adams by Jim Camp, 1971 p. 8 of transcript.
At that time, Sheep Peak, a prominent butte overlooking the Wildhorse river, was called Sheep Rock. Later, the rocky point on the east rim of Hells Canyon near Helena was also given the name Sheep Rock. The Wildhorse butte was renamed Sheep Peak to avoid confusion. Summers Creek, which drains west into the Snake River, was named after Jim Summers.(1912 Forest Service map of the Weiser National Forest)
Jesse Smith told the story as if it were a personal recollection. If he actually did remember witnessing any of it, these events had to have occurred between about 1890 and 1893. (Jesse was born in 1888, and Summers died in 1893.) However, either Rattlesnake Jack was not involved in the incident, or there were two Rattlesnake Jacks and the episode happened much earlier. One Rattlesnake Jack, who's real name was B.E. Said, ended his earthly career in a colorful manner when he was shot and killed by a Weiser deputy sheriff in 1882. Jack got drunk in a Weiser saloon one November evening of that year, and started getting extremely obnoxious. The sheriff's office was notified, and a deputy was dispatched. When the deputy tried to arrest him, Jack pulled his revolver and shot at the deputy. Several shots were exchanged, and the deputy retreated to get bigger artillery. When the deputy returned to the saloon with a shotgun, the gun battle continued but soon ended when Jack recieved a mortal wound to his chest. The editor of the Weiser newspaper said that when Rattlesnake Jack was sober, he was a quiet, industrious and inoffensive citizen. (Weiser City Leader, Nov 4, 1882)
Said's remains were accidentally unearthed in 1899 as the P&IN Railroad began building its line north. His skull and the bones of one arm were taken back to the same saloon wher he was killed and displayed on a shelf over the bar.
Jim Summers was well liked and even admired by those who knew him.
Later in his life, cancer completely destroyed Summers's right eye, and he wore a handkerchief to cover it. He was in pain much of the time, but didn't complain about it much. In September of 1893, two prospector friends of Jim's were passing near his mining claims in the head of Galena creek. As they approached a small grove of quaken aspen, they saw Summers's lying dead amoung the trees. They buried him near that spot. Since he was alone when he died, the exact date of his death was never known. He was 56 years old.(Harris and Weiser Signal- Leader, Sept 28, 1893)
Weiser Leader, Jun 21, 1889
J.H. Summers is dangerously ill at Pine valley, Oregon... little hope for his recovery. He lost one of his eyes several years ago, the effects of which he never recovered. He has been under medical treatment for 6 months... now paralysis has set in.
Weiser Leader, Sept 13, 1889
Long report of activities in the Seven Devils. The ore now being shipped will go all the way to England for processing.
Jim Summers and Mr. Ruth of Mineral have made some claims in the Rapid River area. The district is referred to as "The Summers District"
Summers's grave is shown on Forest Service maps, and is located right beside 4 wheel drive road #234. To reach Jim Summers' grave, turn west from the main Council - Cuprum road just before the old Hornet Creek Guard Station, and take road #055. For the most part, this road was built in about 1924 to reach the Cuddy Mountain mines, the remains of which can still be seen along its route, about 8.5 miles from the Council - Cuprum road. This rocky road is shown on maps as a four wheel drive road, and it is that. At the top of the mountain, road #234 turns north along the ridge top. The view here in all directions is heart-stopping: especially that of the Pine Creek Valley in Oregon and the Snake River canyon far below to the west. Summers's grave, marked with a marble headstone, and fenced with poles, sits right above road #234, about 3 miles from where it branches from #055. The Hillman ranch cabin and corrals are located here as well. The total distance from the main road is about 13 miles.
Ron Hillman said that Helena Schmidt told him that Summers is actually buried down the canyon below the grave marker.
Photo of grave marker. It reads:
JAMES H.
SUMMERS
CRAB ORCHARD
1838-1893
Summers died in the fall of 1893 near his Galena claim. Two fellow prospectors found his body lying on some scrub quaking aspen, where he had evidently died during the previous night. They buried him near that spot. His grave is still marked, and shown on Forest Service maps.
[ The Lead Zone Mining Co., Inc., put a mine into operation in 1948 on the Galena claims. In 1951 the crew of 3 or 4 men had blasted out about 800 feet of tunnels, and by 1953 had shipped about 150 tons of high-grade lead ore.]
7-18-96
The Jim Summers story, continued from the last two columns.
Last week I wrote about a fight with Indians that involved Jim Summers and a man named Rattlesnake Jack in 1880. Rattlesnake Jack's, real name was B.E. Said. His earthly career had a colorful end when he was shot and killed by a Weiser deputy sheriff only two years later, in1882. Jack got drunk in a Weiser saloon one evening, and started getting extremely obnoxious. The sheriff's office was notified, and a deputy was dispatched. When the deputy tried to arrest him, Jack pulled his revolver and shot at the deputy. Several shots were exchanged, and the deputy retreated to get bigger artillery. When the deputy returned to the saloon with a shotgun, the gun battle continued but soon ended when Jack received a mortal wound to his chest. The editor of the Weiser newspaper said that when Rattlesnake Jack was sober, he was a quiet, industrious and inoffensive citizen. (Weiser City Leader, Nov 4, 1882)
Rattlesnake Jack was buried in a location that was evidently not in an organized cemetery. Almost twenty years after his death, his grave was inadvertently disturbed. It was in late 1898 or early 1899 that the railroad began construction of the line to Council. As the line was being built from the main line at Weiser, Jack's remains were accidentally dug up by the grading crew. An enterprising Weiser business man acquired the bones and put them on display for the "enjoyment" of his customers.
Jim Summers only lived about 13 years after the shootout with the Indians. Toward the end of his life, cancer had completely destroyed his right eye, and he wore a handkerchief to cover it. He was in pain much of the time, but didn't complain about it much.
In 1889, the Weiser Leader reported that Summers was is dangerously ill at Pine valley, Oregon, and that there was little hope for his recovery. "He lost one of his eyes several years ago, the effects of which he never recovered. He has been under medical treatment for 6 months . . . now paralysis has set in."
Apparently, Jim recovered enough to return to life on Cuddy Mountain. In September of 1893, he was found dead there. According to James Thorp, his grandfather was the one who discovered Jim's body. Mr. Thorp writes: "My grandfather was riding for cattle on Cuddy Mountain and came upon an apparently abandoned camp, but upon investigation discovered the body of Jim Summers. Further investigation turned up several head of horses, corralled or tethered, that were in bad shape for lack of feed and water. He turned the animals loose and buried Mr. Summers. This in itself was a feat as my grandfather was a one-armed man."
In his recollections of local history, Frank Harris said that two prospector friends of Jim's found Summer's body. Harris said that as they approached a small grove of quaking aspen, they saw Summers's lying dead among the trees. They buried him near that spot.
Summers was alone when he died, so the exact date of his death was never known. He was 56 years old.
Jim Summers's grave is shown on Forest Service maps, and is located right beside road #234. To reach Jim Summers' grave, turn west from the main Council - Cuprum road just before the old Hornet Creek Guard Station, and take road #055. For the most part, this road was built in about 1924 to reach the Cuddy Mountain mines, the remains of which can still be seen along its route, about 8.5 miles from the Council - Cuprum road. This rocky road is shown on maps as a four wheel drive road, and it is that. At the top of the mountain, road #234 turns north along the ridge top. The view here in all directions is heart-stopping: especially that of the Pine Creek Valley in Oregon and the Snake River canyon far below to the west. Summers's grave, marked with a marble headstone, and fenced with poles, sits right above road #234, about 3 miles from where it branches from #055. A modern cabin and corrals are located here as well. The total distance from the main road is about 13 miles.
Ron Hillman told me that Helena Schmidt told him that Summers is actually buried down the canyon below the grave marker. I haven't questioned Helena about this yet, but if anyone knows about a different grave location, please give me a call.
7-25-96
Last week, John Camp told me some of the Jim Summers story from what his relatives told him.
According to Amos Camp, most or all of the Summers family, except for Jim, was killed by Indians as the family was heading West when Jim was about 12 years old. Jim was hit in the eye by an Indian arrow, and later developed cancer in it.
When Bill Camp was quite young, he once took care of Summers when Summers had the flu. During this time, Jim told Bill the story of the fight with the Indians. (Bill was born in 1869, and the fight occurred in 1880, so Bill would have been about 11 when the battle occurred.) It isn't clear just who was with Summers in the fight, but one of the party may well have been Ewing "Pinky" Baird, a Council pioneer who was also an inveterate Indian hater.
Summers and his comrades came upon the Indian camp early in the morning. This was on the Snake River at the mouth of what is now "Summers Creek." The Indians had evidently just left their beds, and one of them began to urinate. As Summers raised his rifle, he said to the man next to him, "Watch me stop the water."
After that first shot, which killed the Indian man, all hell broke loose. In the end, Summers was shot in the leg, and his group had to swim the snake River to escape.
Bill Camp, wondering just how true the story was, later went to the mouth of Summers Creek and found an impressive number of empty rifle cartridges, indicating that a hot gun battle had indeed happened there. The spot is underwater now, since the construction of Oxbow Dam.
Summers' relatives from Oregon are said to be the ones who put up the headstone at his grave. By the way, I briefly talked to Helena Schmidt about the location of Summers' grave. She said Shorty Childers mentioned something about the grave being in another Canyon.
8-1-96
[In this issue I began the story of Frency David, which is in my book about the history of the area between Council and the Seven Devils Mining District. I also noted that someone had given me the news that Lillian Swanstrom (Carl's wife) had died.]
8-8-96
Frenchy David
8-15-96
Info about the creation of Adams County and the courthouse, mostly contained in my Landmarks book.
8-22-96
A man called me a while back looking for information about George McCarty. McCarty lived on the Idaho side of the snake River, across from Homestead. He and his wife, Nelly, were well known for the strawberries that they raised and sold. In 1946 someone set their house on fire and then shot at George as he ran from the burning building. After that the McCarty's left the area and never came back. He was 84 years old at the time.
It might be that McCarty's past had caught up with him in some way. In his younger days, along with his brother and some other men, he had been a bank robber. He was thought to have been involved in several robberies in 1892 and '93 in Enterprise and North Powder, Oregon and in Roslin, Washington. He was tried for the Enterprise job, but the trial resulted in a hung jury.
McCarty established the Silver King mine in the Iron Dyke mining district on the Oregon side of the river. This mine, and the "Paymaster" claim in which he had an interest, were apparently quite profitable, as McCarty was said to have been living on money from these mines in his later years.
The man who called me was thinking about writing an article about McCarty.
8-29-96
one of the local spots you should not miss seeing is Hornet Creek Reservoir. As reservoirs go, it's not very big. The reason that it's impressive is mostly the location. It's beautiful.
This scenic reservoir, located at the head of the main branch of Hornet Creek, was constructed in 1905 by hornet Creek ranchers who later formed the hornet Creek Water Users Association. The Weiser semi- weekly signal for September 27, 1905 said, "Messers. A. H. Wilkie, HE Whin and O. C. Wilkie, the contractors on the big dam for the hornet Creek reservoir commenced work last week with several men and teams." Although O. C. (Oscar) Wilkie was listed as one of the contractors, he was only about 12 years old at the time. He October 25 issue of that paper said the dam was completed
. Evidently the dam was not very well designed. In June of the next year (1906) the dam broke, sending a wall of water down the creek. It is said to have taken out a number of trees, huge boulders, at least one bridge at the Peck place (the OK ranch now) and several fences. At the time, the reservoir was said to have covered about 25 acres and averaged 8 feet deep. I don't have any information about when the dam was rebuilt, but I would assume it was probably done so soon after it broke. From the looks of the dam now, I would guess work has since been done on it with modern equipment. If you plan a trip to hornet Creek reservoir, be prepared for one of the bumpy us brides you will ever have taken. The road is terrible.
The Peck place mentioned above is better known today as the old Armacost Place, the old Bill Hanson place, or the OK Ranch. It sits about 10 miles from town, just past where the paved portion of the Council-Cuprum Road once ended.
This place was settled by Andrew and Julietta pack who came to hornet Creek in 1882. He was 47, she was 31 years old. The small peak just northwest of their Homestead was named Peck Mountain in their honor. Julietta's maiden name was Gilmer, and the Gilmer's settled land here on Hornet Creek next to the Pecks about the same time that Andrew and Julietta arrived here. Andrew, who died in 1906, and Julietta, who died in 1912, are both buried in the Hornet Creek Cemetery.
Bill Hanson was one of the next owners of the Peck place. It was in 1935 that Helena Moore (a couple of years later her last name became Schmidt) came riding into the Hanson place with an emergency. Her mother, Carmeta Moore, had been knocked over by a horse in their corral, and she had badly broken her leg when she landed on a rock. The Moores lived at one of the most inaccessible ranches in the country, way down along the Wildhorse River. There was a telephone somewhere at Wildhorse, but it was very undependable and wasn't working at the time, so Helena had ridden over 20 miles to the Hanson to reach a phone. The phone at Hanson's wasn't working either, so Bill took Helena to Council in his pickup. They stopped at various places along the way, and the phone lines were out of order all the way to town.
Dr. Thurston came back out to the Hanson's with Bill and Helena, borrowed a horse from Bill, and rode all the way to Starveout Ranch to set Carmeta's leg. Charlie Ham and Gene Perkins went along as well, and Helena seems to remember Vern Brewer being there too. Dr. Thurston took his 8mm movie camera along, and footage from the trip is on the video that the museum is offering.
Even though he liked the outdoors and pack trips, Dr. Thurston wasn't the world's most avid horsemen. He kept asking Gene Perkins to make the stirrups longer and shorter because his legs were hurting. By the end of the journey, he was pretty well exhausted. Dr. Thurston was more at home behind the wheel of a car, and the faster it went the better.
9-5-96
As I mentioned last week, Bill Hanson owned the Peck place. Dick Armacost bought the Peck place from Hanson. Although it has been extensively remodeled, the house there is the original one that the pecks lived in, and is one of the oldest houses on Hornet Creek.
The old road looped around the other side (North) of, and fairly close to, the house. From what I hear, Dick Armacost didn't like the situation of having a heavily-traveled road running practically through his backyard. One day a logging truck came roaring through when Dick wasn't in the mood to put up with such irritation. He angrily threw the shovel he was holding at the truck. The shovel hit one of the tires just right, bounced right back, hitting Dick and about knocking him down.
9-12-96
Started describing the area north of Bear.
9-19-96
Smith Mt.
9-26-96
Sheltons, Smith Mt. Black Lake Road
10-3-96
Morgan Gifford's story of Isaac McMahan freighting contest from Weiser to Council, found in my Landmarks book.
Morgan Gifford was Moses Gifford's son and one of nine children, Morgan homesteaded about where the golf course is now. He was the brother of Ella Stevens and Ida Selby. Ella helped run Stevens Stage Station at East fork. Ida was Lorraine Selby's grandmother [Chester Selby's mother] who died of the flu in 1919.
Morgan ran the Council Journal-Advance newspaper for a short time, having bought it from L. S. Cool in 1904. Morgan had two sons, Aubrey and Norville, and a girl named Gertha. Carlos Weed went to school with them.
Carlos mentioned that there are still some Locust trees at her old Homestead site. Another sister of Morgan's, Eliza, married Olaf Sorenson, the crack freighter in last week's story.
Eliza had a Homestead southeast of Council on Kidwell Lane. Olaf and Eliza's house was where David Lawrence live is now. [1935 Kidwell Lane] Part of her Homestead extended down to where Nello Jenkins senior now lives.
Olaf Sorenson died in the winter (I don't know what year), and he was buried on top of the little hill west of their house, where Stephani's live now. [1949 Kidwell Lane] Too little pine trees were dug up (their roots were actually sawed out of the frozen ground) and transported as grave markers for Olaf's remains – one at his head and the other at his feet. There was also a little girl buried there, and there may have been more graves there at one time. Carlos said something about their having been plans to make that hill into a park at one time. As far as anyone seems to know, any remains, except for Olaf's, were moved to local cemeteries. The general consensus is that he still rests there.
Years later, when the pine trees were pretty big, Neva Plummer built the present house in their shade. When she sold the house, the buyer cut down the trees. Recently an addition was built on to the house, over the top of Olaf's gravesite. No traces of a body were found during excavation for the addition.
Eliza Gifford Sorenson later married Charlie Draper.
10-17-96
Black Lake
10-24-96
Black Lake with personal observations:
The Fords located the Black Lake mail about 2500 feet below the lake and portal of the Maid of Erin mine, and over a mile from the Summit mine tunnel. It was built into a solid rock cliff that stood between the fork of two creeks.
An earthen dam is still there. As you go east around the north end of the lake to the non-Forest Service campgrounds, you cross the pipe line that carried water to the mill. It is above ground just as you cross the creek. I tapped on it, and and could hear the echo inside the pipe going way down the hill. It is about an 8-inch pipe that looks pretty crude because it was made from heavy sheet-metal that was bent around and riveted together at the seam.
At the mill site, there is little left but a few scraps of pipe, sheet metal, odds and ends of iron bolts and rods, some bricks and a few or tailings. From the pictures of the mill, I thought the cliff would be 100 feet high, but it's only about 30 feet high. Sections of the water pipe still runs up the hill from the mill site for quite a distance. Most of it is buried, but it is exposed in several places.
11-1-96
In 1901, construction was started on a gravity-operated aerial tramway which to carry the ore three quarters of a mile from the Summit mine to the mill below Black Lake. The unsupported span over the lake was 1,500 feet, and was thought to have been the longest single span in the world at that time. The cable for the tram was freighted to the Lake in one long piece, on two wagons. Anna Adams said that the crews worked almost a month "...jacking it up over high dive, [and getting it strung out] from the mine to the mill across the lake."
After a crew worked all winter to finish the mill, it began operating in May of 1902, with about fourty men employed, including those in the mines. The first bullion from the mill netted $5,000 after it was shipped to the gold mint in Denver.
The tramway was not completed before the mill started production, and the ore was probably hauled to the mill by wagons. By the time the mill shut down for the season in November, the tram was in place, but didn't operate properly. It was supposed to run by gravity, with the weight of the loaded ore buckets pulling the empty ones up. The Meadows Eagle announced, "The Salzer-Ford company has been compelled to assist their gravity aerial bucket tramway with water power. The long span across Black lake seems to be too much for the gravity system."
The next year (1903), the operation was really rolling, with sixty men employed. After the first eight days of operation in March, the mill yielded forty pounds of gold. This was in stark contrast to the copper mining part of the district, which was suffering a depressing lull..
Robert Barbour, the famous moonshiner, was the first Postmaster at the post office that was established at Black Lake on September 18 of that year. (Barbour was succeeded by John Nelson, a cook, who held the position until the post office was discontinued in October of 1907.)
By October, the Black Lake mines had produced $75,000 in gold. But the year was to end on a very sour note. It started when a shortcut was taken in processing the ore. The wet ore was initially put through a drier before it was crushed. It was discovered that the ore didn't need to be dried to process properly, so the mill shut down, and a conveyor belt was built to bypass the drier. After this was done, the mill processed wet ore for one afternoon, and then shut down.
The next morning was October 31 - Halloween. At 5:30 AM, the men awoke to someone yelling, "FIRE!". Smoke and flames were pouring out of the mill. A mad dash by all hands was made for water hoses. Careful plans had been laid for just such an emergency, even to the extent of placing the water hydrants inside the mill so that they would not be frozen in case of a fire during cold weather. The only problem was, the fire was also inside the mill, and it was too hot for anyone to enter. By despirate work, the men managed to save the bunk houses, stores and sawmill that were only a few yards away, but in a matter of minutes, the mill was little more than ashes.
It was thought that the most probable cause of the fire was spontaneous combustion caused by damp ore mixed with lime. But there was a rumor that someone nursing a grudge against the Fords had set it. Thomas Nelson, editor, the Cambridge Citizen newspaper had his own explanation. He said, "There has always been an unseen force holding back all kinds of progress in the Seven Devils, which may in a measure account for the burning of the Ford mill."
Regardless of the origin of the fire, operations at Black Lake came to a grinding halt. Since the first snow would fall any day, it was too late in the year to rebuild, and the camp was abandoned for the winter.
The Black Lake mill was only insured for $20,000 - just one fifth of what it had cost to build. In spite of their losses, the Ford brothers were not defeated, and immediately started making plans to rebuild.
More next week.
11-8-96
Construction on a new mill at Black Lake started in the summer of 1904, and took only ninety days to complete. In the process, a water-powered electrical plant was installed and all the buildings were wired for electric lights. This time some fire hydrants were placed outside of the buildings.
By early fall, the mill jumped into full production, processing 75 tons of ore per day - a 50% increase over the capacity of the old mill.
It must have seemed that editor Nelson. might have been right about an "unseen force" haunting mining efforts the Seven Devils when misfortune soon struck again. Only $25,000 in gold had been produced before a worker accidentally dropped a sledge hammer into the ore crusher, badly damaging it. Again, the entire operation was shut down.
While repairs were being made to the crusher, another blow came. Nick Klosaner's saloon and Bob Barbour's store (probably containing the post office) were totally destroyed by fire.
Still undaunted, the Fords forged ahead. They invested in an unusual luxury in those days: an air-driven drill. Drills were used, as they are now, to drill holes in which to place explosives. The usual method at the time was the old-fashioned way. A steel rod with a star-shaped tip on the drilling end was held by one man and driven by another with a sledge hammer.
In spite of all the confidence, in spite of the years of work and hundreds of thousands of dollars invested, the Black Lake mines began to struggle. In 1906, less than $10,000 worth of gold was produced. By 1909, no gold at all was reported.
In 1911, Ed Ford turned his attention back to a project that he had started years before. In 1905, he had found a place along Crane Creek, south of Indian Valley, where he thought a reservoir should be made. He worked on plans for the reservoir for several years. The dam must have been built shortly after1911. If anybody knows just when it was built, please let me know.
The final blow to the mines at Black Lake came with the outbreak of World War I in Europe. Germany was the primary source of the cyanide that was so vital to processing gold ore, and the Germans had other plans for their cyanide than exporting it to potential enemies like the United States. The price of the chemical shot up beyond reason. The mill was shut down for the last time in 1914, but a small crew kept working the mines.
In the spring of 1916, Sim Ford was making plans to work the mines another season. Before he could put his plans into action, all of his supplies burned when a good share of the town of Landore went up in flames. Also about that time, the remaining Salzer brother died, apparently without designating ownership of his share of his Black Lake interests. Rather than try to overcome these obstacles, the mines and the mill were abandoned. In some unexplained way, the Ford's and Salzer's Idaho Gold Coin Mining and Milling Company ceased to exist. As a result, there was no legal owner willing to take responsibility for all the equipment at the lake. It was simply left there.
It has been estimated that a total of only about $125,000 in gold was taken out of the mines at Black Lake by the Salzer - Ford partnership. This would have done little more than pay for just one of the mills they built. Winifred Lindsay, on the other hand, said that the company ended without any debt
By 1919, geologists, Livingston and Laney noted that most of the supplies and equipment at Black Lake had already ". . . been stolen or wantonly destroyed."
My father, Dick Fisk, remembers seeing the mill in the 1930s. He said there were hundreds of feet of new rope, cable and eight-inch pipe still there. There were scores of tin cans full of food, but with the labels rotted off, stacked in store rooms. The story of Alva Ingram hauling out lengths of pipe about this time is a classic illustration of what happened to much of the abandoned property.
More next week.
11-15-96
The abandoned property at Black Lake was eventually sold off by Adams County for back taxes. I believe the Forest Service owns much of the ground now. Ironically, the mill that was built back after the disastrous fire of 1903 was intentionally burned again during World War Two. This was done to salvage the scrap iron in it for the war effort.
Charlie Winkler claimed much of the tramway cable used at the Mesa Orchards came from the Black Lake tram. And I've been told that Hugh Addington said the cable from the Mesa tramway was later used to build the first ski lift at Sun Valley. If anyone has any more information on either of these stories, PLEASE tell me.
Today, the Summit mine above the lake is still very visible. The one remaining tunnel is about six feet tall and about that wide. It goes back into the mountain about 75 yards or more. There were two tunnels, and I assume this was the upper one. It followed an ore vein that was 200 feet long and about two feet wide by 500 feet deep. The lower tunnel was about 200 feet below the upper tunnel and went about 1,200 feet through rock, then about 1,000 feet on the ore vein.
The old tram supports have all fallen down now. Until a couple years ago, there was one standing on the edge of the cliff overlooking the lake. There are also long lengths of cable and a few broken and twisted ore buckets on the hillside between the Summit tunnel and the cliff. And there are still hundreds of rotting boards from the buildings that used to stand just back from the cliffs.
The Maid of Erin mine is also still very much in evidence. As I mentioned, it's about 300 yards east of the outlet of the lake at the north end. The base of a cabin still sits there, and there are a number of boards, pieces of metal and a few bricks. Both of the two tunnels there have collapsed. The lower tunnel went about 800 feet into the mountain. Where it collapsed, there are a couple of small openings to the surface where very cold air blows out like and air conditioner. There has to be another opening for that air to circulate through like that. It isn't coming through the upper tunnel because it's completely closed off. It must be the vertical shaft. More on that later.
The quartz vein at the Maid of Erin was very narrow, varying in width from only a few inches, up to about three feet. It is now exposed where the lower portal collapsed. The quartz has a very pretty reddish purple color mixed in with a small amount of white.
The Maid of Erin was reworked in the late 1930s by a crew hired by Howard Hinsdale of Portland, Oregon his partner, a man named Higgins, who was also from that area.. Before it was reworked, the tunnel dead-ended at the 800 foot point mentioned above, and a shaft may have gone upwards for some distance from there. A shaft of some kind may have gone completely to the surface, accounting for the strong draft that came through the mine even before it was reworked. The reworking opened (or reopened) a shaft straight up, all the way to the top of the mountain. Men climbed up the shaft on wooden ladders or hiked up the mountain to the top and then climbed down into the shaft on ladders. There were landings and side tunnels (drifts) about every 50 to 100 feet along the shaft. On the opposite side of the shaft from the ladders was an ore shoot leading to the tunnel below. Ore was dumped into this chute to get it to ore cars which ran on tracks in the tunnel at the bottom.
The ore was taken to the mill at Placer Basin for processing. Alta Ingram used his 1 1/2 or two ton truck to haul it. The road was in no better shape than it is today, and was very hard on tires.
Placer Basin was being reworked by Hinsdale and Higgins also, starting about 1934. The claims were owned by the Hamill family of Fruitvale. Gilbert and Nellie Hamill and their sons, Ray and Harold, moved here in 1910 when they bought 80 acres at foot of Fort Hall hill. While Ray was working for the Forest Service in the 1930s, he became interested in Placer Basin. The Hamills paid $10,000 for the property. Before the mill was built, the ore was shipped to Murry, Utah for smelting. The mine was closed in 1942 by Federal order because only strategic metal could be mined during the war.
A "mucker" working for Hinsdale and Higgins was paid $4.50 per day. They did all the least skilled work - shoveling ore into the cars, etc. A "miner" was paid $5.00 per day. They did all the pick work, drilling and blasting. This was good money during the depression, especially when people were thankful for any kind of job.
I need to thank Lloyd Hamill, Robert Thompson, and especially Paul Phillips, for much of the information in this week's column.
11-22-96
I found some information concerning Olaf Sorenson's grave. When Eliza Sorenson Draper died in 1935, the paper said Olaf died in 1905 and "is buried in the Kesler Cemetery". So maybe his body was moved off of the hill after all. Just goes to show, once more, that the truth doesn't always make the best story.
Last year Robert Thompson sent me a list of some of the people he remembered working at Placer Basin and the "Smith Mountain Mill" in the 1930s. I'm just gonna throw 'em in for those of you who remember these people.
Owner - Howard Hinsdale of Portland, Oregon - also owner of Umpqua Navigation (tug boats, etc.) - later traded it for stock in Bohemia Lumber Co.
Superintendent of mine - Carl Ingram. Foreman and shift boss was his son, Walt Ingram. Chet, his younger brother, was one of the miners.
Cleve Reed was a blacksmith. Mrs. Reed (Lulu) was head cook. She was the mother of Frankie Ingram (a miner) - his wife, Mildred, worked in the cook house.
Harold Burns was the teamster.
From Fruitvale: Fred Glenn (ran hoist), Hub Fisk, Ray "Stub" Yantis, Fred Yantis, Bill Baker, Roy Benz, Clifford "Nip" McMahan, Robert Thompson
From Council - Byron "Buff" Hallett, Floyd Gilmer, Bill Watson, Penny Emery, Ben Barbour, Cecil Huston and his uncle, Bill Huston, Dick Blurton, Merle Ball, Cecil Ball (who was killed in a cave in), Asa Whitney and sons, A.D., Floyd and Melvin Whitney - Chet Selby, Paul and Hank Phillips, Mr. Lee (older man) and two sons, Verne Lee (who was the diesel engineer and a good one) - the younger Lee brother's first name I can't recall, Emsley Glenn (who was killed by a falling tree - Earnest Lutiger was working with him in the woods cutting mine timbers), Max Boesigger was another diesel engineer from Boise (was captured on Wake Island in WWII), Ray (Roy?) Armacost, Kermit Krigbaum.
From Oregon - Roy (Ray?) Rockwell, Ellis Allen, Carnahan (older man), Fred & Hank Titus, Fred Davis, Mary Gover (worked in cookhouse) Floyd Pollard, Ben South.
Ray Lindgren, from Bear, was the step son of Jesse Smith. Jesse's brother, Bill Smith, helped blacksmith, Cleve Reed. Mrs. Smith worked in the cookhouse.
From Troy, Idaho - Calvin Suksdorf and son Calvin, Tommy Gregg (don't know where he was from - was a cousin of Chet & Walt Ingram)
Carl Anderson from Portland was a mining engineer. His son, Johnny, worked there some also. Fred Bartels worked with Carl Anderson. He was from Cottage Grove, Oregon. Owen Terry was another engineer.
Alva Ingram did a lot of trucking up to the mine and mill (hauled cordwood from Landore that had been cut during WWI.)
_?_ Phillips also worked for Bill Hunsacker at a small mine below Placer Basin. It was located below the road on the last steep grade before the Basin. I believe it was called the Little Giant. [Both Hank and Paul Phillips worked there at the Little Giant. It was about 1/4 to 1/2 mile east of the main road. The road to it left the main road just at the foot of the steep grade before Placer Basin. Bill Hunsacker built a cabin there about 100 yard before the turn off to the mine on the west side of the main road.]
Roy Garrison also worked some at Placer Basin. Also Harry Raines.
Museum notes - We are planning an exhibit that we need help with. There are some items that we would like to see if someone would donate to the museum, or loan for a minimum of two years. For a pioneer house exhibit we need the following items, made before 1900, or copied from a pre-1900 pattern: a half-size (or small) bed, a hoosier (semi-portable kitchen cabinet), a kerosene lamp, an old fashioned apron (maybe someone could make one?), and a trunk. If you have any of these, or have other things that would fit into this exhibit, please call Connie Mocaby at 253-4408
Also, we still need help at the museum. We're usually there on Tuesdays from 10:00 AM to about 4:00 PM. Our goal now is to have it open this spring. We're going to need volunteers to man the place.
12-13-96
Like many of the mines in the Seven Devils district, the Iron Springs mining operation lost money for virtually everyone involved with it. Whether it was simply an elaborate scam, as many claimed, is not clear. But in its several years of operation it is said that not one shipment of ore ever left Iron Springs.
The story of Rankin Mill parallels that of Iron Springs. Both camps were being developed at about the same time, and eventually had the same owners.
Not long after the Ford brothers built the road to Black Lake in 1900, H.D. Rankin appeared on the scene. Rankin, a chemist from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, had invented a machine that could make nitric acid by combining the molecules of air and water by means of an electrical charge. Nitric acid was used in a leeching process to extract gold from gold bearing ore, and Rankin's main objective would seem not to have been to make his fortune by merely mining gold. He was an ambitious business man, and the principle stockholder in the Rankin Chemical Reduction Company based in Chicago, which reportedly had assets worth about $10 million. If he could find a place to prove that his nitric acid making device would be a practical part of gold mining operations, he could revolutionize the industry. Then, as became a familiar theme in the Seven Devils, he could find his pot of gold in the pockets of investors in his company stock rather than in the ground.
Rankin agreed to buy several mines on the West Fork of Rapid River, about 6 miles north of Iron Springs, from Tom, George, and Jim Potter, and Jim Ross. The Star, Jackley and Champion mines were the principle claims. When the Iron Springs Company built a road into its claims in 1902 Rankin built a road from his holdings to connect with it.
Rankin's operation in the Seven Devils was called the Rankin General Milling Company. At a cost of $50,000, he built an ore mill, a nitric acid "factory" and a hydroelectric plant to power them and provide lighting. Rankin was evidently in such a hurry to get his operation going that he had some of the equipment brought into this remote location in the dead of winter. The Cambridge newspaper for Jan 9, 1903 reported that the Rankin Mill machinery had made it as far as Black Lake. The paper said the job had taken fifty horses to get it through snow up to fifty feet deep.
About a quarter mile up stream from the mill, a small community sprang up where about 55 Rankin employees lived. The little town was named "Rand", evidently after a man by that name. A post office under that name was established in the fall of 1903. Ruth Lake (about 2 miles south of Rankin Mill) was named after Mr. Rand's daughter, Ruth Rand, who was the first child born in the town. A Forest Service sign identifies the site as "Old Town", but it was not known by that name during its active existence. Not much is known about the town, except that it also had a hotel and a blacksmith shop. The community received its mail by way of Pollock, and supplies often came by pack train from Grangeville.
More next week.
We're still making progress a little at a time at the museum. We got calls on several of the items we needed for the house exhibit. Now we would like to get an old fashioned house dress that is small enough to fit on a mannequin. It needs to fit into the 1900, or before, time slot. We may also need shoes for that mannequin. Some of you who made, or have, clothes from the Centennial might think about what you have that you could loan or donate.
Another thing we need is old fashioned windows and doors with windows to put into the walls of several planned exhibits, like a sheriff's office, doctor's office and dentist's office. These should fit into a 1900 to 1930 time frame (or maybe a little later). They don't necessarily have to have glass in them, as we can replace it. An old screen door might even work if it's one that we can put glass or Plexiglas into. The idea is to place these so that the exhibit can be viewed through them, but the items will be protected from handling, etc. If you ever get a chance to visit the Idaho Falls museum, they have a fantastic little town set up on the lower floor. We can't hope to match that, at least not yet, but that's the general idea that we are shooting for with these exhibits. The sheriff's office is the one that excites me the most because we have so many things that Bill Winkler used when he was sheriff.
Two other items we will need: Any track lights, track light components, or similar, small spot-type lights. Old-fashioned wall paper for the rooms mentioned above.
Oh, there is one other thing we could really use: HELP. We are usually at the museum on Tuesdays starting at 10 AM. Drop in to help, or just see what we're doing.
12-20-96
In September of 1903 the newspapers reported, "These facts have been made evident by a short test run made at the Rankin mill on Rapid river Monday evening, when, in the absence of a lot of necessary machinery, 50 pounds of nitric acid, the main reducing agent, sufficient to reduce 2 1/2 tons of ore, was manufactured from the air we breathe, in one hour and fifteen minutes, and the fact was also demonstrated that ore can be reduced at a cost of less than two mills per pound." "The success of the Rankin process will make it possible for every mine of any value to be worked at a profit. The mine owner can do the work himself if necessary and will not need more than a week's grub stake to start in with." In January of 1904, the Weiser Signal claimed that Rankin had produced 500 pounds of Nitric acid in only thirty minutes.
As so often was the case in the Seven Devils, much of the acclaim about the success of Rankin's process was exaggeration or outright falsehood. Much of the hyperbole was no doubt supplied to the newspapers by Rankin himself. For one thing, the equipment needed was not simple or cheap. Just the ditch and flume to bring water power to the machinery at Rankin's mill was over a mile long and must have cost more than "a week's grub stake".
Only a month after the Signal's fantastic claims about how much nitric acid Rankin was producing, it reported that the power the electric plant could generate was insufficient to run all of his equipment. Rankin had enough power for his acid factory and lighting, but not enough for the ore mill. This, however, may have only been what Rankin told the paper in trying to save face and the faith of investors in his invention. It is probable that he didn't have enough voltage to make nitric acid all along. Nitric acid (HNO/3) is composed of hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen. Hydrogen makes up 11.1% of water, and is easily combined with oxygen, which composes 21% of earth's atmosphere. Nitrogen, on the other hand is much harder to extract from the air. Even though it makes up 78% of our atmosphere, it takes a very powerful surge of electricity, such as a lightening bolt, to link together the oxygen and nitrogen as Rankin was trying to do.
The problems with his nitric acid mill were not the only clouds in Rankin's sky. He still hadn't paid for the claims he had taken over. By early 1904, the Potter brothers were tired of waiting for their money. They locked up the Star mine which was only about 50 yards above the mill, stood at the mine entrance with rifles, and would not let Rankin's employees remove any ore. (James Potter claimed the whole story was false.) The confrontation wound up in court, and the Potters and their partner Jim Ross won the case. Apparently this was too much for Rankin. In the summer of 1904, the post office closed and everything was abandoned. It is said that Rankin walked out of Rapid River with nothing but the clothes on his back. But Rankin was not totally defeated. It was later reported that he had a large nitric acid making plant in Joliet, Illinois, and was planning one at Salt Lake City.
In 1905, the Iron Springs Company bought out the Rankin Mill properties. The ore mill was converted into a more traditional cyanide plant.
When the Iron Springs company went under the camp was again abandoned. The wagon road to Rankin Mill soon deteriorated, as there was no reason to maintain it. Because the area was so remote the buildings and equipment at Rankin's diggings were left mostly undisturbed. As late as the early 1950s several of the buildings were still standing. The last I heard there were rotting ruins of many of the buildings, in addition to the heavy machinery of the mill. An ore car may still sit on a section of rail that ran from the mill to the portal of the old Star mine. At the site of the blacksmith shop, remains of the hearth, old wagon parts, and the metal frame of the bellows may still be there.
Museum notes. Toward the end of the year, people think about ways they can allocate money for the best tax advantage before January first. Remember that Idaho has a 50% tax credit for donations to educational institutions like your museum. The maximum total you can donate and get a tax credit is $100. The 50% credit means you get half the amount you donated taken off of what you owe the state in taxes. The State is actually giving half your money back to encourage you to donate. For those of you who would like to help the museum, but don't have time, or live too far away, this would be a great way to help out.
The museum would like to thank Stan Matthews for loaning the museum some great items for exhibits. I'll be writing more about what we need. One of our biggest concerns is the need for volunteers to man the museum next summer. Please think about how you could help in that way, by either volunteering or by helping to find people who will. Bear in mind the idea that your club or organization could help in this way.
Since this is the last issue of the paper before Christmas, I hope you all have a great one. If you gather around the old photo albums, how about doing your family a big favor: write on the pictures who is who, and other information, before that knowledge is lost.
12-27-96
Two of the first things people notice when they drive trough Council are the old steam-powered tractors sitting in the city park. This type of machine was originally called a "steam traction engine". I don't know just exactly when traction engines started being used in the Council area. Stationary steam engines were used for a long time at places like the Seven Devils, but I don't think these tractors appeared until at least some time after 1900.
The first portable steam engines appeared in the eastern U.S. about 1855, and were used only for plowing fields. Because it took time for a suitable steering mechanism to be developed, they did not come into common use until the late 1870s. The first mention of a steam tractor that I have found in this general area was in the Weiser Signal in 1905. In the Council area the Wilkie family, on Hornet Creek, were some of the first people to use steam tractors. They used traction engines to build the Ridge Road about 1909, and the road was even called the "Traction Engine Road" for awhile. I have no doubt that Traction Gulch, which is a tributary of North Hornet Creek, is so named because the road either came up it or near it.
The most common use of traction engines here seems to have been to power threshing machines and sawmills. The Wilkies used their engines to power several sawmills and planing mills that operated all over this area. Prior to these portable steam engines, sawmills were limited to locations where water power was available, such as at the original Wilkie mill sight near the Hornet Guard Station.
Old newspapers mention threshers operated by Jackie Duree, the Winklers, and Press Anderson before the turn of the century. These may have been big combine-like machines that were pulled through the fields by huge teams of horses. I don't know just when people started using steam engines to power stationary threshers, but it was common by the 1920s.
Many of the farmers would get together and use the few available threshers. Pug Robertson of Bear, and Jim Henson of Pleasant Ridge were two men in this area that traveled around at harvest time, pulling a thresher from farm to farm behind their steam traction engines. Looking at the photos we have, Pug's steam engine appears to have been made by the Rumely Products Co. This engine probably weighed about 10 tons, and had 20 horse power at the draw bar. (Not very powerful compared to modern tractors.)
Threshers were also manufactured by many of the same companies who built steam engines. Pug's thresher looks very much like an "Agitator" model, made by J.I. Case before 1900. These old-time threshers used the "vibration" or "shaker" principle to separate the grain from the straw. This method was put to use in the 1850's, and the basic technology is still used in most modern combine harvesters.
One aspect of operating these old engines is one that is seldom seen anymore. That is the use of a belt, run from the engine to the machinery to be powered. (If I get something wrong here, some of you older and wiser readers please call me and set me straight.)
It wasn't that long ago that most tractors came equipped with a large, flat-surfaced pulley to run a belt. One end of the belt went around the pulley on the tractor (or steam engine) and the other end went around a similar pulley on the thresher or other machine to be powered. Although I will be writing in past tense, I realize that some farmers and ranchers are still using some belt-powered equipment.
One thing that always intrigued me was that the pulley was sometimes shaped the opposite way that it seemed it should be: bigger around in the middle than on the edges. This made the belt grip harder in the middle, and that caused the belt to center on the pulley. At least that was how it was supposed to work. It took some maneuvering of the tractor to line up its pulley just right with the machine's pulley.
The belts varied in width from three or four inches for smaller jobs, and up to about eight to ten inches wide to run a large machine. Sometimes the belts were very long, with the engine and machine being ten, twenty, or even more feet from each other. Depending on the desired direction of rotation of the machine's pulley, the belt was sometimes given a half turn between the engine and the machine, giving it the appearance of a figure eight.
The belts were made of a fiber that was impregnated with a rubber type substance. The ends were laced together with leather strings, or with special clamp that looked like a row of connected staples. To get the belt to grip better, "belt dressing" was applied to it. Belt dressing was a sticky substance with the consistency something like tar. It's too bad that smells can't be written down or recorded. The smell of a hot belt and belt dressing is pretty unique.
Needless to say, this kind of belt hook up was not something you wanted to be careless around. A loose flap of clothing or a hand could get caught between the belt and pulley, and you could get badly hurt or killed.
More next week.
1997
1-3-97
With stationary threshers, the grain had to be cut, bundled and tied into sheaves, and hauled to the thresher. The sheaves were thrown into a feeder opening. The cleaned grain came out a chute and into a sack. Each sack was sewn closed by hand, with string and a special needle which was usually about 3 to 5 inches long. Sack sewers became very skillful, and took pride in the speed and quality of their work. The straw and chaff came out of the thresher through a long pipe or conveyer, making a big pile on the ground.
Great care had to be taken that sparks from the steam engine's smoke stack didn't land on the straw pile, as it was extremely flammable. The loss of the straw and chaff would not be the real problem; the grain field could turn into a raging inferno in a matter of seconds. The very flared smoke stack on the Case engine in the park. was designed to reduce the number of hot sparks that made it out the stack.
In addition to the crew directly involved in threshing the grain, it sometimes took two or more men to operate the steam engine, including hauling wood (or coal), and water. One of the motivations toward the development of gas powered tractors, aside from reduced fire danger, was to reduce the number of men needed to run a threshing operation.
The Case engine in the park is a 20 horse power model, patented in 1899. This may be the one that the Wilkies bought and took to their operations on Hornet Creek in the summer of 1910. It is said that this engine was used by Jim Hensen to power the thresher that he operated on the Ridge and the Fruitvale area. It may also have been used for plowing in that area.
In later years, Lawrence Warner used this engine to power a sawmill near Bear. After Warner was done with it, Hugh Addington and Naser bought it. They also acquired an engine, made by the Advance Thresher Company, that they found abandoned at Placer Basin. The two men did extensive repairs on this second engine to get it running. Both engines were driven to Council under their own power. The bars, or lugs, that were originally bolted onto the rear wheels to provide traction were removed so they wouldn't damage the roads on the trip to Council .
As Merlin was driving the Wilkie engine to town, he oversteered and it tipped over on its side in the Summit Creek draw between the Kramer summit and the North Hornet summit. Both the engine and Merlin were unhurt in the accident. The engine was left there until the next spring, when they got a logging truck to stop and help tip the engine back upright. Merlin and Hugh drove the engines in parades for several years. After Naser died, Addington parked them in the park in the center of Council where they remain today. Merlin Naser's son, Delbert, donated his interest in the Advance engine to the town of Council. It is my understanding that Hugh Addington's son, Bruce still has the other percentage of ownership.
The Advance Thresher Company (est. 1881), was bought by the Rumely Co. in 1911. The engine in the park is probably a 12 to 16 horse power tractor. As with most other steam engine manufacturers, the Advance Company also made threshers.
The rear wheels of Advance engines were generally placed farther forward than most. Most traction engine builders reasoned that the rear wheels should have all the weight possible on them. The Advance company, however, claimed that the most favorable footing for the drive-wheels was where the engine would have sufficient power to barely slip the wheels. They reasoned that any additional weight on the drive-wheels would serve no good purpose, and would bog the engine down in soft ground. By transferring the excess of weight from the drive to the front wheels, a better steering engine resulted.
It's pretty hard to notice the wheel placement at the moment, since a mountain of snow has been piled on the poor old engine.
Just as an interesting side note, Hugh Addington's father, Bud, tried to sell steam-powered cars when he owned the Addington Auto Company in what is now the "Ace" building, just across the street to the east of the old steam engines. An ad in the Adams County Leader, Dec 31, 1920, said that these Baker Steamer autos and trucks ran on any oil type fuel. This made them less expensive to operate, plus the vehicles got 20 to 30 miles per gallon. Water was condensed after becoming steam, and then reused. The ad said that there were fewer moving parts than in a gas engine, they lasted longer, and needed fewer repairs. The ad said that these vehicles would be the "wave of the future".
1-10-97
By this time guess most of you realize that the flooding we just went through is a pretty historic event. I haven't heard of a living person who remembers anything this bad along the Weiser River. It reminded me of stories of 1890. I already wrote about this in one of my columns, but it seems appropriate to look it over again since it is so similar to our current situation.
By 1888 it had been twelve years since the first family ,the Mosers, had arrived, and there were quite a number of homesteads in and around the Council Valley. The community was in its infancy. Here are some of the things that occurred that summer:
John Peters established the first store here, and the makings of a town were starting to form around it about a mile north of the present town. Calvin White established the first store in the Meadows Valley. Ten bridges were built over the Weiser River between Council and Price Valley. (Before that it was necessary to ford the river a couple dozen times to make that trip.) The first wagon load of copper ore was taken out of the Seven Devils.
The winter of 1888 - '89 was very mild, with little snow. By the following summer, a severe drought had set in. The Weiser River was lower than anyone could remember, and the water was warm. The Snake River was so low at Weiser that a man was able to drive a wagon across it, and the water barely came up past the axles. In a time when many, if not most, people's livelihoods depended on growing crops or a big garden a drought like this one was very serious.
Idaho was only a territory then. That November the vote was taken to determine whether it would become a state. Council Valley people voted 30 to 28 against it. (The rest of the Territory was in favor, and the State was admitted to the Union the next summer.)
By the fall of 1889, people were literally praying for rain or snow. That winter, their prayers were answered ... and answered ... and answered. Snow fell early, and kept coming. By January, there was four feet in Middle Valley (Midvale). Mail carriers had trouble getting through the canyon between Council and Meadows, and thirty feet of snow was reported at Warren. For some reason, the precipitation was not consistent throughout the region. In some places, like Bear and Cuprum, the snow level was at, or even below, normal.
On the first day of February, the snow had settled to three or four feet deep in the Council Valley. That was the day it started raining.
You may realize that if we had had ice in the rivers this year, the flooding would have been even worse in places. In 1890 thick layers of ice broke up and formed huge jams all along the Snake and Weiser Rivers. Angry chocolate torrents hurled headlong over riverbanks, destroying everything in their path. Horses, cattle, sheep and buildings were swept away like specks of dust in a windstorm. On Hornet Creek alone 88 head of cattle and horses were drowned. Mud and rock slides wiped out wagon roads and railroads. Every one of the new bridges over the Weiser River between Council and Meadows was utterly obliterated. Transportation all over the region was at a complete standstill.
On the first of February there had been three to four feet of snow in the Council Valley. By the end of the month there was so much bare ground that some ranchers turned their cattle out to graze.
This flooding sounds even worse than what we just had. Of course in those days life was much different than it is now. First, there were far fewer people, buildings, etc. here to damage. The roads were nothing more than dirt wagon trails, and were a lot cheaper to repair. All ten bridges up the canyon only cost $540 total to build. (Of course that would be something like $40,000 in today's money.) It would have been a lot of work to repair a washed out place in a road though because they had no machinery - just horse and man power. Nobody had electricity, so nobody missed it - same for TV, telephone or radio. Everybody had wood stoves for heat and cooking. Nobody was used to getting into a vehicle and getting to Weiser in an hour. It took two days with a wagon when the roads were in good shape. And nobody dreamed anyone would ever fly anywhere.
I started to write that there was no railroad closer than Weiser to wash out. It's pretty ironic that were basically back to the same situation on that score.
I tried to get out and videotape the flooding in the area, but I could only make it a couple hundred yards from home, except up West Fork. What I would like to do is compile a video of the flooding by getting some of the footage that other people took. Still photos would work nicely too. If it comes together, I'll put a copy in the library. If you would like to contribute to this video give me a call or drop tapes or photos off at the library. Hopefully this won't happen again in our lifetimes, and we need to get a record of it.
1-17-97
Researching and writing history can be tricky. I try very hard to be accurate and factual in my writing, and yet I know that some of what I write is untrue. All the information I get came from a human being in one way or another. All history is someone's version of what happened. Often the stories I write were filtered through the viewpoint of several people. For example, much of my historical information comes from old Salubria, Cambridge, Weiser and Council newspapers. What was written in them was usually related to the editor by someone else. If he was lucky it was eye witness; if not he got the story from someone who heard it from a first-hand observer. The editor wrote his understanding of the story, and then I write my understanding of his story and put it into the context of my knowledge and understanding of the bigger picture. So you can see that there is oportunity for misinformation to creep in.
Even if you get the facts right, there is the interpretation to worry about. Historian, Shelby Foote, once said, "Facts are just the bare bones out of which truth is made." Last week I mentioned that the citizens of Council Valley voted 30 to 28 against statehood in 1889. Then I said, "The rest of the Territory was in favor, and the State was admitted to the Union the next summer." A friend of mine took that to mean that every other part of the territory, except Council Valley, voted for statehood. Of course I knew what I meant, but I didn't word it carefully enough. I should have said something like, "A majority of the voters in the rest of the territory as a whole voted in favor, . . ." It makes we wonder how many times I've miss-worded something, or how many times I've misinterpreted what someone else wrote and then passed it on.
Sometimes people see the same event differently, and there is more than one version of the same story. If the originators of both versions are convinced they have the one and only true account, it gets a little perplexing.
And even hindsight changes with time. It's been said that what is told as history not only tells us about the past, but tells us much about the time in which it was told. Current conditions and social attitudes influence the viewpoint of any historian. Writers interpret events in a way that fits with their own sense of values and the cultural attitude of their audience (readers).
For instance in the last century writers didn't have any reservations about denigrating people who were different from the "norm" in any way. Newspapers openly printed slanderous statements about blacks, Chinese, Japanese, Mormons, American Indians, and even ethnic groups that we don't think of as minorities anymore.
One thing that became obvious early in my research was that people will often choose to pass on an exciting fictional story over a not-so-exciting true account. This has led to a number of inaccurate, local myths. I was bemoaning this fact to Frank Anderson one day a few years ago. He just grinned and said, "A lie well told and stuck to is better than the truth." That must have been the attitude of "Pinky" Baird. His story illustrates both changes in cultural attitudes and the fact that people will sometimes just lie.
Ewing Craig Baird, nicknamed "Pinky", was an old-time Indian fighter who lived in Council. The story of his childhood says that Indians killed several members of his family, and that this resulted in Baird having a life-long hatred of Indians. There is a pair of Indian moccasins in the Council museum that he gave to Bill Winkler. Baird told Winkler that the moccasins had belonged to local Shoshoni chief, Eagle Eye. According to Baird the last time he saw Eagle Eye alive was when the chief was standing in a stream getting a drink. Baird said that the Indian jumped in the air and fell dead, and that's how he got the moccasins. In other words this was Baird's way of bragging that he had killed Eagle Eye. Today we would call it cold-blooded murder. In those days, Baird was looked up to for eliminating a "bloodthirsty savage".
As to the truth of the story, Eagle Eye actually died of natural causes. Baird claimed to have killed more than one Indian in this area, so he may have murdered an Indian he thought was Eagle Eye. By the way Eagle Eye was known, by informed people, as more of a peace maker than a warrior. Less knowledgeable people thoughtlessly classified him, along with all Indians, as a savage killer.
The museum still needs someone to donate a door. We would like one that is fairly old-fashioned with a large window in the upper half. It doesn't matter if it is a single pane of glass or several smaller ones. If it doesn't have glass in it we can replace it. The window area needs to be large enough that part of a room exhibit can be easily viewed through it. If you have one you can part with, please give me a call. 253-4582
Also, some of us who are working on the video about the railroad would like to borrow any photos, videos or home movies you have of local trains or anything to do with the railroad. Give me a call if you can share any.
1-24-97
This week I'm going to start basing a series of columns on a really priceless manuscript that Edna Johnson let me copy. It is basically an autobiography written by Ida Logan Hitt. She was the wife of A.F. Hitt, the man after whom Hitt Mountain, near Cambridge, is named. It was written in the late 1930s when she was in her late 70s. She died at the age of 81 in 1939 at Portland.
Ida's mother was Lavina Anderson who married David Logan. When Logan died, she remarried Tom Price in 1884. Tom Price is who Price Valley is named for. Lavina's brothers, John and Rufus Anderson, were well known Indian Valley pioneers.
Ida had distinct memories of coming west in a wagon train in 1868. The 1860s was the worst decade of violence between whites and Indians in American history. One story in particular illustrates how afraid of Indians people sometimes were. One morning the group saw what they thought were Indians coming from a defile in the Black Hills.
"They came single file, and seemed to be coming directly to our camp. There being only one man and two pistols, one of the guns was offered to the man. He refused it, ran and crawled under the bed, wrapping a buffalo robe around him, also covering up his head and face. My mother took the discarded weapon, determined to do what she could to defend her children. Another woman having the other, they were ready to die fighting. The Indians kept coming until at least 300 warriors were in sight, a formidable array for two women with revolvers to fight. Other women armed themselves with axes, butcher knives and clubs; one had a broom. I was 9 years old and remember this vividly. In the excitement they failed to notice that the hostile band was passing by the camp some hundred yards away. All at once the procession stopped and the Indians turned their faces directly toward us. Oh what joy! They were antelope. After staring a moment, away they ran. My mother dropped the pistol and sat down on the floor of the tent. Most of the women began to cry. For my part, I could not understand why they cried when they found there was not danger."
It's beyond me why they would have been traveling in such a small group, and were so poorly armed. Apparently Ida's father wasn't with the family because he had been drafted into the army. There are places in this manuscript that are very vague, or where things are left out.
The Logans had planned to go on to Oregon, but decided to stay at Weiser when they found a relative living there. Soon they moved on to Middle Valley (Midvale).
In those days hogs were a common animal to raise - both for sale and home consumption. Council's first family, the Mosers, sometimes drove large herds of hogs to the Boise Basin to sell them to the miners there. Ida wrote of her family's experiences: "As the spring advanced the hogs were turned out to forage, but were fed a little wheat in the evening so they would come to their covered log pen. It was the fear of bear that made such a pen necessary. One night a bear came. We heard the pig squeal, but when the men arrived with their guns the bear was gone, taking a nice young shoat along. He had coolly pulled four logs off, seized the pig and was gone. It showed it was a large bear, perhaps a grizzly; his footprint was enormous."
It was quite common during the early settlement of the valleys along the Weiser River for farmers to have problems with bears killing livestock; especially pigs. In 1882, George Moser and some other men pursued a bear that had been killing Moser's pigs. After the dogs cornered the bear, it attacked Moser, badly wounding him by tearing away chunks of flesh from his legs. Moser recovered, but the wounds bothered him the rest of his life.
Some reports say that the bear that attacked Moser was a grizzly, but this has not been confirmed. (The museum has a few claws that are said to be from this bear, and they do look like grizzly claws.) Early reports of bear incidents were not usually clear as to the species of the bear. People in those days seemed very inclined to exaggerate and overdramatize just about any aspect of life, so some stories about grizzly bears probably really involved black bears. There probably were, however, a few grizzlies in the Council area. The abundant salmon in the Weiser River would have been an ideal food source for them.
A grizzly was said to have been killing livestock near Alpine in 1874. This animal reportedly weighed over 600 pounds and had a ten inch long track. In 1896, Gilbert Smith, the State Senator from Meadows, killed a bear that reportedly measured 9 1/2 feet from tip of nose to end of tail.
More next week.
1-31-97
History Corner
by Dale Fisk
Continuing from Ida Hitt's autobiography:
"There was no travel during the winter excepting the mail man coming by once a week. Before spring we ran out of flour and had to grind wheat on the coffee mill for graham flour to make bread. There was no chance to get any supplies until the roads could be traveled in the spring, as it was 150 miles to Boise, our nearest market. We also ran out of butter; as everyone packed their butter in summer for winter, all the cows were dried up in the late fall, with no milk. (We knew nothing about canned milk; think it hadn't as yet been invented.)"
"When spring came Uncle John and John Sailing took up homesteads across the Weiser River, Making it 2 miles to their places. No one planted anything but gardens, as the men could go to other valley's and work thru thrashing and get all the wheat they needed."
"One day a man came and made a proposition to Ma & Pa that he furnish the cows and they milk and make butter for half of it. It was soon arranged and the man brought the cows and their calves. In those days it was not known to take the calf away from its mother and feed it milk. There was plenty of range for the cows. There were 15 of them, Father milked 7, Mary 5, and I three of the gentlest. But alas, no more sleeping mornings until ready to get up. At 5:30 we had to crawl out. Many mornings it seemed I just couldn't, but up I had to get. Besides all the fresh butter we could use, we had lots of cream and milk to use, also cottage cheese. Mother made quantities as it was good for the chickens too, also milk to feed the hogs. The butter was worked over twice, then packed in wooden tubs made for that purpose, 50 lbs. in each. Every one ate packed butter thru the winter and early spring, in fact until the last of May. As the cows ate grass on the range they also ate wild onions that grew up as early as the grass, but by the last of May were withered and the seed blown away."
About 1872 the Logan family moved to the Salubria Valley. This is the valley in which Cambridge sits now. Salubria was the only town there until the railroad came in 1899. The town of Salubria was a little over a mile south east of present-day Cambridge. Mary, Ida's older sister who was sixteen, married Frank Mickey in 1873. "As Mr. Cuddy had moved to Cuddy Mtn., built a saw and flour mill, my sister's husband was among the foremost pioneers."
"As soon as the law allowed, there was a son born to the Mickeys. When the Nez Perce war broke out on the 20th of June 1877, they had 3 children, Irwin, Cora and Everet; the latter was not yet two. In the meantime my Uncle John and Uncle Rufus had moved to Indian Valley; my mother also with us 3 children. By this time I was getting along in years, was 19 years old. In that time I had six proposals of marriage, but would have none of them until the handsome young Mr. Hitt came along, at least I thought him the handsomest man on this earth, or any other. We were engaged for 2 years, as he had bought his partner out and had to pay it off before we could marry. The Indian war changed that."
Continued next week.
Articles from 2-1-97 thru this one (3-21-97) are about Ida Hitt and are straight out of my “Landmarks” book.
This is the end of 3-21:
There are so many mistakes and distortions in Ida's version of this story that it would take a whole column to straighten them out. More from Ida next week.
I'm told that Dr. Gerber died in the summer of 1990. She was born in September of 1889, so she was almost 101 years old. We have the walls of "her" office finished in the museum. (Actually, we have built a three-room complex with a sheriff's office, Dr. Gerber's office, and a medical office that will probably be Dr. Brown's office, more or less.) What I would like is for people to give us quotes about Dr. Gerber that we can print and place in the exhibit. My plan is to just put up the quote, not necessarily who said it, so don't be afraid to be honest. If you can help us, please write down a very short statement about an experience with Dr. Gerber. Here's an example of one I'd like to use: "I've gone to sleep in a lot of dentist's chairs, but I never went to sleep in hers." Please either mail your quote to me at box 252, Council, or call me at 253-4582. Even if you just have a story that we might be able to get a quote out of, give me a call.
Another thing we would like to do is stuff a chicken to put in her office exhibit. That may sound odd to someone who is unfamiliar with Dr. Gerber, but if she was just your average dentist do you think we would be making a whole exhibit in the museum around her? It will be an interesting exhibit. Anyway, we have a volunteer to do the stuffing, and think we think we may have someone willing to give us a chicken. But if you have a chicken that you are willing to give to the cause, keep us in mind. I'm told she raised Bantam chickens, among others.
If anyone has some extra 7" stove pipe, we need a section about 3 feet long, an elbow, and a short piece, maybe about 6 inches long for the stove in Bill Winkler's sheriff's office.
As always, we can still use help at the museum every Tuesday.
3-28 Ida Hitt's memoirs continued. It is 1878, after the Long Valley Massacre.
More next week.
4-3-97 This will conclude Ida Hitt's memoirs. We pick up her story about 1884.
The man Amos Hitt sold his sawmill to was Frederick Wilkie. I found mention of the sale in an 1885 newspaper. Wilkie operated it near the present site of the old Hornet Creek Guard Station. It was one of the first sawmills to operate in the Council area. Ida continues:
Ida Hitt had nine children. She wrote the manuscript that I have quoted from in the late 1930s. He died in Portland, Oregon in 1939 at the age of 81.
I hope that you have enjoyed reading Ida's writing. I found it fascinating to read a first hand account of such dramatic events as the Nez Perce and Bannock Wars, and how they effected the people who lived in this area. In some ways those times were not very long ago. It's amazing how much things have changed.
I also hope that this makes you realize how valuable your memoirs could be to your family someday. If you recall, some time back I said that it would be a priceless gift to your descendants for you to write down the story of your life. You may not have lived through such dramatic days as Ida Hitt, but things are always changing. Someday it will even be interesting to hear about the first computers we had just a few years ago because they will seem so crude by future standards. What am I saying?! A computer more than three or four years old is already behind the times. Anyway, if you haven't written anything down yet, there's no time like the present.
I'm still looking for Dr. Gerber quotes to use. I got a couple of good ones this week.
In 1996, volunteers spent over 600 hours working on the museum. That's the equivalent of one person working almost four months. And that's not counting MANY hours some have spent at home working on museum projects. Because of the legal requirements concerning the bidding process I don't feel I'm at liberty to say too much yet, but the museum addition is going to built this summer. We are planning to follow the example of the Cambridge Museum, and open the "old" part of the museum (which will be almost totally new exhibits) on about May 15. The plan is to have it open from 10 AM to 4 PM. We will need volunteers to be at the museum for one of the two, three-hour shifts each day: 10:00 to 1:00 and 1:00 to 4:00.
I'm still very willing to take any pennies you may want to donate to the museum. Another fund raiser that Connie Mocaby is organizing is a home tour in June. She has several homes lined up but needs a few more. If you have an interesting house in the Council area that people would enjoy seeing, please give Connie a call.
4-10-97 I ran across an old "Frontier Times" magazine from May 1977 that has an article by Charles Luck, a man who came through Council in 1902 on his way to the gold fields at Thunder Mountain. Gold was discovered at Thunder Mountain in 1896 by the Caswell brothers. They were friends with Arthur Huntley who owned a ranch just south of Cuprum where the Speropulos place is now. The Caswells cut Huntley in on their discovery because he gave them a grubstaked of $50. The gold deposits at Thunder Mountain turned out to be very big, and they all became rich.
By 1902 Thunder Mountain was big news, and a gold rush started to the area. The railroad had reached Council the year before, and since this was the nearest rail point to Thunder Mountain hundreds of people came through here.
Mr. Luck wrote: "In May I joined the stream and assembled my outfit at Council, the railroad terminus on the west. There we camped for a while and watched the crowds go by. It was an outfitting station. The traders in that little town made money."
"As pack horses were an essential part of every outfit, every available horse was bought and then the boys scoured the hill for cayuses. They drove them into corrals, wild eyed and with kinks in their tails. They roped and threw them, put on a breaking bridle, slipped the blinder over their eyes, cinched on a pack saddle and sacks of sand and let them buck. After two or three days of this they sold them to the Argonauts from the East for trustworthy pack horses. And the Easterners bought greedily. They knew a horse when they saw one. It was an animal with four legs, one on each corner."
In the midst of this scramble, wagon loads of building supplies were making their way to Arthur Huntley's ranch where he was constructing an extravagant, three-story mansion.
Earl Wayland Bowman arrived in Council in 1902, and later gave a vivid description of the town:
"Dirty? My gracious! There were pigs wallowing along the streets, beer kegs piled out by the half dozen saloons, trash and litter everywhere and dogs - dogs! Suffering saints, I never dreamed there could be so many in a place so small!"
"Don't you remember the ricks of manure that lined the main street - the accumulation of God knows how many years from the old barn where the stage horses were kept?"
"The Thunder Mountain rush was on, and everything was hurry and hustle and rustle. Pack trains stood in front of Lowe & Peter's . . ." [This store was where Adams County Real Estate is now.]
"Freight wagons and mountain outfits lined the streets and Haworth's, Weed & Criss', McMahan's were busy - busy loading them for the hungry rush to the Devils, the Big Creek country, Thunder Mountain, Warrens." [Weed & Criss' store was where the Council Valley Market parking lot is now. McMahan's was about where the public restrooms are, south of the park.]
"There was money everywhere. Things were moving and Lew Shaw's, Denny Ryan's, the Old Overland Bar - where Bob Braden mixed any sort you wanted - and all the other irrigation emporiums saved the populace from perishing on the arid desert of unquenched thirst!" [The Overland was where the Ace is now.]
In spite of Bowman's mention of freight wagons, etc. loading ". . . for the hungry rush to the Devils, . . ." the Seven Devils mining district was having a dismal year. After the Thunder Mountain gold rush subsided somewhat, the nearness of the railroad helped revive the boom in the Devils. As many as eighty wagons were eventually employed by the mines to haul ore. They turned the road along Hornet Creek, and the streets of Council, into a river of dust as they rolled through town to unload heavy sacks of ore onto train cars at the east end of town.
It was in 1902 that the first automobile that had ever passed through Council stopped a few minutes in the town square. At this time cars were little more than a rich man's toy. Most local people had never seen a car, and it drew quite a crowd. Lucy McMahan said that the car created as much excitement in Council as when Lindbergh later flew nonstop across the Atlantic.
4-17-97
Those of you who have only been taking the Adams County Leader were probably a little surprised last week to get a copy of the Record instead. The merger of the Leader and the Record happened very quickly.
For those of you who enjoy the History Corner, you won't be without it because of the merger. It's hard to believe, but I have been writing this column for both papers for three years now. I intend to continue writing it for the Adams County Record for as long as I can come up with a new subject each week.
While looking for a subject to write about this week I ran across my notes on a colorful character who used to live here: Hannibal F. Johnson.
Johnson was a miner and poet, who acquired the title "Seven Devils Johnson" from the local residents. Johnson, born in Indiana in 1830, came west looking for gold, and was in the Boise area in the early 1850's. He later located a mining claim in the Seven Devils about 1884.
The first time that I know of that Johnson became a published poet was in the Weiser Leader, Sept 27, 1889. A 24 verse poem by Johnson was printed in that edition of the paper, but his name was not even mentioned. Credit for the poem was given simply to "a Seven Devils Miner". A number of you have probably heard or read this well-known poem that begins:
"I'm sitting on a mountain high
With blood and thunder in my eye,
For I've been trying for an hour
To bake a cake with Cuddy flour.
But damn the stuff, it will not rise.
And that's why blood is in my eyes.
It's not because the dough's not sour,
For sour as hell is Cuddy's flour."
Johnson wrote the poem as good-natured teasing of John Cuddy. Cuddy was having trouble adjusting the burrs in his flour mill near Salubria, and they were not grinding the wheat properly. The newspaper said of Johnson's poem: "We publish the same by request, believing it to be written in a good spirit toward Mr. Cuddy and that it is aimed as a farewell to his burr mill flour." The editor went on to say that Cuddy had installed new milling equipment, and implied this should improve the quality of Cuddy's flour significantly.
About a month later, in the Oct 25, 1889 issue, the paper printed another of Johnson's poems, "Farewell to Idaho". Again, credit was given only to "A Seven Devil Miner".
In 1892 Johnson ran for the office of Washington County Senator against T.C. Galloway, of Weiser. During the campaign, Galloway called Johnson "Pine Tree Johnson", claiming that Johnson had real no home and lived under a pine tree.
By this time, Galloway had already become a living legend in this part of Idaho. You may remember him being mentioned a couple of time in Ida Hitt's memoirs. Galloway was a pioneer and pillar of the Weiser community, and led a group of volunteer militia during the Indian Wars of the 1870s. A street in Weiser is named after him. In spite of the fact that Johnson had to have been a relative unknown, Johnson won the election and served one term.
More on Seven Devils Johnson next week.
4-24-97 In the early 1890's R.E. Lockwood, for whom Lockwood Saddle is named, was doing some mining in the Seven Devils. He was staying at a camp in the head of Rapid River near the North Star mine. One evening Hannibal "Seven Devils" Johnson visited the camp, and all of the men present became caught up in lofty discussions of philosophy and literature. Lockwood later wrote that it was a "feast of reason and a flow of soul". Johnson recited one of his poems for the group:
"Some sing of life in cities fair.
Some sing of homes in valleys green
Some sing of pleasures on the beach.
Where wealth and gayeties are seen.
But I will sing of grandest scenes
That ever met the human eye.
Of forests green, of crystal streams,
Of turrets reaching to the sky."
Lockwood recalled, "There, with true nature in all her vastness and grandeur spread out beneath us, (we were at an altitude of about 8,000 feet) with the green forests stretching away for miles, with mountain 'turrets reaching to the sky' above us, it was easy to appreciate the impulses which inspired the lines."
I'm not sure if Lockwood already knew Johnson at this time, or if this was their first meeting. I'm also not sure if Lockwood was the editor of the Weiser Signal newspaper at the time that Johnson's poems were first printed in that paper. He was the Signal editor around this time, and must have been associated with the paper when the campfire recitation occurred. At any rate, Lockwood was so enthusiastic about Johnson's poems that he risked his own money in 1895 to publish a 125 page book of the poets works, entitled "Poems of Idaho". The book sold for 50 cents. I've never seen a copy of it, but I remember finding it listed awhile back as being in an Idaho library somewhere. Many of Johnson's poems were about mining and life in the Seven Devils.
Johnson apparently never married, and did a great deal of traveling from place to place around the country, pulling a two-wheeled cart. He was a good natured man with a keen sense of humor, and seemed to be liked by almost everyone.
In a time when doctors were few and far between, Johnson was in demand as an authority on home remedies. His father was a doctor, and had built the first house in Carthage, Missouri, where Hannibal grew up and was educated. He studied medicine with his father, but not liking the profession he abandoned it.
Since last week, I ran across some info that should have gone with Johnson's early history. He crossed the plains with his parents by covered wagon, coming to Eugene, Oregon in 1853. He mined until the outbreak of the Rogue River Indian War when he became a soldier. After his first term of enlistment he and five other soldiers were surrounded by 125 Indians. One of the soldiers was killed, but the rest escaped. In 1858 Johnson was part of the Frazier River gold rush. In 1862 he came to Florence and Buffalo Hump, then
arren, Walla Walla, and Auburn, Ore. He packed and freighted to the Boise Basin until 1865. That fall, he took a 28 animal pack string to Blackfoot, Montana, where he sold the pack outfit and started mining. In 1868 he came to the Salmon River country and then Willamette Valley of Oregon. Last week I said he came to the Seven Devils about 1884. This info says he came to the Devils in 1882 and located the Golden Eagle mine. He exhibited some very rich ore from that mine at the Worlds Fair. He was offered $36,000 for this and other claims, but turned the offer down.
I'll have more on Seven Devils Johnson next week.
I got a call from Eldora Peebles on Monday. She lived in the Council area for years and now lives in Weiser. She says hello to all her old friends up here.
5-1-97
Hannibal Johnson had four sisters and two brothers. One brother, Pleasant W. Johnson, was seven years younger than "Seven Devils", and lived with Hannibal on Rapid River at one time. Pleasant W. Johnson was always called P.W. Johnson in newspapers. People were almost always referred to by their first two initials in early newspapers. I have sometimes read about someone in a decade's worth of papers before learning their first name.
It may well have been P.W. Johnson that induced his better-known brother to Idaho. P.W. came to Idaho in 1861, and lived in Florence during the gold rush there. He claimed to have owned the first ounce of gold that was mined at Warren. In 1862 he went to the Boise Basin, then explored Oregon and Nevada as a prospector. P.W. came to Council in 1900 at the age of 63. In the census for that year he is listed as an accountant by trade. Within two years of coming here, he was a "senior member of S. Haworth & Co" and secretary of the Council Board of Trade (which apparently was a kind of promotional organization for the Council area). He shared his brother's interest in mining, and jointly owned a gold mine with Hannibal on Rapid River. He also had claims near Iron Springs and Thunder Mountain. Another thing P.W. had in common with Hannibal is that he also never married.
In 1903 through 1905 P.W. Johnson is listed as chairman of Council Board of Trustees. This would probably be the equivalent of a mayor's position. In 1905 he was working on a second book: "Fifty Years Out of Congress" ( a history of the Northwest). His first literary work had been "Johnson's Encyclopedia of Transportation", which became an industry standard. He wrote it during 8 years of employment (1880-1888) as General Freight Agent for a steam ship line on the Oregon coast.
One source says that P.W. Johnson homesteaded on White Bird Ridge after leaving Council.
Some of the activities of Hannibal Johnson can be traced by following old newspaper accounts:
Salubria Citizen, Apr 21, 1899 - Seven Devils Johnson is "canvassing for two books . . .'The Illustrated New Testament' and a history of our war with Spain." [I assume "canvassing" means selling door to door, more or less.]
Cambridge Citizen, Mar 15, 1901 - "H.F. Johnson has taken the agency for a chemical fire extinguisher, and will be traveling the area demonstrating what his machine will do."
Johnson played the fiddle, and is said to have held it in a unique way. Someone described it as "holding it on his lap" instead of under his chin. I would guess that he held it in the way some Cajun fiddlers do, in the crook of his elbow. When someone is holding a fiddle like this, while sitting, the elbow is often rested on the leg, giving the appearance of having the instrument in one's lap.
Hannibal Johnson must have been a truly remarkable man. At the time Lockwood heard his poetry around the campfire, Johnson was over 70 years old and was still wandering some of the most rugged pieces of real estate on earth. At some point between 1906 and 1910, when he was between 76 and 80 years old, Johnson claimed a 160 acre homestead at one of his mining claims near Rankin Mill in the Seven Devils. Although it would have been a very high elevation to have an orchard, it is said that he established one there, with about 100 trees on approximately two acres. I've read that some of the trees are still there. Hannibal also raised chickens and had a large garden covering about one and a half acres. His home was a 18 X 20 one-room log cabin. In this house, he had a sizable library, and did a lot of writing. He got a pension of $8.00 per month from his Indian fighting days on the Rogue River. He walked 10 miles to old Pollock to get his mail, and occasionally lectured in Riggins on political subjects. I have heard that Johnson Creek (the one closer to Pollock) was named after Seven Devils Johnson.
Johnson's "claim" to his homestead was not a legal one. He was required to file under the Homestead Act of June 11, 1906 (concerning homesteads on federal land) but, he insisted that he didn't need to because he had been living there before the forest reserve was created. The Forest Service eventually persuaded him to apply properly, and his application was approved in 1910.
Johnson sold his homestead to Jay Rhodes at some point. This location later became "Hannibal Ranger Station".
Apparently Johnson wasn't living at his homestead very much during the time he was getting his homestead approved. He is said to have moved to California in 1910, the year his homestead was approved.
During his last few years in Idaho, Johnson spent his summers near Pollock where he had mining properties, and spent the winters with the Alex Kesler family at Council. One source says that he was spending his winters with a niece in California before he moved there year 'round. Another source says he spent considerable time in later years at the Robinson ranch on Bear Creek.
Johnson returned to visit friends in Idaho about 1930 at the age of 100. He died not long after that trip, and true to the unusual way he lived, he was one of the few men to speak at his own funeral. Johnson had brought the first phonograph to the Council Valley, and he must have had an unusual interest, for his time, in phonographs and recording. With extraordinary foresight, and the help of Robert Young of Council, Johnson recorded his funeral oration on a phonograph record. Part of the agreement when he sold his homestead to Jay Rhodes was that Rhodes was to see that the recording he made was played at his funeral. And it was.
Connie Mocaby is organizing a home tour for June to raise money for the museum. She already has several interesting homes lined up, but would like a few more. If you are interested in helping the museum by allowing your house to be shown, please give Connie a call at 253-4408.
I mentioned that we plan to stuff a chicken for Dr. Gerber's office, and I thought we had someone in mind who might donate a chicken. My mistake. We need someone to donate a chicken - preferably a bantee.
Your club or civic organization may get a letter from the museum (or may already have received one) about helping with volunteers to man the museum this summer. Please give it serious consideration. We haven't determined an exact opening date at this moment, but should by the time this hits the presses. It will be some time in the second half of May.
History Corner 5-9-97
I have a question. Does anyone know where the Cuprum school used to be? I'm not talking about he Landore - Decorah school, but one that used to be at Cuprum itself. The museum has a picture with the school in the background, but I don't know where it was. The old bell from the school is still at Cuprum, sitting in someone's yard.
We have had some nice donations and loans made to the museum in the last few weeks. Shirley White brought in a dinner fork she found at the old Middle Fork CCC camp. It has "CCC" stamped on it and a number that I think is probably the camp number. Bud Gross brought in an old fire extinguisher. Shirley Glimser donated some old shoe lasts from Ralph Finn's shoe repair shop that stood where Glimser's Adams County Real Estate building is now.
Henry Daniels donated several nice odds and ends for our mining exhibit. He really helped our mine tunnel exhibit by loaning us an ore cart and rails to put it on. It was just what that exhibit needed. Henry is also going to do a painting for the museum that will be part of the Native American exhibit. It will be a scene showing a big, native festival as seen from "school house hill". For those of you unfamiliar with Council's history, Council got its name from these Indian gatherings. Indians met here from all over the Northwest to have a big party and harvest salmon. Early, white pioneers thought these big festivals were "council meetings", and so called this the Council Valley.
Jack Wassard made a beautiful and authentic atlatl for the Native American exhibit. The atlatl was a weapon what natives used for thousands of years before they got bows and arrows. You'll have to come in an see it.
I should also mention some donations that were made not so recently. Tod Nelson donated a big section of wooden pipe that was first used as water pipe in Council and then installed for irrigation at the Gould ranch. Boise Cascade gave us the old mill whistle. Sue Lambert donated an old-time kitchen apron. (By the way, Sue, we haven't forgotten the receipt. Please be patient.) Don Wood donated an outdated resuscitation kit that was used in Council.
On behalf of the museum and the community, I would like to thank all the people who have donated or loaned items, or who have helped the museum in other ways. There is so much to do, so few people, and so little time that we often neglect to show adequate appreciation. So, thank you!
We have finally figured out when the museum will open: May 31st. We have sent out several letters to local organizations asking for help in staffing the museum this summer. The museum will be open Wednesday through Saturday from 10 AM to 4 PM, and Sundays from 1 PM to 4 PM. This way the day can be covered by two, three-hour shifts. Three hours is not that much time to give at a time, and it will probably even be fun. We may find it hard to find people who are willing to give up three hours out of their weekend or holiday, so please give that some thought. If you can help, please call Mary Sterner at 253-6930.
Over the past few months, a few people have mentioned that they might be able volunteer at the museum for a shift or two. Those people need to call Mary. We may have forgotten that you said anything, or may not know if you are still able to help, so please call.
We are still looking for a chicken to stuff for Dr. Gerber's office. If you have one you can part with, please give me a call at 253-4582.
The museum is still collecting pennies for the past, so if you have a pile of pennies lying around that you don't want to mess with, give me a call.
Sometime before our opening on May 31, we are going to put a "MUSEUM" sign with four-foot-high letters on the front of the museum. Dale Lyttle has the letters finished. Now it's a matter of getting Idaho Power, or someone else with some kind of hoist that will reach that high, to help us put the sign up. It's about 30 feet up to where the letters need to be bolted on. I if this sounds like fun to you, or if you have a farm hand, etc., that will reach up to 25 feet or more, give me a call. We can also use a few hands that aren't too afraid of heights.
History Corner 5-15-97
When I was preschool age, in the mid 1950s, I remember going to a couple of activities at the Fruitvale school. I had older cousins who attended there. It was about that time that the Fruitvale school closed. It wasn't too long until Lillian and Marvin Imler bought it and converted it into a house. They're both gone now, but the house still overlooks Fruitvale, just up the hill east of the old post office / store. It's boarded up now and gets little, if any, use.
When the Fruitvale school closed, the kids were bussed to Council. This was the story of many of the similar, little, community schools in this area. During the 1940s and 1950s many of them were closed and the students were bussed to Council. Bear was one of the last holdouts, closing in 1968.
I remember visiting the grade school at Council after my older brother, Clint, started attending there. Being a kid, one of my most vivid memories are of the big slide at one end of the building. It was for a fire escape, but, at the time, it was more likely to be used in case the old building started to collapse. I don't know if the kids ever actually slid down that slide during fire (or collapse) drills, but it was my impression that they did. I thought it must have been tremendous fun, and I was very envious.
Getting back to the danger of the building collapsing. I seem to remember hearing that they had drills like fire drills for the kids to practice how they would get out of the building if it started to fall down. At the time, that too sounded exciting. I don't imagine it made any parents very happy. I didn't know much about the old school building until I started doing all this research a few years ago.
The school was built in 1907 to replace the overcrowded one on "school house hill" just north of downtown Council. After the railroad had reached Council in 1901, the population had increase a lot. An additional wing had been put on the school on the hill, almost doubling its size, but it soon became too small as well. In 1907 a two story brick school was built in a field at the southeast end of town. This was just east, across the street from the present LDS church, about where Economy Roofing stacks some of their trusses, etc. There is a photograph of the old school over the door of Economy Roofing.
For some time there was only a grade school in Council, and in other small, rural Idaho towns. Council students who wanted to go on to high school had to go at least as far as Weiser. A few years after the brick school was built, high school classes were started in this building. By 1922 there were seven high school rooms in the school. I think it was about this time that another wing was added to the school because it was getting too crowded.
Many people who grew up in Council have countless memories of days spent at this old school. If any of you care to write down any of them, I'd like to hear from you. If you do write, please let me know if I can use your stories in my column.
By 1957 the school was in bad shape. A Boise engineer was called in to examine it. The following are snippets from the engineers report printed Adams County Leader, Dec 27, 1957:
"The Council grade school building is a composite of two buildings. The west half is a brick-veneered, wood frame structure approximately 50 years old. The veneer on the west wall has collapsed and been replaced with wood sheathing. The east half is approximately 40 years old. It has masonry (2-course) brick exterior walls . . . ."
"The interior of the entire building has been finished with wood lath and plaster. This has been replaced on most of the ceiling by acoustical fiber board."
Many of you probably read that part about lath and plaster without a second thought, but some of you younger readers may not know what lath a plaster walls and ceilings were. I say "were" because I don't know that it's ever done anymore. "Lath" was a subsurface made from strips of wood. Each strip was about 1 to 1 1/2" wide and about an eighth inch thick (or a little thicker). The lath strips were nailed to the studs and ceiling joists and spaced about a quarter inch or less apart. Plaster was then applied over the lath. The lath is what held the plaster to the wall or ceiling because some of the plaster oozed though between the strips to anchor it. I think plaster was put on in at least two coats - a "scratch" coat and a finish coat. Plastering used to be a trade in itself, and probably took some skill to do it right. Most old buildings have, or had, lath and plaster walls and ceilings. I'm not sure when it started being used, but drywall (sheetrock) has pretty much, if not completely, replaced lath and plaster. Drywall is much cheaper, more durable, and easier to install.
More on the old school next week.
On Monday, Andy Roundtree from Idaho Power came up with a hoist, and we put up the "MUSEUM" sign on the north side of the building. We're hoping people can't drive through town without seeing it. Dale Lyttle made and painted the letters. Dale and his dad, Lee, ran the ground operations while Andy and I threaded our way through the power lines and bolted the letters on.
If you didn't catch it, the museum is going to open on May 31st. We won't be "done" by any means, but I think you will be impressed with the changes so far.
We have learned that the museum qualifies for the Senior Community Service Employment Program. That's a Federal program that pays people who qualify to work at certain jobs. What we hope to do is get a few people to man the museum this summer so we can cut down on the volunteer requirements. We already have one interested person, and we would like to have a couple more. The job pays minimum wage, and would entail being at the museum and performing a few light duties from 10 AM to 4 PM. We will try to be flexible on who works what days. To qualify, you must be 55 or older and have no more than a certain income ($9,865 for a family of one, $13, 265 for a family of two). If you qualify and are interested, please call me right away at 253-4582.
This does not mean that we won't need volunteers. We appreciate those who have expressed interest so far. This is a real head-scratcher as to just how to arrange scheduling while keeping all our options open. I hope you will all bear with us while we muddle our way through our first season.
5-22-97
Carlos Weed called me with a few details on the old brick school. He and it were born the same year: 1907. He started school there in 1914. The addition was started in the summer of 1922. That summer the basement was excavated and plumbing was installed - something the older part of the school didn't have. That fall, a cold snap hit, froze all the pipes, and caused them to burst. It must have been disappointing to have to continue using the outdoor toilets until new plumbing could be installed.
By 1957 the old school was in bad shape. A Boise engineer was called in to examine it. The following are snippets from the engineers report printed Adams County Leader, Dec 27, 1957:
"The Council grade school building is a composite of two buildings. The west half is a brick-veneered, wood frame structure approximately 50 years old. The veneer on the west wall has collapsed and been replaced with wood sheathing. The east half is approximately 40 years old. It has masonry (2-course) brick exterior walls . . . ."
"The interior of the entire building has been finished with wood lath and plaster. This has been replaced on most of the ceiling by acoustical fiber board."
Many of you probably read that part about lath and plaster without a second thought, but some of you younger readers may not know what lath a plaster walls and ceilings were. I say "were" because I don't know that it's ever done anymore. "Lath" was a subsurface made from strips of wood. Each strip was about 1 to 1 1/2" wide and almost a quarter inch thick or so. The lath strips were nailed to the studs and ceiling joists and spaced about a quarter inch or less apart. Plaster was then applied over the lath. The lath is what held the plaster to the wall or ceiling because some of the plaster oozed though between the wood strips to anchor it. I think plaster was put on in at least two coats - a "scratch" coat and a finish coat. Plastering used to be a trade in itself, and took some skill to do it right. Most old buildings have, or had, lath and plaster walls and ceilings. I'm not sure when it started being used, but drywall (sheetrock) has pretty much, if not completely, replaced lath and plaster. Drywall is much cheaper, more durable, and easier to install.
The engineer continued his report, referring to the two foot crawl space under the first floor and then to the foundation.
"The foundation wall under the west half is of stone and mortar is approximately 2 feet thick. There are stone and mortar pilasters 16 feet apart under the first floor beams. The mortar between the stones has almost completely deteriorated in the visible areas. It is possible to remove this mortar with very little effort since it is about the same consistency as damp sand. The exterior of the foundation above the ground line also shows signs of extensive deterioration. In several spots, the concrete can be scraped away with the bare hand."
Referring to the 8"X8" wood columns that supported the first floor: "Several columns are rotted at the ground line to the size of a 3"X3" member."
"The masonry on the exterior walls is in an advanced state of decomposition. The bricks are badly weathered and their surfaces are generally soft. The mortar between the brick is generally soft and it was noticed in some particular areas, is completely gone on the outside course of brick."
"Above the first floor windows on the south side, the masonry has bulged out to a severe degree. Since the inside wall appears unchanged, this displacement is no doubt in the outer course of brick only, which means that the two courses of brick have separated and rain water may be trapped in this area. If this should be the case, it would take very little freezing and thawing to completely disengage this part of the wall from the structure. Since this is one of the major bearing walls in the east half of the building, a failure in this area would cause a general collapse."
The engineer said a wall on the east end of the building was also leaning slightly: "Some of this displacement appears to be recent, and a wall failure in this area could be imminent."
The electric wiring was ". . . composed of cloth-insulated wires supported on porcelain split-knobs. . . ." ". . . this type of wiring is outdated and creates a definite fire hazard."
"In our opinion, the physical condition of the structure is such that a general failure could occur at any time. It is impossible to predict whether extensive collapse will occur immediately, or whether the structure might remain reasonably intact for a few more months or even a few more years. It is apparent that the building is structurally dangerous and far below reasonable standards of safety for a public building of this nature."
"We recommend that you take immediate action to condemn the building for further use in the interest of the safety of its occupants."
More next week.
Time is running short folks. We need volunteers to man the museum. We would like to get the first two weeks booked as soon as possible. The SCSEP program to pay people to be at the museum is not a sure thing at this point, and we want to be prepared. Please call Mary Sterner at 253-6963. If she's not home, give me a call (253-4582) and tell me what days and times would fit your schedule.
5-29-97
The old brick school was condemned and closed in December of 1957. The students had an extended Christmas vacation, then began classes on January 6, 1959. Since the old school could not be used, superintendent Jack Wing and a number of volunteers had to improvise. Books and other teaching supplies and equipment were hauled to locations all over the community. The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade classes were conducted in the Legion Hall, with "the split grade" at City Hall. The 4th, 5th and 6th grades were bused all the way to the Mesa school. The 7th and 8th grades were conducted in rooms in the high school.
(I've covered the story of the high school in a previous column. The short version is that the old brick school got very overcrowded, so a new high school was built in 1941. It stood on the same spot as the present Council High School. More on that later.)
Covering the story of the unique classroom locations, the Adams County Leader, January 10, 1958 reported: "The hot lunch program has been organized and is now functioning again with the IOOF hall being used as headquarters. by staggering the dinner hours, the hall has been most satisfactory. The hot lunches are also being transported to the Mesa school by means of private vehicles."
For those of you who aren't familiar with the old IOOF Hall. It stood where the east section of Shaver's is now. It was a two story building with a false front, built in 1905. I think most of us remember it as being white, but it was painted a dark color in it's early years.
Even as classes were first starting the scattered locations, the School Board was beginning to plan the construction of a new grade school. It was to be built, ". . . just south of the high school, on the property where the baseball diamond was formerly located. The new ball diamond will be located further south on the former Jim Winkler property." The cost of the new school was estimated at $176,576.00.
Everybody got through the remainder of the school year with classes in the odd locations. That fall, school started, using the same, or similar, places. Here's where my memories kick in again. I turned six years old in 1958. There was no kindergarten in Council then, so when I turned six I started school in the first grade. Our classroom was in the basement of the Legion Hall, in the southwest corner. Our teacher was Erma Armacost. One thing that stands out in my memory is the how the burning coal from the furnace smelled. That's not a very common smell anymore since few places heat with coal these days.
I'm not sure when the new grade school was finished and we moved to it, but the school was dedicated on February 28, 1959. The new building seemed very big and very nice.
Five years later the high school had become overcrowded. On May 18, 1964 local citizens voted on a "plant facilities fund levy". It was said that if the levy passed it would, ". . . provide for future expansion of the [high] school building or buildings without the necessity of an expensive bond sale." The levy failed. That October the levy became irrelevant when the high school burned to the ground. There were wild rumors that superintendent Wing had set the fire because he was so frustrated that the levy had not passed. The actual cause of the fire was never discovered.
For the second time in less than a decade, Council students attended classes all over town. I remember them using the Legion Hall, the IOOF Hall, and the Congregational church annex. There may have been more places, but I don't remember them. Incidentally, this was at least the third time that students attended classes all over Council. Before the old high school was finished in 1941, the old brick school had become so crowded that the high school kids went from building to building to attend classes.
Construction started on a new high school (the present one) in the spring or summer of 1965. As luck would have it, the building was finished in 1966, just as I was starting high school. It was as if every time I started attending another school they built a new on for me. Everything in the new high school was new - the desks, chairs, books, doors, walls, PE equipment, . . . everything. There was not a mark or a scratch anywhere.
Don't forget the museum is opening Saturday. Drop by between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m.. For this summer, the museum will be open those hours Tuesday through Saturday, and 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. on Sundays.
6-5-97
Carlos weed called me with a few details on the old brick school. He, and it, were born the same year: 1907. He started school there in 1914. The addition was started in the summer of 1922. That summer the basement was excavated and plumbing was installed – something the older part of the school didn't have. That fall, a cold snap hit, froze all the pipes, and cause them to burst. It must have been disappointing to have to continue using the outdoor toilets until new plumbing could be installed.
By 1957 the old school was in bad shape. A Boise engineer was called in to examine it. The following are snippets from the engineers report printed in the Adams County Leader, December 27, 1957.
After a structural inspection of the Council school by an engineering firm, the school board has condemned the building. A long report from Engineer Earl C. Reynolds, Jr. was printed, containing the following information.
The older part of the building was constructed in 1907. “The veneer on the west wall has collapsed and been replaced with wood sheathing. The east half is approximately 40 years old. It has masonry (two-course) brick exterior walls.”
"The interior of the entire building has been finished with wood lath and plaster. This has been replaced on most of the ceiling by acoustical fiberboard."
West half: “There are stone and mortar pilasters 16 feet apart under the first floor beams. The mortar between the stones has almost completely deteriorated in the visible areas. It is possible to remove this mortar with very little effort, since it is about the same consistency as damp sand.”
“The foundation wall under the East half is 18-inch concrete. These walls contain several flaws that allow water to seep in from the outside. In some areas the walls have exfoliated to a depth of 2 inches. No reinforcing was visible. The exterior of the foundation above the ground line also shows signs of extensive deterioration. In several spots, the concrete can be scraped away with the bare hand.” Some beams in the crawl space are partially rotted. The roof is metal placed over the original wood shingles.
“The masonry on the exterior walls is in an advanced state of decomposition. The bricks are badly weathered and their surfaces are generally soft. The mortar between the brick is generally soft and it was noticed in some particular areas, is completely gone on the outside course of brick. These areas are most evident on the south and east walls. The concrete window sills are badly deteriorated, particularly on the south side of the building.”
“Above the first floor windows on the south side, the masonry has bulged out to a severe degree. Since the inside wall appears unchanged, this displacement is no doubt in the outer course of brick only, which means that the two courses of brick have separated and rain water may be trapped in this area. If this should be the case, it would take very little freezing and thawing to completely disengage this part of the wall from the structure. Since this is one of the major bearing walls in the east half of the building, a failure in this area would cause a general collapse.”
“The masonry wall on the east end shows a leaning displacement of approximately 1 ½ inches at the top.” “Some of this displacement appears to be recent, and a wall failure in this area could be imminent.”
“The electrical wiring in the attic and the basement is exposed. It is composed of cloth-insulated wires supported on porcelain split-knobs attached to the floor and ceiling joists. Although there were no apparent breaks in the insulation, this type of wiring is outdated and creates a definite fire hazard.”
“The building is heated by a central, coal-burning furnace.” A recent inspection showed, “an increase in the size of the cracks at the east end of the stairway landing next to the east wall.”
“In view of the recent movements observed, it is entirely possible that failure of the masonry in this structure could occur at any time.”
“In our opinion, the physical condition of the structure is such that a general failure could occur at any time. It is impossible to predict whether extensive collapse will occur immediately or whether the structure might remain reasonably intact for a few more months or even a few more years. It is apparent that the building is structurally dangerous and far below reasonable standards of safety for a public building of this nature.”
“We recommend that you take immediate action to condemn the building for future use in the interest of the safety of its occupants.”
Many of you probably read the part about lath and plaster without a second thought, but some of you young readers may not know what lath and plaster walls and ceilings were. I say "were" because I don't know that it is ever done anymore. Lath was a subsurface made from strips of wood. Each strip was about 1 to 1 1/2 inches wide and almost a quarter inch thick or so. The lath strips were nailed to the studs and ceiling joists and spaced about a quarter inch apart. Plaster was then applied over the lath. The lath is what held the plaster to the wall or ceiling because some of the plaster oozed between the wood strips to anchor it.
Plaster was put on in at least two coats – a "scratch" coat and a finish coat. Plastering use to be a trade in itself, and took some skill to do it right. Most old buildings have, or had, lath and plaster walls and ceilings. I'm not sure when it started being used, but drywall (sheet rock) has pretty much, if not completely, replaced lath and plaster. Drywall is much cheaper, more durable, and easier to install.
6-12-97 Larry Kingsbury, the Payette National Forest Archaeologist, sent me a copy of a letter he ran across, and I thought some you might enjoy it. It is from a scout named Thomas Singleton. As usual, some of the handwriting is hard to read. Anything within brackets are my comments or questions. Eagle Eye, mentioned here, was considered the most prominent Shoshoni leader in this area.
"Fort Boise, I.T. [Idaho Territory] January 31st, 1869
"Sir,
"I have the honor to report that in compliance with Special Order No 4, dated [11th?] Ins. Fort Boise, I.T. January 18th 1869. I left this Post on the 19th inst. with Sergeant Howard, Privates Vernen of Co. "H" 23rd Infy. and 3 Indian Scouts provided with ten days rations and the necessary transportation, forage, etc., for the purpose of ascertaining if Eagle Eye and his Warriors were still in the vicinity of Middle Fork of the Weiser River, I.T.
19th - Marched ten miles, and Camped at Dry Creek.
20 - Marched twenty five miles, and camped at Stuarts Station, on the Payett [sic] River.
21st - Crossed the Payett River, and followed a trail leading due north, and camped at the head of Big Willow Creek - distance marched 30 miles.
22nd - Marched 30 miles, and camped at night on Crain Creek. The country through which we marched after leaving Big Willow Creek is very rough. The snow varying from 3 to 4 feet deep. At 7 O'clock P.M. it commenced snowing, and continued 3 hours with very cold wind from the north.
23 - Marched a few miles up Crain Creek, and came upon a trail which we followed all day, and which finally brought us into Eagle Eye's Camp, which is at the head of the South East Creek of the Weiser River, about forty miles from Crain Creek.
[This location would seem to be along the Little Weiser River east of Indian Valley.]
Eagle Eye's Camp is situated in a deep rivine. The country on the south side is very uneven, on the north side are the Weiser Mountains. The Indians having discovered us descending the hill signaled our coming by giving a few yells, and running from one lodge to another, for about five minutes when they all disappeared with the exception of one who proved to be Eagle Eye's second chief. He came out to meet us. I informed him that we were friends from Boise, and had come to visit Eagle Eye and his warriors. He then reached me his hand in token of friendship and passed 'round among the scouts. The leading the way, we advanced into camp when Eagle Eye and his band came out and bid us welcome. I found two white men living in the camp and that a third one lived there, but had gone down to the Settlement to purchase stores. I ordered the two remaining out of camp. I also ascertained that 10 warriors with 18 women and children (the most miserable party I ever beheld) arrived in Eagle Eye's camp on the 14th inst.
24th - Had conversation with Eagle Eye and his warriors and learned from them that the reason of Eagle Eye's not reporting at Fort Boise as he agreed at the time Col. Sinclair brought him in, was occasioned by these three white men above mentioned who it seems have been tampering with him. Eagle Eye promises faithfully that he will try his utmost to keep the white men away from their camp in future, and to report at Fort Boise every moon.
I gave the Indians that came into Eagle Eye's camp on the 14th inst. to distinctly understand that if any of them left camp at anytime, Eagle Eye's warriors would go out and kill them. They resolved to be submissive, and to accept Eagle Eye as their Big Chief."
I'll continue with this letter next week.
We now have two people to staff the museum for the summer. Bobby Darland and Mike Ward are being paid through a Federal program that aims to give senior citizens a toehold to get back into the work force. Please stop in and see the museum soon.
I just got back from Wenatchee, Washington where my daughter graduated from high school (with honors and in the top 10% or her class of 320 kids). We stopped in Coeur d'Alene to see Jeff Connaway. Since leaving Council he has developed quite a sign business there. He had to demonstrate his computer-operated sign machine for me, and in doing so, made the museum a nice sign for the front door with the hours the museum is open. Great guy!
Don't forget the home tour on the 21st. This is an oportunity to have a fun day and contribute to your community. What could be better?
6-19-97 First I need to apologize for the mix-up in my columns for the past couple weeks. In my rush to leave on my trip to Washington the same column got printed twice. I have one more column written about Council's schools that I will put in next week. In the mean time, here is the second half of Thomas Singleton's letter from January 1869:
"Twelve inches of snow fell during my 36 hours stay in [Eagle Eye's] camp.
25th - Left for Fort Boise, I.T. Owing to the quantity of snow that fell during my stay in Eagle Eye's camp, and not deeming it advisable to recross the country through which we came, on account of the increase of snow, I therefore concluded to take the road leading through the settlements. In passing through the upper Valley. I found the snow three feet deep and it was very difficult to keep the trail. Camped at the three Forks of the Weiser River twenty miles from Indian camp.
[The "settlements" must mean the new towns along the Weiser River, most of which started to be occupied by homesteaders just the previous spring (1868). The "upper Valley" refers to Indian Valley. The Council Valley was only occupied by Henry Childs, and possibly another bachelor or two. There were no wagon trails, much less roads, north of Indian Valley. "The three forks of the Weiser River" must refer to the Cambridge / Salubria vicinity, since that's where the Weiser is joined by Pine Creek and the Little Weiser.]
26th - Crossed the divide from the upper Valley to the Middle Valley. Snow from three to four feet deep. Camped on Mans [sic] Creek distance marched 16 miles.
27th - Marched from Mans Creek to the head waters of the lower Valley. Commenced raining at 3 O'clock PM and continued until dark, when we camped at the head of lower [obscured by National Archives stamp] marched 25 miles.
28th - Marched 32 miles and camped at Butter Milk Ranch.
29th - Marched 32 miles and camped at Stuart's Station on the Payett River
30th - Marched 12 miles and camped at [unclear] Burges [?] Payett Ranch
31st - Marched 28 miles and reached Fort Boise I.T. at 6 o'clock P.M.
Total distance marched 330 miles.
I am Sir,
very respectfully,
Your obdt. Servt.
Thomas Singleton,
Interpreter and
Chief of Scouts
To
The Post Adjutant
Fort Boise I.T."
I my column for two weeks ago but not printed I thanked the volunteers who acted as hosts at the museum during our opening week. But since they never saw it, THANK YOU! We couldn't have been open without you. As I said last week, we now have two people who are being paid (thru a Federal program) to be at the museum. This should mean that we won't need volunteers except for an occasional emergency. So if you scheduled a shift at the in advance, you won't need to do it now.
Another thank you goes to Dale Lyttle for the nice "Museum Entrance" sign out front. It looks great.
It's here folks - your chance to help the museum and have a good time. The home tour is Saturday from 9 AM to 5 PM. Last I heard, we hadn't sold enough tickets to even pay our printing costs. Please buy a ticket at U.S. Bank or the Frame Studio in Council, or at U.S. Bank or the Heartland Studio in Cambridge, or in New Meadows at Key Bank or Beyond the Trees, or in McCall at Key Bank or Krahns.
6-27-97
Bob Hagar wrote to me with some memories of the old Council school:
"Enjoyed your column in last week's Record about the old grade school. Since our family lived about a block from the school (three blocks when the snow was too deep to take the 'short cut'). I recall how some of us kids eagerly watched while the covered fire escape slide you mentioned in your column was being built on the north side of the building. The slide was wide and the bottom was lined with a piece of slick metal . . . and it was a test of a kid's athletic ability to try to crawl or walk up the slide. . . until somebody boarded up the bottom of the slide during the summertime. A few other memories about the old building follow. Why is it one always remembers the forbidden activities? Of course it was the 'other kids' who always did them:
-Finding the access to the 'attic' in the building and hiding out in the belfry or tampering with the bell so it couldn't be rung on time.
-During some of the winter power failures they would dismiss school if the temperature in the room dropped below a certain value, so as soon as the teacher would step out of the room for a few minutes, enterprising students would hang the thermometer out the window to hasten the process.
-When the snow would start to melt on the time roof it would create some great overhangs of snow and ice. A well thrown snow ball would bury an unsuspecting classmate who might be passing beneath.
-During one particularly severe winter the snow piled up so deep under the eves that the quickest exit from the building at recess or lunch would be to jump out the second story window after distracting the poor teacher.
-The ice on the steep steps on the west side of the building was great for sledding, except don't slip backwards as I did early one afternoon while in the second grade and then having to wait until nearly midnight until Doc Thurston got back into town so he could set and cast my broken arm.
-I wonder if anyone knows what happened to the swing sets and merry-go-round that were on the school grounds. As I recall they were ruggedly fabricated from heavy pipes and should survive today somewhere. Very heavy. It took a crew of several kids to carry the merry-go-round that from the school grounds to the middle of the highway 95 in front of the People's Theater on Halloween night."
-
I'm not sure what happened to the swing set. (Wasn't it in the park by the courthouse?) The County Commissioners just gave the merry-go-round to the museum. I thought maybe it was as old as the school (1907), but the date on it says 1928. It is heavy too. Roy Mocaby lifted it onto a trailer with his tractor so we could haul it off. It must have been quite a job for kids to carry to the highway. When the museum addition is done, we plan to put it on the grounds somewhere - either fixed up and working, or as a stationary "bench", depending on how safe we can make it and if the City approves.
Bob Hagar's memory about rigging the school bell reminds me of a story I once heard about a school bell at Garden Valley. The kids turned the bell upside down and filled it with fresh cow manure. When the teacher pulled the rope the next morning, the whole load came down on top of her or him.
Some time I'd like to collect stories about local Halloween pranks pulled in the past. If any of you care to write or call me about those, it might make an interesting column. Seems like I remember someone saying something about a wagon being taken apart and reassembled on top of Sam Criss's store where Shavers is now.
7-3-97---DIDN'T COPY THIS Column BECAUSE IT WAS MOSTLY QUOTES
7-10-97
Last week I quoted the Idaho Magazine from December 1905 as it outlined Council's attributes. I'll continue quoting from it, and add comments.
"Among its [Council's] engines of civilization is an inviting, three department school house, which tops Council Hill." This is the hill just north of downtown. It has been labeled with several names, but the one I'm most familiar with is "school house hill". This is the school that was replaced in 1907 by the brick school I've been writing about.
"Some 150 pupils are presided over by an able corps of teachers; Prof. G.F. Gregg, principal, who is admirably assisted by Mrs. Olive Freehafer and Miss Maud Peters." That's a lot of kids to put into what was a relatively small building!
Two of the teachers, George Gregg and Maud Peters married each other seven months after this article was published. Maud was the daughter of John Peters, an ambitious, Weiser businessman who built the first store in the Council Valley. After marrying Maud, George Gregg joined his father-in-law in running a couple of successive business here.
Gregg was later appointed as the first probate judge in Adams County. He is shown in the well-known picture of the first County officials in 1911. (This picture is currently on display on the outside wall of the Bill Winkler's sheriff's office in the museum.) In this photo Gregg looks very gaunt. The reason is that he had tuberculosis. He died from it only three years later, in 1914.
The other teacher, Olive Freehafer would have been a relative of our former Senator, Jim McClure.
"The Congregational Church is an architectural gem, as also is its parsonage, structures which together represent an outlay of at least $2,500, and the soul's health of this community is zealously looked after by the members of this denomination." Neither of these buildings are standing today. The article refers to the old Congregational church that was demolished and replaced by the present church in 1950. The old church sat where the church's parking lot is now. The parsonage was torn down just a year or two ago.
"The I.O.O.F. have recently erected a $3,500 building, one of the most commanding and pretentious in the town. Fraternally the place is well represented by the I.O.O.F. [Odd Fellows], Rebecahs, K.O.F.M., L.O.T.M., and United Artisans." I've written about the Odd Fellows Hall that stood where the eastern section of Shaver's is now. The tall, false-front building was a landmark in Council for many years. I have to wonder if the K.O.F.M. was a misprint and should have been K.O.T.M. (Knights of the Macabes). I don't know what L.O.T.M. was unless it was a ladies' auxiliary to the K.O.T.M. I don't have a clue about the United Artisans.
"The Advance [newspaper], since 1901, has jealously guarded the interests of all this section and has proven a potent factor in its moral and material advancement. Its founder and conductor meanwhile has been L.S. Cool." Levi S. Cool's brother, Fred Cool may have been better known than Levi was. Fred was Dale Donnelly's partner for many years in the Cool and Donnelly Feed Store. It sat about where the public restrooms are now, south of the town square.
The list of Council's businesses reflects the differences in the area's economy and needs compared to the present. "On Council's commercial, industrial and professional calendar we find six general stores, one drug store, one planing mill, three saw mills, one harness shop, one hotel, three livery stables, three blacksmith shops, three restaurants, one bakery, one jeweler, two millinery stores, one newspaper, one physician, two attorneys, one meat market, two barber shops, four saloons, two stage lines, one lodging house, four contractors, builders and carpenters."
7-17-97 I forgot last week to thank Terri McFadden Ellsworth for the "Time Out" doll she made to raise money for the museum. It was really cute. Terri is a alumnus of Council High School from the days when I walked those halls. Her doll was auctioned off in the park on the 4th, and, unfortunately, it only brought a fraction of what the dolls regularly sell for. We really appreciate all the work she did in making the doll.
Bruce Addington's daughter, Carolyn Addington McDonald loaned the museum several old, family photo albums so we could copy any photos we wanted from them. Thanks Carolyn!
Dave Mink came through with some Mesa Applesauce cans with labels on them! Thanks Dave! This seems to me what the museum is all about: preserving things like these labels that are so unique and meaningful to this area. We're still looking for a Meadows Valley Pea label.
Dave also loaned us some old letters from Mesa that he was given. They are so interesting that I thought you might like to read parts of them. For those of you who are new to the area, Mesa Orchards was one of the biggest orchards in the Northwest. Some claimed it was the biggest in the world. It was spread out over the rolling hills around the present site of Mesa, about eight miles south of Council.
The letters were all written in 1930, the beginning of the Great Depression, so many of them concern overdue bills.
One such letter is from William Lemon, the editor of the Adams County Leader. It is actually dated Dec. 1, 1929:
"E.G. [Enderse Van Hoesen]: Taxes and other items are causing me to squirm a little and a check will be appreciated at this time. I did not send the bill to Edwin Snow for publication of the Mesa Sheep Co. dissolution notice. It was $9.00. I can send it to him if necessary. Lemon."
The Van Hoesen family operated the orchards at the time, along with H.J. Woodmansee. I believe Enderse was the Secretary / Treasurer for the Company. One of the letter heads still in use in 1931 says "Van Hoesen and Seymour". Charles Seymour was killed in a fire at Mesa in December of 1920, and off the top of my head, I don't know if another Seymour was involved in the orchards after that.
Many of the letters are to or from "Reilly Atkinson & Company, Inc." of Boise. Apparently the orchards bought many of their supplies from them. One letter contains revealing details about the operation:
"Gentlemen: The writer was sorry to have missed you when he called on you at Mesa the other day. No doubt your brother has given you the inventory as shown on our books. You will note from this inventory you are considerably back on your payments as per our contract for this year. Briefly, our records show - bushel tub baskets - 65,197 - which is approximately eight cars of baskets and you inventory on this item as of last Thursday was approximately 600 dozen, making you short on your payments in the neighborhood of $10,290.00 covering approximately seven cars."
"Our records show you have on hand - 19" corrugated caps - 79,399 but you actually have not over three or four thousand on hand, as of last Thursday, making a shortage on payments on this item of approximately $1,080.00."
"As to Liners, our records show - bushel Hiat Liners - 100,299 - whereas you have on hand three or four thousand, making a shortage of payments on this item approximately $2,220.00. The above makes a grand total amounting to $13,590.00 which has not been reported by you, but which has been used."
The above, with the notes which we hold, amounting to $13,500.00, plus merchandised invoiced to you on direct shipments and items out of our Payette stock, also the two shipments of paper, all totaling $3,349.74 makes a grand total owing to us by you of $30,439.74 which is entirely too much for you to be owing us at this time of the year Our agreement was that you were to pay for merchandise used and you were to remit to us each week. We realize that you have been away for some time and no doubt have gotten behind in your payments, but we want you to know the exact status of your account, as it is a very serious matter with us. We have our trade acceptances coming due each day and we are needing money very badly to take care of our own obligations."
"Assuming these figures are correct we see no reason why you can not make additional remittances at this time as the total owing us is much greater tan the merchandise which you have actually on hand."
More next week.
I just found out that the Indian Valley Community Church is 100 years old this year, and there will be an open house on August 2nd and 3rd. I'll have more information on this next week.
The biggest news is that this week we are finally advertising bids for the museum addition! I don't have many details at the moment, but things are going to be moving rapidly very soon.
7-24-97
The thing that makes history interesting is how it relates to the way things are now. One example of this is the Indian Valley Community Church. It is 100 years old this year, and an open house will be taking place on Saturday and Sunday, August 2nd and 3rd, to celebrate the centennial of this local institution. The church will be open from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM on Saturday (the 2nd). Then on Sunday the regular services will start at 10:00 AM and last until 12:30. Following the services there will be a potluck dinner.
The church was originally built nearby on land donated by Sylvester Haworth (Mrs. John Manning's father). Mr. Haworth also gave the community an acre for the Indian Valley Cemetery.
Construction on the church was started in 1897, but it was not completely finished because the cost was more than had been estimated. A $400 interest-free loan was obtained in the fall of 1898 to finish the building. That may not sound like a lot of money by modern standards, but at average wages of one dollar for a ten-hour day, that would be roughly the equivalent of $32,000 today. (That's figuring an eight-hour day at $10 per hour times 400.) The loan was finally paid off 68 years later.
The Deacons of the church in 1897 are listed as: J. Alva Steward, Andy Lay, J.W. Hildereth, H.J. Imler, David Hutchinson, Mrs. Harriet Hutchinson, Mrs. Gray, and Marquetta Byers.
For most of its existence, the church has had only temporary pastors. Records show that in 1902, a lay minister named Boylan was paid $100 to shepherd the congregation for one year. The money was raised through pledges. Again the relative value of money at the time is noticeable, as many of the pledges were for 25 or 50 cents. What must have seemed like a very expensive bell was purchased for the church about that time by A.J. Huddleson of Cambridge for $68.40.
Reverend Howard Stover, who came to the Congregational Church in Council in 1905 and left in 1914, also pastored the Indian Valley church for several years. It was very popular in those days for every community to have a band. Under Reverend Stover's supervision, one was organized at Indian Valley. The band's 14 members consisted of 13 young men: Thomas and Clarence Hutchinson, Ellis Snow, Earl Byers, Willard, Jess and Albert McDowell, Tilford Lindsay, Roy and Jim Hern, Phillip, and Bob and Paul Ware - and one girl: Orrill Lewis.
Early records of the church are sketchy. It was incorporated October 13, 1913. The next year the church was moved to its present location. It was put on skids and pulled by an astonishing 25 teams of horses! This must have been quite an event, and taken more than a little horsemanship.
The land for the new location was donated by Jim and Flora Linder.
At some point, the Pastor of the church was the one who held the mortgage, and the land where the church had formerly been was given to him to clear the debt. He later sold the property to Tom Murphy.
Records from 1916 on are almost nonexistent. It is known that two American Sunday School Missionaries - a Mr. Chandler and a Mr. McKay - worked in the Indian Valley area.
There was a period when attendance at the church was very low. During this time, Hildred Manning, Hazel Johnson, and their daughters walked to church every Sunday to keep the Sunday School open.
In the spring of 1949 there seemed to be a revival of interest in the church. Money was raised for repairs. The place where the "annex" was pulling away from the main auditorium was fixed, and the building was painted.
One of the more interesting fix-ups was replacing the two front doors which were damaged during what must have been a wild a dance one night.
The first couple on record as being married in the church was Lucille Manning and Richard Higgins in 1952. As part of the wedding preparations, the bride's parents bought new wall paneling for the church, and it was installed by Duane Borror, a youth pastor from Cambridge.
By 1955 the floor was so worn in one place that it was feared that someone might fall through it. Again, money was raised and a crew of local men spent three days putting in a new floor.
I'll have more on the Indian Valley Community Church next week.
The initial blueprints for the museum addition are at the museum for anyone who cares to look at them.
7-31-97 The story of the church in fairly recent times is mostly one of repair and improvement to the building and its facilities. In every case, it took hard work and dedication on the part of local people.
In 1955 a memorial fund was started. Among other projects, it paid for new windows and casings.
When the Baptist church in Cambridge bought new pews, the Indian Valley church bought their old ones for $80.00. At one point the foundation of the church had settled badly. It took more than two years to raise the money to repair it.
There was a great deal of trouble getting the deed to the church settled. It took about 30 years to get everything straightened out.
In 1970 a furnace was installed. At some point, Jolaine Huey and her class cleaned up a room in the upstairs of the annex. A stairway was built to it, and it was converted it into a classroom. Other improvements over the years include a new vestibule, new doors, a cross, and pew seat covers.
In 1985 & '86 a fellowship room, kitchen and bathrooms were added. The added rooms had "modern day", low-maintinance siding, and an on-going effort is being made to side the entire building with it. In 1986 & '87 water was piped to the church. This added a very big convenience. In 1987 & '88 the sidewalks were expanded.
This year Malcolm Huey bought a organ at an auction and gave it to the church.
The work on the church is, of course, an on-going effort. The belfry has been repaired three times over the years, and is in need of work again. The floor in one part of the sanctuary is starting to sag.. The chimney needs to be torn down and the wall straightened. The roof and the ceiling need work. If the past is any indication, these projects, and more, will be accomplished by people with the same kind of spirit and dedication that has been evident at Indian Valley since pioneer days.
One of the most enjoyable parts of my researching local history has been reading old newspapers. To finish out this weeks column, here are a few of my notes concerning Indian Valley from the newspapapers:
Idaho Citizen, Oct 30, 1891 - New Post office established at Isaac McMahan's store in Indian Valley called Alpine. Lucy McMahan - postmaster.
Salubria Citizen, Feb 24, 1899 –
The stage will now leave Weiser at 7 a.m., railroad time, and arrives at Salubria at 2 p.m. "The time for the trip from Meadows to Weiser is 27 hours. This will cause the stage to make the trip from Indian Valley to Meadows in the night."
Weiser Signal, Jan 28, 1905 - The Dale literary society debated the Indian Valley literary society.
Council Leader, Jan 1, 1909 - Middle Valley has 25 phones. Indian Valley has 27.
Council Leader, Sept 9, 1910 - A.E. Hinke to build hotel in Indian Valley 30' X 56'
Council Leader, Aug 1, 1912 - "As many as 20 wagon loads of people from Indian Valley, Cambridge and other points have passed through here yesterday and today on their way to the hills north of town after huckleberries."
Council Leader, Aug 22, 1912 - The Indian Valley Post office and telephone exchange have been moved from the A.M. Henke building to the IOOF hall.
Council Leader, Dec 11, 1914 - "...new road directly west from village of Indian Valley and connecting with the public road at the Richland school house." A new concrete and steel bridge across the Little Weiser River will save miles.
Council Leader, Feb 19, 1915 - Phone lines are hooked directly to Indian Valley now "and we can talk to our neighbors to the south at 15 cents per talk instead of 40 cents, as heretofore."
Council Leader, Sept 10, 1915 - New school room at Indian Valley.
You may have noticed that some demolition is happening on the south side of the museum to get ready for the addition. By the time you read this, the bids on the job will have been opened. I will announce the contractor next week.
8-7-97 First, the big news. After five years of work and frustration, the plans for the addition to the museum are finally starting to become more than a dream. The job will be done by McAlvain construction.
Many of you remember, or still know, Doug and Sarina McAlvain. They used to live at Fruitvale, and they still have a weekend house there. (It was on the home tour.) Doug told me some time back that he would build the addition for the money we had available, and he would donate whatever it cost him over that. Torry McAlvain (Doug's son) has been planning the project along with Clinton Yaka (who married Tuesday McAlvain) of BRS Architects in Boise.
I couldn't say much about this until now because we were legally obligated to advertise for bids, even though we couldn't imagine anyone underbidding McAlvain Construction. Their company was the one and only bidder. Construction should start any day!
My writing about Mesa Orchards got sidetracked because of the Indian Valley Church doings, but now I'll get back to it.
There are several names in the old records Dave Mink loaned me that are mentioned as having apples packed or shipped by the Mesa Company, or who bought baskets, etc.: Tom Nichols, Charles Lappin, Stephan Nock (Mesa), Phil Bury (Mesa), Gray Brothers (Mesa), Frank Messing (Mesa), A.H. Keckler, Clyde Rush (Mesa), H.L. Brooks, a Mr. Dahlgren, Hoover, I.L. Thurston, Wing, Walling.
Other items from the old Mesa files:
A bill from Reilly Atkinson & Co. of Boise lists three 8 foot ladders and two 10 foot ladders at 50 cents per foot - twenty 10 foot, and six 12 foot "Larson" ladders at 48 cents per foot.
A hand-written letter from Kenneth Harrington dated Nov. 13, 1930: "Dear Sir, I have never received my check for the last apple picking. I left my name and address so the check could be mailed to me. I am sure it has been overlooked." The letter is written in pencil, as are many of the other documents. It must have been much easier to write with them instead of the old fountain pens or other types of pens. A note at the bottom, in different handwriting, says,"mail check - $19.28" and below it, "check mailed 11/22/30".
Another letter: "January 18, 1930 - Mr. Henry Heimsoth, Council, Idaho - Dear Mr. Heimsoth: We believe that we have a bay horse of yors down at our barn and we will appreciate it if you will come up and see if it is yours because if it isn't we want to advertise this horse at once. Very truly yours, Mesa Orchard Company."
And another, unsigned letter from the orchards, concerning Lost Valley Reservoir: "April 10, 1930 - Mr. Ed Holbrook, Tamarack, Idaho - Dear Mr. Holbrook: I am enclosing a few post cards which you can fill out and send to me after you make a trip to the reservoir. Keep track of your time and we will adjust it with you. I do not think it is necessary to go over more than three times a week until the water gets up to the concrete part in the spillway. Would like to get it about half way up on the concrete before opening the gate very much so that we can be sure of filling the reservoir. If there isn't much change perhaps you had better shut the gate again."
You may know that the Mesa Company had the reservoir built so that they could trade water rights from it for water rights from Middle Fork. Just what their involvement was in the management of the reservoir, I don't know, but they evidently kept a close eye on it at this time. I seem to remember seeing the Van Hoesen name on old Lost Valley Reservoir Company documents.
A letter from Holbrook about this time said, "I went over to the dam yesterday and I had some time getting over from Strawberry. It took 7 hours to make the trip. There was a lot of snow on the north slopes. The water stood at 1770. I will go over again tomorrow and that will give me some idea how fast it is raising."
8-14-97 More from the 1930 Mesa Orchards file cabinet.
There are a number of letters similar to the one from Harry J. Deally & Co. of Pittsburgh that begins, "We would be pleased to represent you in this immediate territory as to the sale of any fruits or vegetables you may have to offer in car lots." Others like it in the file are from dealers in New Orleans, Cincinnati, Minneapolis, Milwaukee, New York, Dallas, Houston Tulsa, Los Angeles, Chicago, Atlanta, Memphis, Kansas City, and St. Louis.
A letter from Mesa states: "The Mesa Orchard Company grew and shipped a total of 265 cars of fruit during the past season. Five cars of the above consisted of pears and eighteen cars of peaches, leaving a balance of 242 cars straight apples. Our fruit this season will be sold through the Federated Fruit & Vegetable Growers, Inc. of new York City."
In letters referring to a financial statement, total assets of the Mesa Company are listed at $438,286.68. $197,828.45 of that amount was the value of buildings, the tramway, machinery and equipment, leaving $240,464.23 worth of land and fruit trees. Liabilities totaled $111,858.09 most of which was not in the form of bank loans, but "carried in the east on a long term proposition."
Mrs. Albert Campbell wrote: "Would you please ship a box of Delicious apples to my sister, Mrs. Henry Fouts, 501 West Lincoln St., Clarinda, Iowa. I want choice apples, but not the extra large size. I hope they are not all gone. Please send them by express, C.O.D. I am enclosing a check for you to fill out for the price of the apples."
Another letter asking apples to be mailed came from the Council Pharmacy. The letterhead says, "Council Pharmacy, The Rexall Store - A.E. Alcorn, Proprietor - Drugs, Tobaccos, Stationery, School Supplies".
Another Council business that wrote to Mesa is one that you may be less familiar with. The letterhead reads, "Council Box and Lumber Co. - Manufacturers of Pondosa Pine & Box Shooks". According to an invoice in the file, the Orchards bought "88 bundles Tops and Bottoms" from the company. The sawmill operated by this company was located just north of the old "stock yards" in the west part of town. A big cement foundation used for the sawmill's machinery still sits in June Ryals's back yard.
Joseph Carr represented the "New Zealand Insurance Company, Limited". A letter from Carr billed the Orchards for a policy covering $3,000 worth of merchandise in the company store. Coincidentally, Carr was also a pioneer fruit grower in this area. He is credited as being one of the people who started the fruit industry here, and was the originator of the name "Mesa Orchards".
A loan agreement in the file from the Continental Oil Company lists a "T-176 G&B hand operated visible pump", along with hose, nozzle, a "Conoco advertising globe" and three "60-gallon Bennett Hi-boys".
A letter from United States Cold Storage Company of Kansas City, Mo. begins, "Dear Mr. Van Hoesen: Perhaps you remember our conversation in regard to the motion picture film of your orchard operations. I would like very much to run this picture in our booth at the Apple Show to be held in Kansas City, December 11th and 12th of this year. I am sure it would be of great interest to the attending growers, and it would also advertise your product on this market. If you can conveniently send me the film I shall take good care of it and promise to return it immediately after the show." Van Hoesen wrote back, "I have just returned from a two weeks trip to the coast where Mrs. Van Hoesen is now recuperating from an operation." "It certainly would have been fine to have shown the movies of our operations here at Mesa at the Apple Show. However, there is no way of getting the films back from you in time. They would have to go by parcel post air mail and on account of our train service the parcel would arrive in Kansas City too late. However, if you desire the film at any other time, please let me know and I will send them to you."
Those films may still be somewhere on a shelf. The chances of us getting copies of them may be slim, but wouldn't they be priceless? Drennan Lindsay tells me that Enderse Van Hoesen's daughter, Beth (Mrs. Mark Adams) is living in San Francisco. Drennan said she thinks Mynderse Van Hoesen's son, David, is also living in that area. If anyone out there has more information on how to contact these people, or about the films mentioned, please contact me.
8-21-97 Awhile back Bobbie Darland brought a jar to the museum. It has a label on it that reads: "Council Valley Brand Dill Pickles - One Quart - Packed by J.R. Finn & Sons - Council, Idaho. On the jar's green label is a drawing of a mountain valley in which several Indians are gathered. One of the Indians, wearing a war bonnet, is holding up a jar. The jar on which the label is glued is an ordinary Kerr canning jar. This is the first I had ever heard of the Finns marketing dill pickles. If anyone has more information about these pickles, let me know.
I know Ralph Finn was an interesting person, and I think he made goose calls, among other things. It might be interesting to do an exhibit around him some time if we can gather enough interesting items. If anyone has some memorabilia of Ralph's that they would like to donate, bring it by the museum. If we get enough interest, we might like to take a few things on loan too. I don't know where Eunice Finn moved to, but if anyone knows her well enough to ask her about items she might be willing to donate or loan . . . .
Along the line of labels, I still haven't heard anything about a Meadows Valley Pea can label. I heard that Bob Rumiser may have had a can with the label on it a few years back. I guess Bob has passed on, but maybe this will give someone out there a place to start looking.
Some of you may have read an article about our museum in the Argus Observer a few weeks ago. It had a lot of mistakes in it, but they say any publicity is good publicity.
I'll finish up with a couple more items from the Mesa file. On Feb 5, 1930 Enderse VanHoesen wrote a letter to the "General Insurance Company of America" agent in Weiser: "We had a fire on December 10th around noon which destroyed our boiler-house. You are probably aware of the fact that we were washing apples at the time and since our water supply was shut off we were compelled to use a portable electric motor and pump to pump water to the boiler. This portable outfit we use for irrigation purposes and for other work dealing with our orchard business." He went on to list the prices of a pump and electric motor that was lost in the fire. The total loss was $85.
As I mentioned before, many of the letters in the files concerned debts owed by Mesa. The most interesting one was from the "Stubbs Electric Company" of Portland. At the top of the letter, a straight pin is stuck through he paper. The letter reads, "Gentlemen: Here's a pin. Looks a good deal like any other pin -- doesn't it? But it isn't an ordinary 'common or garden variety' pin. It is a really and truly magic pin. It will relieve you of a lot of bother, and us a lot of worry. It will set you square with us, and help us square up with the other fellow -- so be careful don't lose it. Better be sure of it and play safe, for it is the pin you will want to use to attach your check to this letter in payment of your balance as of January 31st which amounted to $14.95. Thank you for the check. No charge for the smile we hope you get out of this little letter."
Below the signature of the credit manager is typed, "P.S. Please hurry. We want to use the magic pin on another fellow."
Straight pins used to be used a lot instead of paper clips, and they worked very well to hold papers together. I suppose they were a little painful once in a while if you handled them wrong.
A letter to Myderse VanHoesen from Martin Calwhite of Weiser on May 15, 1930: "Dear Friend, This is a confidential letter to you. Sanford Becktel worked for me about 2 mos. I find him very crooked and can't be trusted. I think he has gone to Mesa to get work of you. Mr. Williams the Banker here will tell you the same. I feel you are a friend of mine is the reason for letting you know. P.S. He is a penitentiary bird."
As I write this, nothing has been done on the museum addition except for demolition work that I did with help from a few guests of our county jail. They were great help by the way, and we appreciate it. Hopefully we'll see big things happen on the addition soon.
8-28-97 About a month ago I quoted from articles the Idaho Magazine from December 1905 about the Council area. I got sidetracked by other subjects, but I want to come back to that magazine because it gives such a detailed picture of life in this area that year.
One paragraph said, "Alluring indeed are the inducements hereabouts for the establishment of a woolen mill as at least 200,000 head of sheep are grazed in the environs of Council; and excelsior factory, for dense and almost incalculable is the growth of cottonwood in all the country side. And this balm or cottonwood, it has been demonstrated by experiment, makes the finest kind of pulp for wrapping and printing papers, and excelsior for mattress stuffing amid for packing purposes."
Why the writer jumped from sheep to cottonwood trees in one sentence eludes me. My dictionary says "excelsior" is "fine curled wood shavings used especially for packing fragile items". I would assume that cottonwood trees must have covered much of the valleys along local rivers before fields were cleared. I know this was the case along the West Fork, plus there were great masses of brush.
"Apples grown in this region are distinguished as among the finest and most delicately flavored of any grown in the United States. Moreover, it is noteworthy of all fruits produced here that they are absolutely free from all worms or other pests. Tempting opening here also for a bank, a creamery, a laundry, an electric light and power plant, a foundry and flouring mill. There is an exceptional opportunity for the founding of a horse ranch hereabouts and the introduction of blooded cattle and horses in is needed."
As far as a bank was concerned, the "First Bank of Council" was being planned at least a month before this issue of the magazine was printed. The Nov 18, 1905 issue of the Council Leader said, "A bank for Council is an assured fact. The directors for the first year are C.M. Jorgans, J.F. Lowe, Frank Hahn, Isaac McMahan, and John Ennis." The bank had no building in which to do business as yet, but rented half of the first floor of the Odd Fellows Hall. Harry Criss rented the other half for his store. The bank opened on February 1, 1906.
In April of 1909, Jim Winkler got the contract to build a new building for the bank. By September the building was completed. It is still standing and very familiar to everyone here as the present Drug Store. Apparently the bank moved into one half of the building in 1909, and Sam Criss used the other half as a general merchandise store.
This was a boom period for Council, and the area was growing faster than anyone could keep track. In February of 1910 Council got a second bank. The "Council State Bank" opened in a small building belonging to William Fifer. It was located about where Shaver's parking lot is today. Fifer ran a jewelry store there for many years. Being a "jeweler" in those days usually involved watch and clock repair. A clock that Fifer made, or at least sold, is hanging in the Adams County Courthouse, and still works.
When the big fire of 1915 destroyed much of downtown Council, the cement walls of the First Bank of Council (the present drug store) were what stopped the flames from spreading farther west.
The First Bank of Council failed in January of 1926. This infamous event is well remembered by older members of our community. Whenever the subject of the failure of the bank comes up, the name N.H. Rubottom immediately surfaces. Because he was the bank president, he was blamed for the failure and the consequent loss of money by many people here. Rubottom was arrested and charged with embezzlement of $1300. The atmosphere in Council was so heated that the trial was moved to Weiser. He was found not guilty, but never came back to Council.
In January of 1940 the Adams County Bank opened in the former First Bank of Council building (drug store). Before that time, the building had been used by the Howell Company as a furniture display area. A doorway was cut through the cement wall "to allow entrance from the store". In the back of the "Elite Repeats" store, there is now a vault door with "Adams County Bank" written on it. This vault door was moved there from the old bank next door.
In 1941 the building that is now the Council Valley Market was built, and the Adams County Bank moved into half of it. The other half became the Golden Rule store. I remember that store still being in business in the late 1950s or early 1960s. The first bank in my memory here was the Idaho First National, located in what is now the dry goods department of Shaver's. If I remember right, it went from there to the present bank site.
As I write this the museum board hasn't decided how much longer the museum will be open this fall. The program for our paid employees runs out at the end of August, so we are going to need volunteers to host the museum until it closes.
9-4-97 I would like to thank Phil Soulen for calling me with Beth Van Hoesen's address and phone number. Phil's father was a brother of Enderse Van Hoesen's wife, Freda. I'm going to see if she, or some of the other family members has any photos or other memorabilia from Mesa that they would be willing to share with our community.
Since I've been writing about Mesa, and because of a lack of time to write lately, I'm going to review some of what I've already written in this column about the local fruit industry.
Early settlers in the Council area tried to be as self sufficient as possible. This was partly because they were so far from any place to buy things even if they had a way to generate cash to make such purchases. But they also had a strong sense of individualism and independence that lingers in some of their descendants to this day. Whatever they could not or would not buy they either made, grew, or got by without.
Naturally food production was basic to their survival, and they tried growing a wide variety of crops. Early favorites were corn and beans. In the early 1890s one traveler through the valley noted that these two vegetables were being planted in almost every field. Sugar cane was grown here very early on, and later, in the 1920s and 1930s, sugar beets were a popular crop. Just after 1900 peanuts and tobacco were grown in Washington County (which included Council at the time), but this was probably in warmer climates closer to Weiser.
One agricultural endeavor that was an early and immediate success here was fruit; especially apples. George Moser and George Winkler planted the first fruit trees in the Council Valley at about the same time, around 1880. Winkler was the first to actually harvest any fruit.
Although many early settlers grew a few fruit trees for their own use William and Dora Black, who settled on Hornet Creek about 1888, are generally credited with starting the first commercial orchard in the county. The Black place is now the Gossard Ranch. Samples of fruit from the Black's orchard took a prize at the Chicago World's Fair in 1893, and some of their fruit was even sent to London and Paris for exhibition.
Even though local fruit was of high quality the market was mostly limited to local sales for lack of a timely means of transporting it. This changed with the arrival of the railroad at Council in 1901. By 1904 B.B. Day, who now owned the Black place on Hornet Creek, was shipping apples to markets as distant as Walla Walla and Nampa. The next year, he was sending apples to Chicago by the railroad car full, and area farmers were beginning realize that there was money to be made in fruit. By the end of 1905 about 5,000 new fruit trees had been planted in the Council area. The same number of trees were planted here in the spring of 1906.
Other fruit pioneers in the Council area about this time were A.E. Wiffin, Seward Piper, Morgan Gifford, Eliza Sorenson, and Joseph Carr. These orchards were on the slopes just east of town. Carr, who arrived here in 1903, is credited by some as initiating the fruit growing boom in the Council Valley. In 1907 he took an exhibit of apples to the National Horticultural congress at Council Bluffs, Iowa, and brought home seven silver cups as prizes, plus a number of medals and ribbons. At least one of these cups, along with others won between 1907 and 1909, are in the Council Valley Museum.
That same year (1907) local fruit men organized the Council Valley Fruit Growers Association. They encouraged the planting and promotion of commercial orchards, and triggered a dynamic chapter in Council's history.
By 1908 there were about 175 acres of young fruit trees growing in the Council area. The Growers Association sent an exhibit to the Boise fair, and won 22 first prizes and 8 second prizes on their apples. And apples were again sent to the National Horticultural Congress in Council Bluffs, Iowa where they won 17 prizes.
Suddenly, orchards were the rage in the area, and it seemed that everyone was jumping onto the band wagon. Local business men came up with a logo depicting a red apple accompanied by the slogan "The Home of the Big Red Apple" which was placed on envelopes, banners, and other promotional material. A corporation called the "Washington County Land and Development Company" was organized to promote the development of the Council Valley.
The editor of the Council Leader newspaper championed the cause by bragging, ". . . Council Valley possesses a peculiar climatic condition which worms cannot become climated to." He also claimed, "An apple failure on account of frost is something that has never been known of here."
In the spring of 1909, about 20,500 young fruit trees were shipped to the Council Valley to be planted. The Forest Service even joined in the frenzy by designating the Stevens Ranger Station near the East Fork of the Weiser River as an experiment station where various fruit trees were to be grown to determine which varieties were best adapted for the local climate.
9-11-97 The most ambitious fruit-growing plan of all in 1909 was a project that would eventually be called the "Mesa Orchards Company". The goal was nothing less than the biggest orchard in the United States to be planted on a mesa eight miles south of Council. There was already a post office at this location in 1908, under the name "Middle Fork". The name of the post office wasn't changed to "Mesa" until 1912.
J.J. Allison started the idea for Mesa Orchards in 1908. He had searched all over the West for five years for just such a place. The land he found south of Council was being dry farmed without much success by several homesteaders. Allison interested eastern investors, and organized the Weiser Valley Land & Water Company which purchased several thousand acres from the homesteaders. The company then sold ten acre parcels to individual investors at $400 to $500 per acre. For that price, the company would plant fruit trees, care for them for five years, plus pay 3% interest on the buyer's investment. After five years, the owner could operate independently, or the company would continue to do the work for 10% of the net profit from the land. The company would also build a house for the buyer at what it cost the company for "materials, labor, and supervision".
Construction on Mesa projects actually began in 1909. Some tree planting was done in 1910, but irrigation was not adequate, and most of the trees died. An ambitious scheme was devised whereby they would take irrigation water for the orchard out of the Middle Fork of the Weiser River. The only problem was that all the water rights to this river had already been taken. Their solution was to build a $50,000 dam on Lost Creek, about 25 miles to the north, where they could obtain water rights. They would then trade this reservoir water for water they would take from the Middle Fork. But before a single drop of water could be put on the Mesa Company's land an elaborate, seven-mile-long, wooden flume would have to be built to convey the water from the Middle Fork, plus several miles of ditches (at an estimated cost of $300,000) would have to be dug. Water was hauled in barrels on wagons until the irrigation system was finally completed in 1911.
By the fall of 1909 the Lost Valley Reservoir dam had been completed and Council Valley fruit had won several more top prizes at the Horticultural Congress in Council Bluffs. The Mesa Company had ordered 80,000 nursery trees to set out the following spring, was building a sawmill on the Middle Fork to cut lumber for the flumes, and had 100 men employed digging ditches.
Also in 1909 a new townsite was established about seven miles north of Council. In keeping with the local trend of the day it was called "Fruitvale", and most of the streets were named after apple varieties. The name "Fruitvale" was the idea of Lucy McMahan. There was also a division of Weiser named Fruitvale at the time.
Mentioning Lucy McMahan reminds me to get on my soapbox about misspelled street names. As you know, it irritates me that the street in town named after the first family who settled here, the Mosers, is spelled "Mosher" Avenue. Now they have named a lane at Fruitvale after the McMahans and spelled it "McMahon". (#*'~@!!!! )
Profits on investments in apples in 1909 were said to be $100 per acre on six year old trees, and $600 per acre on 10 to 12 year old trees. Peaches, pears, plums, grapes and prunes were also becoming popular. And strawberries were a favorite, yielding $500 to $900 per acre to the grower. Considering how fast and loose promoters played with facts and figures it is anyone's guess as to what the actual profits were.
The desire of investors and homesteaders to get in on this type of money-making band wagon produced a multitude of land schemes during this general time period. A popular practice of promoters was to buy land cheap, plant fruit trees, then sell tracts at high prices to people from the east who had idealistic visions of a homestead in the great western outdoors. Thousands of acres were exploited in this manner, and it had a negative influence on fruit prices at times, even though the land involved was often not suitable for growing fruit.
In the spring of 1910, local growers ordered 300,000 more trees, and the Mesa Orchards Co. was hiring every man they could find.
More next week.
Guess what!? Work has begun on the museum addition! Finally.
9-18-97 By 1912 another ambitious fruit growing effort was starting on the slopes north east of Council, east of highway 95 between Orchard Road and Mill Creek Road. The power house behind this project, called "The Council Valley Orchards", was C.E. Miesse (pronounced Mee-see) of Chicago. Miesse had been the president of the Weiser Valley Land and Water Co., but had resigned. Now, as president of this new company, he was overseeing the planting of 17,000 peach trees, 2,000 pear trees, and the addition of 13,000 apple trees on land that a short time earlier had grown nothing but ". . . sage brush, rocks and a tangled mass of shrubbery, . . ." The goal was a 500 acre orchard that would employ 75 to 100 men seasonally and 1500 workers to harvest the crop.
The "Orchard District", as this area came to be known, included independent fruit growers along with those in the "Council Orchard Company". The district developed rapidly, and soon had a population that supported its own school. The "Orchard School" was on the south east corner of the intersection of Mill Creek road and Missman road.
Since newly planted fruit trees would not yield a crop until they had acquired some degree of maturity both the Mesa and Council orchards adopted the successful practice of growing potatoes between the young trees. Asparagus was another crop grown in this way at Mesa. The plants kept sprouting up for years after the company had stopped planting them.
In 1911 the Mesa Orchards Company built a temporary school. In the summer of 1912, one of the more expensive school houses in Adams County was built at Mesa at a cost of about $5,000. The brick building had two classrooms plus an assembly room for public gatherings. All this for only nine students initially.
By the fall of 1912 it was estimated that there were 3,000 acres of orchard, worth at least $500 per acre, within a twelve and a half mile radius of Council. The reputation of the Council area as a fruit-growing cornucopia was attracting investors from all over the U.S.
That fall some Illinois men arrived to look at the local orchards. According to the Council Leader, they had heard that ". . . Council Valley was regarded as one of the safest and best fruit districts in the state, . . .", and they proclaimed this area was ". . . almost a miracle in fruit raising." The editor, who accompanied the men on their local tour, went on to say, "While going through Mr. Hildenbrand's big orchard he offered us one hundred dollars if we could find a single worm in his orchard."
Even though the orchards didn't seem to have any problems with insect pests, "blight", a contagious disease that killed trees, was present and very much feared. A State fruit inspector made regular examinations of local orchards, and outbreaks of this affliction were taken very seriously. Several local orchard men were actually arrested and tried in court for not destroying their infected trees after the inspector had ordered them to do so.
Local fruit growing businesses continued to be successful, even through the agricultural depression of the 1920s, and provided badly needed seasonal jobs for local residents. But this self-proclaimed fruit grower's Eden was not to be without its serpent. As the automobile became more common, and people and goods traveled faster and farther, noxious weeds and crop damaging insects began hitch-hiking into the area. By 1920 the blister mite, one of the worst enemies of fruit growers of that time, had appeared in orchards at Council and Mesa.
In 1920 the Mesa Company finished a unique, $45,000 tramway to carry fruit to the railroad three and a half miles to the north. It consisted of 48 wooden towers which varied in height from 20 to 45 feet. Its 42 steel baskets each carried six to eight boxes of fruit.
The community at Mesa had its own general store /post office, a school, several homes and a dozen smaller cottages, a bunkhouse, a machine shop, a number of packing sheds, storage cellars, company cookhouse, and other buildings. One feature that the original promotion had promised never became a reality. Originally, a railroad depot was planned near the foot of the mesa, and a trolley line was to take passengers to and from the depot there.
It is hard to say whether the Mesa Orchards Company achieved its goal of having the biggest orchard in the nation. Some have claimed that it was the biggest orchard in the world. Since human nature ardently follows the adage that a good story is better than the truth, the actual size of the orchard in comparison to its peers is hard to pin down. At its peak from 1920 to 1929, there were 1,200 acres actually growing fruit trees at Mesa: significantly short of its goal of 4,000 acres. During apple harvest, about 200 pickers were employed and the company had a total payroll of about $150,000. A 1929 issue of the Adams County Leader printed what may be a realistic estimation of the Mesa Orchards as, ". . . one of the largest commercial orchards under one head operated anywhere in the northwest."
More next week.
Last week Charlie Fry's daughters came in and donated some great pictures of the Van Hoesens and Mesa. One is a color, panoramic shot of the orchards from end to end, and shows the school, store, the houses, packing sheds, etc. The museum is working on collecting labels from Mesa fruit boxes, etc. It is now possible to reproduce them with a laser color copier so that they look exactly like the original. Aside from the value of exhibiting them, we may be able to frame the copies and sell them to raise funds.
The museum has now officially closed for the 1997 season. Sunday, September 14 was the last open day. Many thanks go to the volunteers who hosted the museum for the last two weeks. When we reopen next summer we will probably be operating with volunteers only, so we will need people to help. I'm hoping a number of you will donate one three-hour shift a week so that we don't have to continually recruit people.
9-25-97 During the 1920s the Orchard district expanded until fruit trees covered almost the entire area between Mill Creek and Orchard Road east of the highway. Men such as William Hoover, Lawson Hill, Addison Missman, Tom Nichols and Frank Scholl were some of its prominent producers. These men, and others, built "packing plants" where apples were sorted, boxed, and then shipped via the railroad.
Hoover's packing plant was located on the south east corner where Orchard Road and Missman Road intersect. When it was built in 1926 it was said to be the biggest one in the Council area, second only to Mesa's. It had a cement floo r, contained a grading machine, and could store almost 80 railroad car loads of apples. (The largest cars held 795 boxes and took about a day to load.) When the packing plant was built, it took six railroad car loads of wood shavings for insulation to fill the walls. Hoover employed 40 pickers in 1927, and kept at least 40 more workers busy at the packing plant.
Each box of apples from the Hoover plant was labeled with the number and kind of apples. Another large label on the end of the box featured a big red apple on which was printed, "Council Brand, Idaho Apples". Also on the apple was the image of several Indian chief's holding a council meeting. (If anyone out there has one of these labels, or other produce labels from this area, please consider loaning them to the museum for us to photocopy. Call me if you can help... 253-4582)
In the early 1920s a railroad spur was built to service the packing plants in the Orchard area, and the power line was extended to them as well. The rail spur left the main line about where Orchard road now crosses the old railroad grade and went straight east about to the highway. Addison Missman (for whom Missman road is named) built a big packing plant next to the main rail line and just north of the new spur. Bill Hoover built a second building along the south side of the spur, near the highway, from which to load fruit into railroad cars. Frank Scholl had a similar structure between Hoover's loading facility and the main railroad.
Charles Lappin had an orchard to the north of the Orchard district on Lappin Lane. (Lappin Lane of course is named after him.) Lappin had one of the first commercial orchards in the valley when the "fruit boom" began about 1907. In 1927 he employed 35 workers during the apple harvest. Frank Galey was another well known fruit man. He had a sizable orchard on Mill Creek.
Lawson Hill's place was on the south east corner of Mill creek road and Orchard Road, and Bill Spahr's was just across the road to the north. Mrs. Spahr (Lucy) taught school at the Orchard school for a time, in the 1920s. At this writing, the old Spahr orchard is the only orchard in that district that has remained more or less intact. The Spahr house (still standing at this writing) drew attention as being unusual when it was built in 1935. It was built out of rock, and also sat on a natural rock foundation from which the basement was reportedly created with dynamite.
Tom Nichols built a packing house on the north side of Orchard Road, about a quarter mile east of Missman Road, in 1924. Years later Herb Woods converted the packing shed into a home where he and his wife, Jewel, live now.
More next week.
10-3-97 The stock market crash in the fall of 1929 proved to be the beginning of the end for the local fruit industry. As the nation sank into the Great Depression local orchards were pulled down with it as fruit prices plummeted.
As the fruit market failed to yield an adequate return, trees in the Orchard district were not maintained as well as they had been. The trees were older now, requiring more water, and water had become harder to get. Disease began to spread through the orchards, and many of the trees were destroyed. Only those trees that received adequate water and care survived the Depression years. Eventually all of the land in the Orchard district was sold off for homes and small farms.
By the mid 1930s the Mesa Orchards were so far in debt that the court ordered its property to be sold. The property was purchased by the Western Idaho Production Credit Association.
The Mesa tramway stopped being used about 1934. After the North - South Highway was built and paved down the hill to the railroad, trucks were used to haul the apples to the tracks. In 1940, the tramway towers were in such dilapidated condition that the highway department declared the tram a safety hazard, and it was torn down. One story says that parts of the tram were taken to Sun Valley and used for the first ski lift there.
During World War II, the government used houses at Mesa to hold a few Japanese families in detention.
The Production Credit Association sold the orchards to A.H. Burroughs Jr. in 1943. Burroughs was a relative of the founders of the Burroughs calculator company. He ran the orchards for 11 years, and established a cannery that made applesauce from the inferior apples. By that time there were only 700 productive acres. (We just got the photocopies of our Mesa Applesauce labels done. They look great.)
The 1945 and 1946 seasons stood out as being profitable. Demand and prices for apples were high.
The wooden flume continued to be used up until Burroughs sold to the Byron Ball family in 1954. It was abandoned when government regulations made the cost of rebuilding unreasonable. I picked up an interesting piece of information about the flume recently. I'm told the Middle Fork downstream from the flume's diversion dam used to go dry during the summer because of heavy irrigation by Mesa.
After the flume was abandoned, there was no use keeping the water rights from the Middle Fork, and they were sold. After a series of crop failures and the death of Mr. Ball, the orchards fell into disuse. About 1967 Emma Ball sold to rancher from Parma who took out many of the trees for pasture. Later the deal fell through. Much of the land has since been used for livestock production or sold off to individuals.
Water would prove to be a critical issue at Mesa from the beginning to the end. In 1994, much of the land at Mesa was subdivided, and lots were sold for home sites. Wells started going dry as the water table sank.
Even if it were possible to resurrect the success of Council's fruit growing glory days it could never be the same. Modern fruit orchards, like many other businesses, have streamlined and standardized their product for mass consumption until only a few varieties are now grown. Local orchards used to grow many varieties of apples that few of us have even heard of today. In 1904 B.B. Day exhibited 43 varieties of apples at the Idaho State Fair. Seventy-five varieties were exhibited from Washington County. Since 1900, about 6,000 known varieties of apples (86% of those ever on record) have become extinct.
Perhaps the most sad and fitting epitaph for Council Valley's fruit industry came when the last of the apple trees planted by Council's first family were cut down. George Moser had planted an orchard where the high school now sits. By 1941 all but three of the original trees had died or were removed. Out of respect for this Moser legacy, the street even curved around these last trees where they grew on the corner, north west of the, then new, high school. They were thought to be the oldest trees in the valley. These stalwart old Landmarks that had witnessed the birth of a community, gave their lives to the bulldozer for street improvements in May of 1942.
10-9-97 Some of you know that, in addition to a general history book, I have been working on a self-guided tour book about the area from Council to the Seven Devils Mining District. I have a very rough draft done on the general history, but haven't had time to work on it lately. The tour book is not even to the rough draft stage yet. I'm going to put some of it in my columns so that you readers can tell me where I go wrong or add to the info I've gathered. If you read something here that you know if wrong, or if you can add to the story please contact me.
I don't have much on the Hornet Creek Cemetery. The earliest grave, according to my info, is that of Charles Adams who was interred here in about 1884. I have no idea who he was. In the following decades, many Hornet Creek pioneers were buried here.
According to the Adams County Leader for Sept. 8, 1922, Hornet Creek residents formed a corporation to "...legally hold in trust the title to the Hornet Creek cemetery, and to procure and hold title to a road leading to the same, and to transact any business...." concerning the cemetery. Except for the fact that it is still an active cemetery, that's about all I can find on it.
The old road up Hornet Creek used to swing north to cross North Hornet Creek above where it currently crosses it. The old route and bridge abutments are still in evidence.
If anyone knows who first settled the place here where Hortons live now, or if you know any interesting stories about the place, please tell me. I remember a big, old, square house stood south of where Horton's is.
Before bridges were common on country roads such as this, crossing even small streams like North Hornet could be a hair raising experience during spring runoff. In the April of 1913, Bert Rose had to cross North Hornet Creek here as he came home from Council. The Adams County Leader reported his experience:
When he drove into the creek the current was so strong that the horses and buggy were carried down stream about 300 feet and it was all he could do to save the horses by cutting the tugs and freeing them.
The buggy was wrecked, and besides this, he lost his valuable slide trombone, together with a bill of groceries, hardware, etc., which he was taking out to his ranch.
Mr. Rose had a desperate struggle with the furious waters even to save his team, and can count himself fortunate, although the loss falls heavy on him.
I may regret this because there are so many members of this family out there, but I'm gonna make a brief stab at the history of the Harrington family.
The Harrington family has roots in the Council area that go back to the very earliest settlers here. I run into a problem right of the bat. The earliest Harrington patriarch here, William Reil Harrington (1835 - 1922), was known by his middle name which was spelled either "Reil" or "Rayle". Evea Harrington Powers tells me she has settled on "Rayle" as the correct spelling. On the other hand, just about all the newspapers and other writings have spelled it "Reil". Also, he was said to have had the nick name "Riley". This would have been a play on his middle name, and leads me to think the name had a long "I" sound as opposed to a long "A". Words spelled with "ei" are often pronounced as a long "I". Do any of you family members have any more information?
Reil Harrington married Martha Loveless, in Illinois. Martha and Reil had three sons, James, Robert and Lewis, and one daughter Mary. Martha died in Kansas in 1871, when her children were very young. Martha's father, Zadock Loveless was one of the very first settlers in the Council Valley, arriving with his son, William, about 1877. Reil and his children came to settle in Indian Valley about the same time that Loveless came to the Council Valley (1877). About 1881, Reil moved his family to Hornet Creek. Can anyone tell me where they lived? Reil's brother, Clark, also came to Hornet Creek about this time. Clark was the first postmaster at Upper Dale.
Mary Harrington married John Draper and had several children. One son, Jim, was one of the first automobile wreck fatalities in Adams County. Mary never learned to read or write, but she was very knowledgeable about folk medicine. When her grand-niece, Evea Harrington was born, the baby's navel didn't heal correctly. Evea's mother had followed the standard practice of scorching a square of cloth and putting it over the belly button, but for some reason, it still failed to heal. Aunt Mary placed four plump raisins around the navel area, and it healed perfectly.
Lewis Harrington moved to Kooskia, Idaho where he died in 1961 at the age of 100. I have no idea what became of James Harrington.
Robert Harrington began what would become the biggest and best known families on Hornet Creek when he married Lillie Montgomery in 1890. Their first home was about three miles up Hornet Creek from Council, near the old Henry Childs place. This is near where the Old Hornet Road leaves the Council - Cuprum Road. They had their first child, Elsie, there. Family lore says that one day, when Robert happened to be in a discouraged mood, a man came along and offered to trade him a jackknife for the property. Robert took him up on the deal, and moved to North Hornet Creek. Over the following years, they brought 15 more children into the world at this ranch. One died in infancy.
The Harrington family tree has to be the most complex and interlinked ones anywhere. You know how they say that half the people in Council are related to each other. I'd guess that at least half of those are related to the Harringtons in some way. One interesting aspect of the Harrington story is that four of Robert's sons married all four of Bill Marks's daughters.
10-16-97 No sooner had I decided to leave the subject of Mesa and go to the Council - Seven Devils tour than I received some great Mesa material, so I'm going to be revisiting that subject for the next few columns.
I recently got a reply from a letter I wrote to Beth Van Hoesen, daughter of Enderse and Freda Van Hoesen. She says:
"For starters I am sending you some notes by my uncle, Myderse Van Hoesen, about Mesa. I also have a scrapbook of photos and clippings about the orchard, and I'm quite sure I have the [movie] footage of the Mesa Orchards operations you mentioned. It may take awhile to locate it."
"At the moment I am recovering from hip surgery but I'll get about it as soon as I can be more active. I'm excited about your project and a museum at Council. My mother, Freda Van Hoesen, is still living at age 97. Her mind is clear, so perhaps I can get some more information from her."
"I lived at Mesa until I was 7 years old and went to the Mesa school for the first grade. We lived in the 3rd of the large houses. When the men returned from work they would parade in front of our house. I had both a lemonade stand and later had a rummage sale from clothes in our attic. My father put a stop to that when he found me selling his tux."
I remember my father auctioning box lunches in the hall above the garage. The men would eat with whoever's lunch they bid on. They put benches in for movies. I remember seeing 'King Kong' and 'Little Miss Marker' ."
"A friend of mine, Zelda Mae Semour lived down the road in a two room shack. I went to her home once. The main room was dark, and an old man was sleeping on a bunk in his underwear. Another man in overalls was eating beans out of a can. Her mother told Zelda Mae to take me into the bedroom, a light cheery room with violet chenille bedspread and a doll with a satin skirt on the pillow. What a contrast from the dark living room. There were 500 transient apple pickers at harvest time. Few of the school children had shoes."
"The spring was beautiful with the trees in bloom, gardens with lilies of the valley and lilacs. In summer we often went to McCall to visit my Uncle Harry Soulen and cousin Phil. We also went to Starkey on the way to McCall."
This week I'll start on the notes that Myderse Van Hoesen wrote about Mesa, and I'll continue it next week. Myderse wrote the following in February of 1973:
"As I recall, it was either Dr. Carter or Captain Carter who interested a number of Eastern financial people, particularly in the New York, Pittsburgh or Philadelphia areas, in the development of a fruit orchard on the "Mesa" in Idaho. I well remember some of the publicity which stated that the sage and buck brush grew "more lush" on the Mesa than on the surrounding country side. Why shouldn't fruit trees do the same?"
Apparently a number of those who invested in the development grew impatient with the time involved for fruit trees to mature, and when asked to put up more money they decided to send my father, David W. Van Hoesen, then a practicing corporation lawyer in central New York State, to Idaho to investigate the project and report back. My father became quite enthusiastic about the possibilities at Mesa, and advised his 'clients' that they should 'stay with the project'. When some of them refused to go along my father bought out their interests and finally became so heavily involved financially, that he decided to give up his law practice and go into the fruit business a 'Mesa'. I think he was influenced by an inherent desire to be a producer rather than just a consumer, of some of the good things in life. I think we would now call it adding to the Gross National Product. I also know that he wanted to get into a business that Enderse, my brother, and I could work into and perhaps take over."
"When the decision was made, probably sometime around 1913 or 1914, my father influenced J.P. Gray, a close friend and business associate, to become a partner with him in the project and to go to Idaho to take over the management of the orchard development. Jude Gray did excellent work in bringing the Orchard into production. He was the Postmaster at Mesa, did all of the buying for the store and the numerous operating supplies for the Orchard, and sold and shipped the fruit. I recall that during this period the jack rabbit became and orchard pest, particularly in the winter when they would girdle the trees just above the snow line. Jude Gray started raising Beagle Hounds, as they could tire out and run down a jack rabbit, and he raised some prize specimen of Beagles. I can almost still hear them yelping profusely on a rabbit chase. I presume they scared to death about as many rabbits as they caught, but they kept them under control."
Continued next week.
10-23-97 Mynders Van Hoesen's writing, continued from last week:
"In the early Spring of 1918, about the middle of March, my brother, Enderse, our cousin Van Hart, and I arrived at a railroad siding several miles from Mesa on the "Pin" road, (The Pacific and Idaho Northern). Our trunks and belongings were dumped off the one car train into the snow at the siding, and we shivered in the cold waiting for a sleigh from Mesa to come and pick us up, and wondering why we had ever agreed to give up the comforts we had become accustomed to and come to this god-forsaken place. There wasn't a person or habitation in sight. But after we were established in a tent on the townsite and had been given a hot dinner at the cook house, then about a half mile from the townsite at the barns and livestock area, we became enthusiastic again."
"It was some time before our arrival at Mesa that my father had made an offer to J.P. Gray either to buy him out or to sell out to him at a specified price. Jude Gray elected to sell and later went into the fruit business near Nampa, Idaho, quite successfully as I recall."
"My father came to Idaho in March of 1919, after having disposed of all his interests in New York State. He brought with him, as a partner, Charles P. Seymour, a long time friend and business associate, and until Mr. Seymour's death in the packing house fire, I think some time in 1920 or 1921 [It was December 1920], the Orchard was owned a operated by the partnership of Van Hoesen and Seymour."
"It was during this period, commencing in the Spring of 1919, that an extensive building program was undertaken. The store and Post Office were greatly enlarged. Harry Mills, assisted by his good wife, Lyda, had complete management of the store during the entire Van Hoesen era at Mesa. My brother, Enderse, assisted by Lillian Pettit, a sister of Clyde Rush, was the Post Master. Lillian also did all of the book-keeping for the entire operation, including payroll records, and assisted in the store during rush hours."
"A large cookhouse facility was built near the store, and a fully equipped garage and machine shop with a community entertainment center on the second floor, was rushed to completion. It was during this time that the Van Hoesen and Seymour houses were built as well as several smaller houses for the year 'round employees. The packing house and fruit storage buildings were enlarged and the equipment modernized, and a separate warehouse for storage of orchard machinery and equipment was constructed. A well was drilled in the center of the townsite, after Bill Lynch, our head carpenter, located an underground stream with the use of a willow wand. A nearly adequate supply of excellent water for domestic purposes was obtained, and we thereafter enjoyed the luxury of good water under pressure, and no longer had to melt snow in the winter for cooking, washing and bathing."
"One of the unique facilities conceived by my father, and constructed during this period, was the aerial tramway running from the packing house over the rolling country about three and one-half miles down to a new siding, 'Mesa', on the 'Pin' road where we also built a storage facility. While quite a tourist attraction, the tramway was an absolute necessity during those next few years. the roadway was almost impassable in the winter months when much of the fruit was shipped, even for the teams of horses and sleighs, and it was difficult to keep the fruit from freezing on the long haul to the siding. We could cover the tramway carriers with heavy water-proofed canvass which protected the boxes and baskets of fruit during the shorter trip from rain, cold, and sleet. Also the tramway could load cars at the siding twenty four hours a day without the resulting mix-up when one sleigh load of fruit would arrive out of sequence, and destined for a different car than the one being loaded. The tramway received a lot of publicity. I recall a couple of fellows arriving at the Orchards one day and asking if they could inspect the tramway. It turned out they were from Honolulu and had been sent to Mesa by some Hawaiian Pineapple interests to ascertain if a tramway would be feasible to transport pineapples from the fields to the cannery. Incidentally, we thought they would be impressed when we told them we had about 1250 acres in fruit trees, but upon being asked their acreage they replied that the small area they were thinking about contained about 12,000 acres."
10-30-97 "After the death of Mr. Seymour sometime around 1920, my father took in as a partner Horace Woodmansee, who had had a successful business career with the Wickwire-Spencer Steel Company in central New York State, and a long time friend of my father. The Woodmansee family moved into the Seymour house. The third home in this area was built for Enderse I believe some time in the fall of 1922."
"Mr. Woodmansee was instrumental in building an Evaporator near the packing house to take care of some of the unmarketable fruit. It was quite successful although we had to ship in several cars of coke, by tramway of course, to burn in the furnaces to "evaporate" the apples."
"Mr. Woodmansee also engineered the construction of 'earthen storage houses', (underground storage), when the production of the Orchard exceeded the capacity of the existing storage space. It also permitted us to hold more of the fruit longer and wait for a possible rise in the market price."
"It was in November of 1921 that David W. Van Hoesen was elected State Senator from Adams County - a Democrat from a strongly Republican County. He was serving a second term in Boise when he died on January 15, 1923. His son, Enderse was appointed to fill out his term and he was elected for a second term as Senator from Adams County."
"Soon after my father's death, George Donart, with his usual astuteness and wisdom recommended and then took care of the incorporation of the orchards and we were thereafter known as the Mesa Orchards Company. Throughout all the years we were at Mesa we leaned heavily upon George Donart for advice and help and he never failed us."
"Each fall of the year, when the picking season started, many families from several miles around Mesa would move to the town-site, set up camp and help pick and pack the fruit. the fruit harvest and packing could not have been accomplished without the hard work and loyalty of these fine families. For wrap packing the apples, which is quite an art, 'apple knockers' would appear from as far away as Florida, Texas and Southern California, where the season was earlier and the harvesting and packing just completed. The favorite place to stay for this 'elite' group of individuals was the home of 'Mother Rush' as she was known to all, the mother of Clyde rush. She took care of them each year and catered to their idiosyncrasies, which they loved."
"In our early days at Mesa the Van Hoesen and Seymour wives, and later Mrs. Woodmansee conducted religious services each Sunday in the School House. The services were well attended in spite of the fact that usually there had been an all night dance with supper or breakfast in the dance hall above the garage, or a late movie with the hand operated moving picture machine. Bill Evans, who for many years drove his team of mules to Council and back every day except Sunday with the mail and supplies, used to occasionally bring movie films on Saturdays from the theater in Council. After running them we would put them on the early morning stage coach for delivery at Weiser. I don't think anyone connected with the consignment knew that the films had been hi-jacked for showing in Mesa. Later and after the North and South HIghway had been constructed through Mesa and into Council, Howard Rush, Clyde's younger brother, used his truck to carry the mail and supplies and to perform the many errands in Council that were always requested."
"During all of the Van Hoesen 'era' at Mesa there were a few 'outside' owners, most of them the original investors who had 'stayed with the project' and owned one, two or three ten acre tracts in the Orchards. These Orchard tracts were cared for and operated under contracts with the owners along with the balance of the Orchards under our management. In addition there were several 'Local' owners who lived on their tracts and cared for them individually. Some of these were Clyde Rush, Gus Keckler, Peter Dahlgren, John DenBoer, H.L. Brooks, Stephen Nock, the Messingers, Ed Hart and perhaps one or two more."
"Fruit shipped from Mesa ended up in some of the strangest places. I recall receiving a letter from a fellow in Cairo Egypt, enclosing a wrapper from one of our apples, telling how much he had paid for the apple and wondering how much we got out of it."
"We eventually found a market for some of our highly colored small red apples. We learned that in the Netherlands and some of the Scandinavian countries it was customary to tie small red apples on trees for Christmas, since after Christmas they could be eaten. Numerous car loads of these small red apples were shipped to Holland, Norway, Sweden and Denmark to arrive just before Christmas."
"We had a lot of fun at Mesa and it hurts us to see the trees pulled up."
11-6-97 This week I'll get back to our tour going toward the Seven Devils.
Upper Dale was originally known simply as "Dale" until a school was built much closer to town that was called "Lower Dale". The first Postmaster at Dale was Clark Harrington in 1888. The post office was almost certainly in Harrington's house, and as postmasters changed over the years the office moved to the home of the new postmaster. At one time the post office is mentioned as being a short distance south of the school. I have heard that Lee Cole's place was a post office at one time. In 1899 Mrs. Mose Elliott was postmaster. The Weiser Signal, Jan 28, 1905 mentioned that the Dale literary society debated the Indian Valley literary society. It also said that the "...postoffice has lately moved from Mose Elliott's to Grandpa Wilkie's." In 1908 George T. Russell is mentioned as postmaster at Dale.
The Upper Dale school has been a landmark on Hornet Creek for many years. As near as I can tell, the present building was built about 1910. There was another school building there before that. Robert Harrington and his brothers and sisters got at least some of their educations there. I really need more information about the school if anyone can help me. It must have closed sometime in the 1940s or '50s, but I'd like to find more precise info. I have also read that the building was sold to the community for $1.00 about 1956. Can anyone confirm that? If you can fill me in, please call. (253-4582)
While I'm asking for information, here's another question. The museum has some square nails that are said to be from "the Mather house" that was torn down in 1959. The house may have been built about 1890. I'd like to know where that house was, and any other information about it. If you know something about the Upper Dale school or this house, please don't assume that someone else has already called. I don't usually get many calls in response to questions.
The original, main road turned west just past the school and is now called Upper Dale road. When the county abandoned it for the present route of the Council - Cuprum Road in 1900, Billie and Dora Black and Dora's father, Jeremiah Elliott, had only lived along the old road for a few years, and they were very angry about the change. The families of O.S. Shearer, Andrew Peck and Robert Nelson benefited by the new road running closer to their houses.
A long letter from "Hornet creek residents" appeared in the Salubria Citizen newspaper, blasting the road change. In part it read, "Mr. Peck abandoned his location on the road for another ... and now by cunningly devised schemes and questionable methods seeks to deprive his old neighbors ... of the county road ... if they do not keep the road as the county road, they will have gotten a good private road at public expense, . . . ." Commenting on the new stretch of road the letter said, "Yes, they will have a good road over a rocky hill for about a mile, with large rocks above it which will be continually rolling down into the road, and a swamp stretch for about 300 yards. The road is about two miles long, for which they seek to throw out one and one-half miles of the best road between Council and the Seven Devils."
The house that stands just across the creek west of the Upper Dale school is an old one. Fred A. Wilkie ( the oldest son of Frederick Wilkie) lived here when he moved back to the area in 1900. (I'll have more on the Wilkies later.) In 1925, when Wilkie failed to pay his property taxes on this place, William R. Shaw was the highest bidder at the County auction.
Bill Shaw was one of Idaho's earliest pioneers. His life began on the plains of Missouri where he was born during his parents trip west in a wagon train in 1858. After living for a few years in Wyoming, the family moved to the present site of Weiser in 1866 or '67 and developed a homestead. During the Nez Perce and Bannock Wars of 1877 and '78, Bill served as a scout under Captain Galloway in the Idaho Volunteer Militia. He was only 18 years old when he enlisted. When he was 19 he swam the Snake about a mile below Weiser to recover horses that had been stolen by Indians.
Bill married his wife, Lena, in 1882. They eventually had 13 children. Two of them were twin girls that caught whooping cough and died at the age of only five months. Bill and Lena came to live on Hornet Creek (at another location) in 1917. About 1934 Bill made medial history in the Council area by surviving spotted fever at the age of 76. Bill and Lena Shaw both died in 1942.
Bill's and Lena's son, Delbert Shaw, was the best known of their offspring. Although he pursued several other vocations, "Deb", as everyone called him, became renowned as a rattlesnake hunter.
Continued next week.
Have you seen how the museum addition is progressing? It really feels good to see five years of dreaming and work finally becoming a reality. For those of you who live outside the area, the addition is all framed and is scheduled to be completed (to the point where we will do the finish work) by about November 15.
I'd like to remind you that Idaho has a very generous tax credit for donations to institutions like our museum. You get half of your donation taken off of your State taxes! In other words if donate $40 you actually only lose $20 out of pocket after the tax credit. The maximum you can give and still get a tax credit is $100 which will get you the maximum credit of $50. Something to think about as the end of the year grows nearer. Also, the museum is going to be VERY much in need of funds after paying off the addition and building new exhibits to fill it. Please send donations to "Council Valley Museum, Box 252, Council, ID 83612".
11-13-97 Since last week I was informed that Mose and Hattie Elliott sold the land for the Upper Dale School to Adams County in September of 1902 for $50. The school was evidently built in 1903. [Phone conversation with Doris Harrington, Nov 1997: She has a deed showing Mose and Hattie Elliott sold Adams County the land for the school for $50 in 1902. There was a previous school - a frame building that stood near the newer school until it was moved up the valley about half way to Greenwood's. ]
More on the Shaw family who lived near the school:
Bill's and Lena's son, Delbert Shaw, was the best known of their offspring. Although he pursued several other vocations, "Deb", as everyone called him, became renowned as a rattlesnake hunter.
Deb was a butcher, and ran the Council Meat Market in the early 1930s. In part, the rattlesnake hunting was just another aspect of this line of work. He shipped snake meat to restaurants back east.
Deb harvested rattlers in the spring as the snakes came out of their winter dens, and again in the fall as they congregated at the same dens. He took the snakes alive, using a wire hook fastened to the end of a broom handle. The snakes were put into a burlap bag until Shaw got home. Here they were transferred to barrels where they were kept until they were killed, frozen and shipped. For a time Deb also shipped live snakes to be milked for their venom and for use in zoos.
In spite of handling live snakes for over thirty years, Deb Shaw was never bitten by one. He did have some close calls when rattlers struck his pant legs, shirtsleeves, and one time even the top of his head but failed to break the skin. He also had other alarming incidents. One time Deb came home with three or four snakes in a sack and didn't bother to transfer them to a barrel. Instead he put the sack on the floor in his house, putting off the job until after a good nights rest. The next morning he awoke to find a rattler coiled and rattling in the middle of the floor. He began to wonder where the rest of them were - under the bed, or hidden in some other dark corner, ready to ambush him? As it turned out, only the one snake had escaped.
In 1960 Deb achieved a few minutes of national fame when he appeared on the popular TV program, "What's My Line".
One of Deb's favorite spots to find snakes was along North Hornet Creek. As early as 1906, rattlesnakes were a problem there. That year, the Weiser newspaper reported, "For a number of years there has been known to exist a number of dens of these snakes along the rocky bluffs that border Hornet creek valley, and a few years ago an effort was made to exterminate the largest colony, at which time more than three hundred were killed in one day without exhausting the supply. Failing in the effort to kill them the ranchers living adjacent to the den fenced the snakes in with a tight board fence." The last comment is probably a classic example of newspaper humor of that time.
Deb was not the first in the area to profit from hunting rattlesnakes. In 1912, the Council Leader reported that R.B. Bailey of Glendale, "... expects to hunt rattlesnakes for a livelihood the coming summer. He was very successful last season in killing rattlers, having killed something like two thousand, which averaged him three dollars each, or $6,000 for the summer's catch." The paper said that Bailey marketed the hides, oil, poison and gall. If he actually made that much money it would have been a small fortune in those days.
Deb and his father also did some mining in the Seven Devils. In 1936, they had just finished blasting out a mining hole. One charge hadn't gone off, but did so just as Deb bent over to look in the hole. A shower of rock was driven into his face and chest. This type of accident was called a "missed hole" and was not an uncommon occurrence in mining districts. Deb had to be taken to Boise to have some of the rock removed. It soon became apparent that the most serious damage had been done to Deb's eyes, and he never recovered the sight in one of them.
Deb was not so lucky in another accident. He was climbing through a barbed wire fence when the shotgun he was carrying went off. The charge hit him in the chest, killing him.
Can somebody tell me what year Deb died?
I think I was told that the film that was made showing Deb handling snakes has been lost, but there are still some pieces that were edited from the final footage. I'll be looking into getting copies of these for the museum.
The museum is trying to assemble and exhibit on the local fruit industry for our upcoming season. If you have items related to this subject that you think would be interesting for this exhibit please let me know if you could loan or donate them. We don't really have much except pictures (we welcome more of them too). We especially want box or basket labels. Also, if you would like to help with this project, we need all we can get.
Also - would the person who dropped off the Mesa apple box please remind me who you are? So many people mention things to me, and my memory leaks like a sieve.
11-20-97 I need to say thanks to several people. First, to Bob Hildeman of US Bank in Boise for some very personal service. Bob is helping us bridge the financial gap between paying for the museum addition and the time we get our grant money a couple months from now.
The next thank you, and it's a big one, goes to Sid and Amy Fry. Sid is Charlie and Elsie Fry's son. When Elsie died this past summer, Sid inherited a portion of her savings. Sid and Amy felt that Elsie would have liked the money to be donated to the Council museum, so that's just what they did. Their donation was made in memory of Charlie and Elsie Fry. We appreciate this so much! It couldn't have come at a better time. We are facing some serious expenses as we start telling the story of Council's past with exhibits in our new addition.
Remember, we need fruit industry related artifacts, either loaned or donated. Another thing that is very needed is "oral histories". There is a real need to collect stories from people who worked at Mesa and other orchards in this area. I wish I had the time to do this, but I simply don't. If you are interested in interviewing someone, maybe you have a relative who would talk to you on tape, let me know. Also, you people who have personal memories of Mesa, or for that matter any other stories from our past, you could write them down or record them on tape. All you have to do is look around to see how much the world is changing. If you and I don't preserve a record of how things were, no one will.
Sid Fry sent a few memories along with the donation: "I lived in the Orchard area, kitty corner from the Hoover Packing House from about 1938 to 1948, and the first job I ever had was driving a John Deere tractor pulling a sprayer through the orchards of John Hoover."
"My first school was the Orchard School, and I remember sometimes getting there by riding behind my friend Cecil Vogt on his one-eyed horse named 'Nancy'. I also recall the day Mrs. Burt wrestled Galen York to the floor and soaped his mouth for using foul language. I was talking to him a couple years ago and he also recalled that event, but in addition remembered that I was the one that ran outside to the water pump and found the soap that she used."
"Dale, my wife and I still have the 'Fry Ranch' up the Middle Fork where Mesa had their dam and the flume and siphons originated. The ranch brings us back to the Council area, and the next time we are over there we will see you and the museum. I hope someone has given you a picture of that Orchard School."
As to the picture of the Orchard School, no we have never been able to find one. If anyone has one, please let us copy it!
I suppose the news will be in this issue of the paper, but I heard that Irene McMahan died last week. She was 102 years old. Irene was a member of the McDowell family who pioneered Indian Valley. She married into the McMahan family which was another pioneering family, here and at Fruitvale. This reminds me of how sad it is that the lane at Fruitvale that was named after the McMahan family is misspelled as "McMahon". (I'm also not gonna let up on this ridiculous "Mosher" Avenue that should be spelled "Moser" issue until something is done about it!)
Sally Thurston Clark was the one who told me about Irene's passing. Sally remarked about Harriet Rogers, who also died recently at the age of 104, and she (Sally) said, "Those old gals are probably upstairs laughing at us." Well put.
Well, I've about used up my quota of ink and didn't get back to the Council - Seven Devils tour route. I'll get back to it eventually. Stay tuned.
11-26-97 Back to our Council - Seven Devils tour. I wrote about the Black place a long time ago, but I hope you won't mind if I do a quick review.
In 1889 William and Dora Black and their two sons settled on the Hornet Creek ranch that is owned now by the Gossard family. They came from Spokane, Washington to live near her father, Jeremiah Elliott, who had settled here five years earlier.
A year after they arrived, the Blacks traded a milk cow to a nursery man in Boise for young fruit trees. They added to their orchards as they were able, and it soon became the first, and largest, commercial orchard in Washington County. At its peak, the Black place had about 1500 fruit trees, and a half acre of strawberries. William Black is thought to have dug the original ditch to this place from Hornet Creek. A much improved version of this ditch still runs through the ranch.
Samples of fruit from the Black orchards took a prize at the Chicago World's Fair in 1893, and some were sent to London and Paris for exhibition. This kind of success inspired other people in the Council area to start orchards, and the vicinity became famous for its high quality fruit. After the turn of the century, orchards sprang up all the way from Fruitvale to the famous Mesa Orchards.
Dora Black told of an incident they had with Indians in the early days:
The Nez Perce Indians came on their annual trip to Weiser and camped near our house. We had a house full of friends from Weiser the same Sunday. In the evening we were singing and dancing to the music of violin and guitar, raising lots of noise, when an Indian messenger came asking us to keep quiet. "It was Sunday and the hour for their prayer services." We were quite ashamed and kept still.
In 1892, there was an outbreak of diphtheria that killed 9 people in the Council area. Both of the Black's sons died from the disease that December. The nearest doctor was Dr. Wm. Brown, 35 miles away in Salubria, and the medicine he sent arrived too late to save them. My original information was that the boys were ages two and eight, but I've been told the ages on their grave stones don't agree.
The boys were buried under a pine tree on the ranch. In those days it was believed that burial at night would help prevent the spread of the disease, so many diphtheria victims were buried after dark. This may well have been how these little boys here were buried. If so, what an eerie, heart-breaking scene it must have been. The vast blackness outside the small circle of lantern light under this tree must have made it seem to Mr. and Mrs. Black that they were escorting their precious sons even farther than usual on their journey into eternity.
Later, the family wanted to move the boys bodies to a cemetery near Council, but authorities would not allow it. Diphtheria is an extremely contagious bacterial disease and it was feared that disturbing the graves might cause a new epidemic.
The fence around the graves was built, using pickets with carved, pointed cupola type tops. Wooden pegs were the only fastening devices used. The white picket fence around the graves can be seen today in a hillside field to the north west of the ranch buildings, above the road. The Gossard family rebuilt the fence in the early 1980s. The old pine tree that stood guard over the graves for over 100 years began dying in the early 1990s.
Progress on the museum addition has been slow, the drywalling is done. A big thank you goes to S&S Drywall for donating the labor for this part of the project! It's great to have good neighbors to help when you need it.
A gentleman from Louisiana named Huston Fruge called me Sunday evening. He was stationed at the CCC Camp on Middle Fork from July 1940 through December of that year. When he passed through Council last summer he heard about the video of Dr. Thurston's home movies which includes shots of the CCC camp. He left his address, and I mailed him a video. When he called me, he said he knew most of the boys who came walking toward the camera in the movie footage of the camp. They were about all from northeast Louisiana. He said they left there as a group of several hundred, and about 250 of them wound up at the Middle Fork Camp. While Mr. Fruge was stationed here, he spent some time at a spike camp NW of Council, and fought a fire in the Seven Devils.
Mr. Fruge also talked about the plaque that is located along the Middle Fork road. He said he and the other CCC boys were working on the Middle Fork road when Thomas J. Fletcher slipped and fell, hitting his head on a rock. Mr. Fruge described Fletcher as being unconscious after the fall and blood was coming from his nose and mouth. Fletcher died from the fall. Mr. Fruge didn't know for sure who put up the plaque in honor of Fletcher, but assumes it was the CCC. The plaque is bolted to a rock exactly seven miles up the Middle Fork road from the highway, about eight feet up from the road. Mr. Fruge said that he and his friends would like to see the plaque taken down and put in the museum because it is being damaged where it is. Someone has shot it a couple of times with a rifle.
12-4-97 In the early spring of 1911, two wagons slowly made their way north along the muddy road into Council. In the first wagon was 36-year-old Jim Fisk and his 31-year-old wife, Mary. In Mary's arms was their first child, a baby boy that was born only a few months earlier. Tied behind the wagon was a colt named Rondo. In the second wagon was Bill and Nellie Marks and their daughters, Mildred and Hazel. Hazel was only about six months old.
The Fisks had come from Tillamook, Oregon where they had met and married the previous year. They had seen advertisements in newspapers about land that was available for homesteading in this part of Idaho. On their way here, they met Bill and Nellie at a camping place. It turned out that the Markses had read the same ads and were also going to Council, so the two families traveled together. Grandma remembered the trip as being the hardest she had ever made. It seemed to take forever to come clear across Oregon in the wagon. It must have been even harder for Nellie with an additional small child.
These were some of the items in the newspapers that spring:. Council was now a part of a new county named "Adams". The new "opera house" in town (now the People's Theater) was showing moving pictures twice a week. The son of O.G. Shearer choked to death on a bean he was eating for lunch at the Hornet school. Ova J. Allen was on trial for beating a school teacher with a club at the Bear School because the teacher (Mrs. Burris) had corrected Allen's child. The railroad had just reached New Meadows. The Pomona Hotel had just been built and was about to open for business.
Within the next year or so, the Fisk and Marks families took up homesteads within walking distance of each other on Pleasant Ridge, about seven or eight air miles north east of Council. By April of 1912 the Fisks had another baby boy, Herbert. Eight months later, their first child ate the heads off of some matches and died. They later had four more children, one of whom was my father. The Markses had two more girls and a boy. The Fisk and Marks kids spent their early childhoods together, including attending the one-room Ridge school. Rondo, the colt behind the Fisk wagon on the long trip, became one of the best work horses in the country, and served the family for many years.
In 1924 my grandfather expanded his land holdings when he bought Joe Glenn's place closer to Fruitvale and moved his family there. In 1926 Hazel Marks became Hazel Harrington. She and her four sisters each married sons of Robert Harrington. In 1939 Hazel and Harvey Harrington again become a neighbor of the Fisks when they bought a ranch a couple miles up the West Fork of the Weiser.
As I grew up on the Fisk ranch, I came to see Hazel and Harvey as living "Landmarks" - people who seemed like they would always be here to be reference points in the world. As of last week they are both gone. Every time we lose one of our Landmarks the world becomes a little less familiar.
I would like to thank the Worthwhile Club for a donation they made in memory of Irene McMahan.
On a much lighter note, Sid Fry's recollections of the Orchard school brought back some memories to Galen York. Galen wrote them down and gave me permission to use his story here.
"If I remember correctly it was the spring of 1944. School at Orchard had finished, and it was a few days before fishing season opened. Eddy and I decided to go fishing. We got some line, hooks, and a few worms and cut us a willow pole; fixed a first class outfit. We were fishing in the small stream about 200 feet north of mill creek road, a short distance west of Missman - Mill Creek intersection known as "Last Chance Creek". We had 4 or 5 trout 6 or 8 inches long, and were really enjoying ourselves on a nice sunny day, when someone hollered at us. We looked up to the road where this man was standing by the fence. He said, "Hey boys come up here, I want to talk to you." So we picked up our fish, and walked up to where he was to get aquatinted. He told us to get into the pickup. We did because he showed us his badge, and said he was Fred Clarke, the game warden. We decided right off we were aquatinted!"
"Well now, it would not have been so bad if he had just took us home, told our parents and kicked us out. No way! He drove up Mill Creek, high orchard road and across Missman Road to where we started for what seemed like an eternity, as I think he stayed in first gear in the pickup all the way. He chewed our butts, told us how bad we were and how terrible it was to fish out of season. His vocabulary was more than Websters Dictionary! By the time we got back to our point of beginning, I am sure we had reached an agreement not to fish out of season again."
To this day I have never gone fishing with Eddy Garver again. What with the laws and rules of today, we would probably be arrested before we got out of town. I would bet the game warden smiled as he ate those fish for supper!"
12-11-97 I heard from Houston Fruge again, the guy who was stationed at the Middle Fork CCC camp in 1940. For the younger readers (well, there might be a few who may not know this), the CCC, or Civilian Conservation Corp, was established by the Roosevelt administration to provide work and job training for young men during the Great Depression of the 1930s. Camps were established around the country, and were modeled after military camps.
Mr. Fruge sent me a photocopy of kind of scrap book of the Middle Fork camp. The cover says, "Memories of Company 6421 C.C.C. Camp Council, F-413 - Summer 1940". Inside the cover is a memoriam to "Thomas H. Fletcher July 26, 1940". The next page has a dedication to the Company Commander, Lieut. William O. Cromwell. A list of camp personnel shows Lieut. Nelson Singleton as "Subaltern", Stewart McCutcheon as Camp Educational adviser, and Major William S. Fowler as Company Commander of Co. 1996. Alvin Thurston was the camp physician which helps explain why he took so much movie footage of it and the men.
The Camp history says that Company 1335 CCC, Camp F-413, located about five miles south of Council, Idaho on the North and South highway, U.S. 95, was first organized at Fort Monroe, Virginia, May 21, 1933 and was designated at that time as Company 1335.
From Fort Monroe the Company moved to Pine Valley, Utah, CCC Camp F-17. Later it was moved to Leeds, Utah, CCC Camp F-24. From there it was moved to Upper Beaver Headquarters, Boise, Idaho and was known as Camp F-146. The Camp was next moved to F-108, French Creek, Riggins, Idaho where it was engaged on the Salmon River project in the Idaho National Forest during the winter and spring of 1934 and 1935. From French Creek the Company was moved to F-169, Cambridge, Idaho where the work project was in the Weiser National Forest. On January 18, 1938 the Company was moved to the Middle Fork site south of Council.
"On July 8, 1940, Company 1996 was disbanded. Almost immediately Company 6421, consisting of men from southwestern Louisiana of the Fourth Corps, arrived and began the occupancy of Camp F-413."
"Company 6421 received its beginning when 200 enrollees from Camp Reaves, Vernon, De Ridder, Hackberry, and Abbeville left Louisiana for Council, Idaho as their destination under the command of Lieut. William Oliver Cromwell and Lieut. Nelson Singleton as Subaltern."
"The Company strength at this time stands at 196 consisting of Leaders, Specialists, Asst. Leaders and members."
"Following a long ride from Louisiana across the southwest the new men arrived at Mesa siding about 2:30 A.M. Tuesday July 9, 1940. All were surprised and amazed upon being aroused from their berths by the welcoming committee from old 1996 Company. Rapidly a rumor spread that a raid by the Indians was imminent, but we all too soon learned that Idaho is wild in looks only and that the once savage Indian has long since become mild."
"After a short trek into Camp the men were given an early breakfast before starting the day's business of getting settled. This is the day that will be long remembered because the problems before us all were a bit tough and can now be recalled vividly. It seems as thought the day's routine was an endless procession of roll calls, shots in the arm, clothing issues, markings, hurrying from barrack to office, to supply room or mess hall, all midst a world of bewilderment. That evening after supper they left the camp in droves to explore the nearby hills which were mountains to them."
"The next day camp routine and various programs did begin in earnest. There was a trip to the project, and instruction in the use of hand tools. They were not tenderfeet in this respect because all knew the use of the ax and saw."
"The work project that this Company is now engaged in is that of road construction. They have completed about seven miles of road up the Middle Fork of the Weiser River. The purpose of this road is to provide protection in a forested region containing splendid recreational areas and in addition a stand of timber of commercial value."
"Much of the work is done by hand crews, who strip the top soil along the right of way and also remove the brush and trees from this area. They are followed by a jackhammer and then powder crew who blast the rocks and stumps from the road bed. Bulldozer operators follow in the near future and it is these powerful machines that cut the road down to the grade level charted by the surveying crew. After this comes the finishing work of placing sand and gravel which is leveled and smoothed by grading machines."
"During the summer months members of our Camp are on call for forest fire fighting duty and then during the winter on crew is also busy upon forest improvement work. Other work is being done, namely: Repair & Maintenance of Equipment and Wood Procurement."
"These various projects furnish a wide range of experience that is used to good advantage in job training. There is opportunity to train several machine operators because all machines are enrollee operated in this company. There is training in mechanics, blacksmithing, warehouse man, jackhammer operation, powder man, surveying, carpentry and forestry. In addition to the above jobs, there is also the work of operating and maintaining the camp itself which furnished ideal training for cooks, baker, clerks, storekeepers and stewards."
It's interesting that "blacksmithing" is mentioned. This must be an indication of the state of the art of welding, etc., at the time. It's also interesting to note that the use of bulldozers was fairly new technology. Notice there is no mention of chainsaws to clear the road right of way. There were a just a couple, big, awkward power saws in this area in the late 1930s, and they were a long way from what we have now.
12-18-97
A couple weeks ago I was informed that Rufus Anderson's grave headstone has been relocated to the Kesler Cemetery. Rufus was one of this area's earliest settlers. He and his wife, Nancy, arrived on Hornet Creek, as best I can gather, in 1879. Just how long Rufus lived here I don't know. He lived out the last days at the old soldier's home at Boise and was buried in the military cemetery in the foothills. Janet Johnson, who is a relative of Rufus's, brought his original headstone here because it was being repeatedly vandalized in the military cemetery. She placed the stone between that was his wife and son in the Kesler Cemetery, and put a different marker on his grave at Boise.
I'm not sure off the top of my head which son is buried in the Kesler Cemetery, but Rufus had two sons who were quite interesting to say the least. I wrote about them some time ago, but there have been so many new readers since then I give it another shot.
Preston Anderson, or "Press" as he was more often called, was born in 1872. He homesteaded a farm just across the Weiser River west of Council sometime before 1900, and lived there until his death in 1924. His home was in the approximate location of Bob and Bonnie Wininger's house today. [2041 Council-Cuprum Road]
To say the least, Press was a little odd. He wore his hair long, and claimed at times to be Jesus Christ. He put crosses of tape on his windows to keep the devil out of his house, and he always left the last little patch of hay in the center of a hay field uncut because he thought "the devil was in there."
Press placed this ad in the Council paper in 1901:
MENTAL SCIENTIST
P. G. Anderson Council, Idaho
Cures all diseases by Mental or Magnetic Healing
Cures as easily performed at a distance as if present. Charges Reasonable.
When a judge in Weiser determined that Press was insane in 1907, it was only one of several times that Press was sent to the state asylum at Blackfoot. The Weiser Signal reported:
"Anderson's hallucination is that he is revising the Bible, and hypnotism, claiming that he would soon publish a Bible according to his own ideas." "He is a man of perhaps thirty years and is noticed by almost everybody on account of his long and unkempt hair."
Cases like Anderson's were not rare in those days. About this time, newspapers in this area contained a story almost every week about someone going violently insane. In 1910 the Weiser newspaper said, "Dr. J.H. Kellogg, professor at the College of Physicians and Surgeons says everybody will be insane 250 years from now if insanity increases at its present rate . . . ." "Dr. Kellogg declared that insanity has increased 100 per cent in the last 100 years until there are now 34,000 lunatics and idiots to every million people in the world."
The widespread mental problems may have been due to the use of substances that were not known to be toxic at the time. Lead is a primary example, as it was the principal ingredient in paint. Even worse, tin cans, from which some people in isolated locations sometimes ate much of their food, were sealed with a solder that had an extremely high lead content. Also, popular patent medicines of that day often contained cocaine or other easily-misused ingredients.
Mental illness was a factor in at least one other member of Press's family. His younger brother, James, also had episodes of insanity. In the spring of 1899, Press and a neighbor, Joe Lane, were keeping an eye on James during one of his psychotic episodes. He kept them both awake for two consecutive days and nights. Late on the third day, James went to another neighbor, a Mr. Jackson. Explaining that Joe and his brother were exhausted, James asked Jackson to come sit with him that night. Immediately after leaving the Jackson place, James walked a short distance to Hornet Creek. There, he removed his coat and hat, tied his hands together in front of him and jumped into the creek. He was later found there, dead.
Rumors about James's death immediately flew fast and furious. Several of them wound up in the Salubria paper. The paper reported that Anderson had gone salmon fishing, and his family was alarmed when he didn't return. The next morning, a search party was said to have found him dead on the banks of Hornet Creek with his hands securely tied behind him. It looked as if it could have bee murder.
An inquest was held, and James Anderson's death was ruled a suicide.
Evidently Press's most serious mental problems were intermittent. His neighbors considered him to be "a hard working man, and a good friend to those he liked".
He ran a blacksmith shop in Council during the 1890s, and also helped harvest grain in the area with his threshing machine.
Charles and Catherine Lappin lived on Press's place in a house that belonged to Anderson when they arrived in the valley in 1904. Their oldest son, Fred, was born here. The next year, the Lappins bought a ranch about 3 miles north of Council, in the foothills to the east of the highway. The road to their ranch acquired the name "Lappin Lane" by which it is still known.
In spite of his mental problems, Press Anderson met with a more peaceful end than his brother had. In the fall of 1924, he was found dead in his house. It was not known exactly what day he had died. He was 52 years old.
12-24-97 Some time back I wrote about the Peck family who lived mile or two past the Upper Dale school. They lived in the big white house just past where the pavement now ends, about ten miles up the Council - Cuprum road. Since that time I have run across an interesting story about two of the Peck's sons. On October 9, 1887 the two boys, ages about 12 and 16, were hunting in the head waters of Hornet Creek. They came across a bear cub and killed it. Farther on, they saw a large, male, cinnamon-colored, black bear. They shot and missed, and the bear began to charge them. The older boy stood his ground and shot, breaking the bear's hind leg. The bear continued to charge, and the boy clubbed the him over the head with his rifle. The bear bit the boy's arm and leg before the younger brother ran up and shot the bear in the head, killing it. Evidently the older boy's injuries weren't serious. The boys packed the smaller bear home, then returned with a wagon for the big one.
The story appeared in the Weiser newspaper, and was submitted by James Smith of Hornet Creek. No comment was made by the paper about the boys shooting a bear cub. People in those days had a different sense of their relationship to wildlife than most of us do now. Nature was still very much an obstacle to overcome - an adversary to be subdued. I remember reading a story in an old Council newspaper (I don't recall from what date) about a local man who shot a very unusual bird just to see what it was.
I have also written about the Wilkie family, but have a little new information. Frederick C. Wilkie, his wife Sarah, and their four sons, first settled on Hornet Creek at "Dale" in 1882. Their home was at the point where the Council - Cuprum road leaves Hornet Creek, near the old Hornet Guard station.
Susanne Newby of Santa Anna, California is the granddaughter of Arthur Wilkie, and she sent me a copy of their family history. For the most part, I'm going to quote what she wrote in 1973. Here it is:
It was after my mother died that he gave it to me. He had been playing Solitaire when he got up and slowly walked into the bedroom and returned with the old crumpled box. He was a tall, straight man in his seventies. He had often been compared to Abe Lincoln, not only in his appearance and quiet manner, but also because of his interest in the law and politics.
"I was just your age, eleven years old," he said, When my mother, Sarah, died."
He took from the old box a tiny, long white dress with the smallest embroidered stitches I had ever seen.
"This won't mean much to you now, " he said, "but someday you will understand the importance of it. My mother made this dress for me when I was born. It's a christening gown and we brought it across the plains in a covered wagon in 1876. Your great-grandmother sewed each of these stitches by the light of a kerosene lamp many years ago."
My grandfather, Art Wilkie, was born in Syracuse, New York on May 20, 1873, exactly one hundred and ten years ago. The little dress is gray with age now and my grandfather has been gone for many years, but I want to put down what I know of him, the hardships he faced and his accomplishments.
When Art was three years old, his mother gathered together their belongings and her three small sons, Frederick, Arthur and Richard, for the trip to Wyoming where her husband, Fred, had gone a year or so earlier. Fred had settle in Egbert, near Cheyenne, and was working as a stockman on a ranch. The cattle business had spread throughout the West after the Civil War and many men left their homes and families to find work. The stockman's life was hard and lonely and often meant long periods away on cattle drives but when Fred was settled, he sent for his family.
More next week.
My thanks to Mrs. John Panike for sending me a note about Deb Shaw. I had asked if someone could tell me when he died. She said he was born 10-14-05 and died 10-12-66. Deb was her uncle.
There is a project that the museum is going to undertake that you may be able to help with. We are going to put together a collection of family information relating to the early Council area. Part of the project will be putting the local census records on computer. This will be a big job. Another part will be entering information into a genealogy data base to track how people are related. If you have a home computer and would like to work on some aspect of this project from you home, let me know.
We are still looking for fruit industry related items for an upcoming museum exhibit. You are certainly welcome to help with that project. One thing we need is accounts from people about what their experiences with the orchards here. This could be in written form, or on tape recording, etc. If you would like to help with this, by recording your memories, or by recording someone else's, this would be very valuable to your community. This applies to any other local history subject. Every time an older person dies we lose a piece of our past. There aren't enough people preserving their stories. If you have time and interest in this, please do it. If you need help, advice or a tape recorder to work with, please let me know.
One more thing. We need a good vacuum cleaner for the museum. We have a really old one, but if anyone has one to donate that is in good shape, especially one that has a carpet head, please let me know.
1-1-98
Before I continue with the Wilkie story, I forgot to include some information I received some time ago about the Peck family. Shirley Dahlin, a relative of the Pecks, stopped by the visitor's center over a year ago. Thanks to the host there, Kenny Schwartz, she sent some photos of the Pecks and some family information.
Andrew Peck married Jullette Sopher or (Gilmer). They came west behind Gen. Custer, and helped bury the dead at Little Big Horn. They first settled in Carson City, Nevada.
Children:
Rena Agusta Peck married John R. Crawford
born 4-11-1887 at Carson City, Nevada
died 2-23-1962 at San Francisco
buried: Carter's Cemetery, Tuolumne, CA
Rena and John had 5 children: Elsie, Ellen, Leslie, Chester & Arleen
Cora - born in eastern US, married Robert Nelson, had two children: Leona & Clarence
Frank - never married
Hattie - married Bud White, had three boys
Fred - born in Kansas, married Cora __, no children
Blanche - married Jack (?) Johnson, had one daughter
Since there were only two boys, the ones in last week's story about the bears had to be Frank and Fred.
I'm continuing with the story of the Wilkie family, written by Susanne Newby. If you remember last week, Frederick Wilkie's wife and sons were about to come west to join him in Wyoming:
“To three small boys, the trip West was probably a great adventure but it must have been difficult for their mother, Sarah, with three small sons. Frederick was six, Arthur was three and Richard was one. Traveling by wagon meant only the bare necessities could go, so they carefully packed food, clothing, bedding, perhaps a few farm implements and household utensils and tucked away, among their things, was the tiny christening dress.
“After outfitting, in the spring of 1876, the wagons left. [This was the same year the Moser's came west to the Council Valley, and the summer of the Custer defeat at the Little Big Horn.] They organized into wagon trains for it was foolhardy for a single wagon to attempt the westward journey. The wagon trains often took months to reach their destinations and were often beset with hardships and danger. Travel was hot and dusty and monotonous and many overpacked and wagons broke down and the trails west became littered with belongings cast away to lighten loads. Indians seldom menaced large, well-guarded trains but small groups of wagons where in constant danger. Hunger and thirst dogged the travelers and disease was common. A good day's travel was about fifteen miles, often less. After several months, the family reached Wyoming.
“Egbert was a small town, hot and dusty. Hogs and cows had the run of the street. The family lived on "muddy creek" and their fourth son, Ralph, was born there in 1878. Life was hard in Wyoming, and few families became permanent residents. When the Oregon Shortline Railroad started in Granger, Wyoming and continued into Idaho, it promised new work and a better life.
“Fred and Sarah and their four sons virtually followed the path of the Oregon Trail, as the railroad did, and moved on to Soda Springs, Idaho. Their fifth son, Craig, was born there in 1883. As the railroad progressed northward, Fred and his two oldest sons, Fred and Art, age thirteen and eleven, got work on the railroad operating a scraper with their own team. They traveled north to Boise and then over to Weiser River where timber was plentiful and there was an abundance of water and rich productive soil. The family moved on until they found a spot called Hornet Creek, near Council, and settled there.
“Hornet Creek flowed through a lush, narrow valley and had a length of about fifteen miles. It was named because of the prevalence of this stringing pest, the nests of which were seen hanging from the limbs of trees all along the valley. They selected a spot which is now "at the fork of the road" at the end of that valley where Hornet creek crosses the road. Huge tress still stand that shaded and cooled the family on hot summer days a hundred years ago.”
More next week.
1-8-98
Continuing with the story of the Wilkie family written by Susanne Newby:
"There was lots of work to be done now that the decision had been made to settle in this remote area. Fred and his sons had land to clear, logs to cut, barns, fences and a house to build. Ditches had to be constructed for irrigation and a root cellar dug and gardens and orchards planted. The log house was chinked together between the logs with split pieces of timber and plastered with mud on both inside and out. There was a growth of cottonwood timber and trees on the mountainside so logs where plentiful. A fireplace was built for cooking and warmth."
"Fred had been injured while serving in the Civil War and had various health problems so much of the responsibility fell on Sarah and her children."
At this point I to insert something about the Civil War. I have to wonder what it was like for a Union officer to come to a place like the Council area where so many of the settlers were from the South. I have never read or heard of any conflict between the Wilkies and their neighbors, but it would be interesting to know what people were thinking in those days.
In Susanne's collection of family papers there is a letter from Frederick Wilkie that he wrote while he was in the war. It is from Strasberg, Virginia and dated October 14, 1864. He mentions fighting at Harpers Ferry, Harrisburg and Fisher's Hill. Then he tells of the battle in which he was wounded:
"Yesterday, we were very much surprised when three shells from rebel guns bursted within a few feet of our tent where we were quietly encamped. Our division was sent out to fight the enemy. It was a the hottest fight I have been in . . . a perfect rain of shells and bullets. We lost a great many and were encamped two full weeks. Our battalion, myself in command, and the 34th Mississippi were the only regiments which fell back in order. Our Brig. Commander was severely wounded and taken prisoner. I was struck in the side with a piece of shell and lost my breath so that I expected to fall every moment and be taken prisoner, but fortunately came in safe. Many of our officers narrowly escaped. One of my best friends, a lieutenant in the 34th Mississippi was killed by a shell very near me."
Susanne continues, "Fred had been injured while serving in the Civil War and had various health problems, so much of the responsibility fell on Sarah and her children. Chores for a woman, in those days, included cooking, washing and ironing, gardening, canning, carrying water, making and mending clothes, making quilts and bedding and baking breads and biscuits. She had no electricity and no indoor plumbing. The nearest market was a trip to Weiser, a trip made once or twice a year, spring and falls, to buy and sell as needed. The trip took six days, two days each way and a two-day rest in Weiser. The nearest doctor was eighty miles away."
"That Spring, in March of 1884, Sarah Wilkie died. She was thirty-four. Her family buried her on a sloping hillside not far from their house. The site they picked was surrounded by aspen, cottonwood and tall pine and would, in years to come, become the graveyard for other family members." [This grave site is above the Council - Cuprum road, just north of where the Upper Dale road rejoins that road. More on it later.]
"Those years must have been difficult for five 'motherless' boys. At the time of Sarah's death. her children where; Fred, thirteen: Art, eleven; Richard, nine; Ralph, six; and Craig, one."
"By 1887, education in Idaho had become compulsory so the boys were required to attend school between the ages of eight and eighteen or until the completion of eighth grade. For the Wilkie boys, school meant a three mile walk or, in winter when the snow covered fences, three miles on skis or snowshoes. [To the Upper Dale school.] The children sat at crude desks, built by hand, and slate and slate pencils were used instead of paper and pencils. Heat was provided by a potbellied stove in the corner. Those near it roasted while those farther away were cold. In winter, there was always the odor of wet woolen caps and coats and mittens drying after the trip to school."
More next week.
Have you seen the museum?! The addition is pretty much done. All we need are some finishing touches and we'll be ready to start building exhibits. Anyone is welcome to drop by and see the progress. We are usually there on Tuesdays from 10:00 to around 4:00. Please remember, we are going to need volunteers to host the museum this summer.
1-15-98
Continuing with the story of the Wilkie family written by Susanne Newby:
“Art loved to play baseball and was the catcher for the local team. He got plenty of exercise, not only in the long walk to and from school each day, but in the countless chores that awaited him after school. Art was a good hunter and fisherman and had no trouble getting deer meat, salmon and trout. Later a store in Council shortened the trip to market but few 'store bought' items were necessary."
The first store in the Council Valley was established in 1888 by a Weiser man named John Peters. It was located about a mile north of present-day Council, somewhere near the Kesler Cemetery and Chet Madson's place.
"There were hardships for the early settlers but there were rewards as well living in this valley. The solitude and beauty were awe-inspiring. Council mountain towered 8,000 feet above sealevel and northward the peaks of the Seven Devils towered in the distance. Southward lay the great open sagebrush plains."
"The small town of Council was growing slowly and was incorporated in 1903. [Actually it grew very quickly.] The Congregational Church was built, a new school added and the railroad came. The mining boom caused the streets to be crowded with covered wagons and freight wagons. Men carried guns strapped to their shoulders. It was a wide-open town with six saloons and as many brothels. Art saw the effects of alcohol on the miners and never drank or smoked or allowed liquor in his home."
“Art finished the eighth grade and went on to learn the printer's trade in Boise. He worked as a printer for four years. When Art was twenty-five he and his brother, Richard, opened a sawmill in Wilkie Canyon. It was on the creek a few miles from the homestead. Together they built the sheds and buildings necessary to house the huge saws and equipment. Government land was granted to them north of Hornet Creek and they cut the timber and transported the logs to the sawmill."
“The coming of the railroad, in 1901, brought about the founding of Fruitvale by Art and Richard. It was an incorporated townsite and shares were sold and issued in the name of Fruitvale Development Company Ltd. Wagon loads of logs were carried from the sawmill for shipment on the railroad. In 1907, a traction engine replaced the teams of mules that hauled the wagons to Fruitvale. At Fruitvale, a 'planer shed' was constructed where the cut lumber was smoothed and planed into finished lumber before being sent on, by rail, to Payette. Art entered into a partnership with a man in Payette to sell the lumber. By then, he was engaged in every aspect of the lumbering business from the actual cutting of the timber, sawing of the logs, transporting them to Fruitvale and then on to Payette where the finished lumber was sold."
"Art's older brother, Fred, was the first of the Wilkie boys to marry. In 1892, Fred married Sallie Bach and she moved into the log house which, at that time, housed twelve people. Fred, senior, had remarried after Sarah's death, a young woman by the name of Fannie Fletcher. Fannie, at the age of eighteen, became the stepmother of five boys who were not much younger than she was. Fred and Fannie had three children: Olive born in 1887; Edward born in 1889; and Warren born in 1891. Fannie and Fred divorced in 1896 and in the 1900 census, Sallie was the only woman in the Wilkie household that now held fourteen people."
“On June 1, 1902, Art, a tall, dark-haired young man of twenty-nine, married Lillian Estelle Whiffin. Lillian was from Council. She was born on September 19, 1875 in Keokuk, Iowa. Lillian's parents were Minnie Whiffin Zink and the late Dr. William Cowan Whiffin. Art and Lillian were married by a Justice of the Peace in Cuprum [J.R. Sears], a little town north of Hornet Creek. Their first child, Waldo, was born in 1903 and their family continued to grow. The christening dress, made by Sarah Wilkie, was taken out for each child to wear and then folded carefully away."
More next week.
1-22-98
Art and Lillian Wilkie had six children: Waldo (born 1903), Warren (b. 1904), Audrey (b. 1908), Fred (b. 1908), a stillborn daughter in 1913, and Arthur Jr. (b. 1915).
"In 1905, Art and Lillian built a white-frame house near the family homestead. It was a one-story, two-bedroom house 'modern' house although it was still lit by kerosene lamps and had not plumbing. Lumber was plentiful from the nearby sawmill and fences were built, as rattlesnakes were a threat to the children. A garden and apple orchard were planted and the root cellar still marks the spot where the house stood although the house has long since disappeared."
"The little graveyard on the sloping hillside where Sarah had been buried grew. Frederick C. Wilkie was buried in 1907, two of Art and Lillian's children and three of Fred and Sallie's children were buried there. A family friend or cousin, Libbie Rose, was buried there about 1910."
"The Fruitvale Development Company was doing well and the family moved to Fruitvale to be nearer the company and closer to the school for the children. The Wilkies even attempted to change the county seat to Fruitvale but that was unsuccessful. They lived in a large two-story boarding house where boarders and travelers rented rooms." [This is now the house of Jim and Pam Joslin.] "Besides the lumber business, Fruitvale had a store, a school and a blacksmith's shop."
"Art was well-thought of in the community, honest in all his dealings and hard-working. Art had put his money into the lumber yard in Payette and signed a contract with his partner there, that in case of default, Art was to receive two hundred acres of good, prime ground. The partner failed to pay his debts and Art was left with the two hundred acres. The family went down to Payette to look at the property only to discover that it was two hundred acres of worthless alkaline soil. Art had been duped by his partner and his lumbering business was ruined. He had trusted his partner and accepted, sight unseen, the land. He found that the law was more binding than a man's word. The case went to court and Art lost. It was then he decided that if the law could get you into that kind of a mess, he had better find out more about it."
"Art did some logging that summer of 1909 and began studying law during the winter. For years he studied by correspondence courses and, on April 21, 1913, with very high grades, he passed the bar at the State Capital Building in Boise. He was forty years old."
"His brother, Fred, was a civil engineer and was overseeing the Marysville Canal System in Ashton, a town [in southern Idaho] five hundred miles away. He wrote to Art and suggested that he take up his practice of law in Ashton in Fremont county. The population of Ashton was over five hundred and the town was the center of the grain growing district."
"Art had lived in Council Valley for thirty years since his family had homesteaded there and built that first log house but the lumbering business was behind him and the family agreed to move to Ashton."
I should mention here that Fred Wilkie Jr., the one who invited Art to come to Ashton, was the architect who designed the old IOOF building in Council.
About the time that Art moved to Ashton, about 1912, all of the other Wilkie family also moved away. Rich found his way to Idaho Falls, Idaho where he practiced law until his death in 1925 at the age of forty-nine. Art began what seems like a whole new life in Ashton, and later at Idaho Falls, practicing law.
"Art bought a four-door Model T Ford in 1916 and the family made trips back to Council every summer. The trip back 'home' was an exciting event and the Model T flew along the dusty roads at the rate of five miles per hour. They stopped along the way to 'cool off' with the water from the water bag and, at the steepest points, everyone would get out and puff along behind. If the car actually stopped, they all hurried for rocks to keep the car from rolling backwards a few feet. What a thrill when they finally reached the top and coasted down. Choke cherries grew along the road and if they grew out far enough, could be plucked as the car 'sped' by. Sometimes Art lowered the top and the children could ride 'right out in the open.' When they reached Council, picnics and camping trips were planned. All the relatives would gather and go fishing and hunting. Art had spent a lot of time in the wilds as a young man and taught his children many outdoors skills. The women would gather huckleberries and make huckleberry pies. Art always spent a day cleaning and fixing up the [Wilkie] graveyard at Hornet Creek. He loved those hills where he and his brothers lived and raised themselves, motherless, and where he had first made his home. When it was time to return to Ashton, they piled in the car and amidst waving and crying 'sped' away."
Art and Lillian moved to California in 1946. He died there in 1949, and Lillian died in 1952.
"If I close my eyes I can see them. Art, playing Solitaire, and Lillian playing the piano and singing, in her quavering voice, 'and I'll cling to that old rugged cross and exchange it someday for a crown'."
"But most of all I remember the day my grandfather brought out the box with the small white christening gown. As I run my fingers over the tiny stitches I marvel at the places that little dress has been. It came across the plains, tucked away in that covered wagon a hundred and ten years ago. It found its way to a cupboard shelf in that first log house at Hornet Creek and later, with each move, to other houses and other places, to Ashton and Idaho Falls and California. His words come back to me. 'Someday you will understand,' he said. I understand."
That's the end of Suzanne Newby's writing about the Wilkie family. Next week I'll start on a very moving story written by Art and Lillian Wilkie's daughter, Audrey, about the annual visits to Council that were mentioned above.
1-29-98 For the past few weeks I've been quoting the writings of Susanne Newby about the Wilkie family. This week I'll start on something that Susanne's mother, Audrey Wilkie Dolphin, wrote.
Audrey was the only daughter of Arthur and Lillian Wilkie and spent the first six years of her life on Hornet Creek where she was born in 1907. The family moved to Ashton, Idaho, but as Susanne mentioned, they would come back to Council to visit. Audrey titled this piece, "Two Pictures":
"O.O. McIntyre said it was a fact that people shunned spots and places that were precious in their memories. I know it is true. I think of him when I think of my grandmother, for he thought so often and so fondly of his grandmother."
"Once a year, during every year of our childhood, Mother and Dad, my three brothers and I went to see Grandmother. Grandmother lived in a proverbial Peaceful Valley [Council], anyway that was my name for it. I know there is no place in the world that is as restful and quiet and lovely or is just perfect because of the memories associated with it."
"My first six years of life were spent in this valley, near Grandmother. When we moved five hundred miles away we made annual pilgrimages back to see her. Several trips were made by train. I remember our first car, a Model T. I remember in connection with the car the narrow roads, steep hills, how when we commenced climbing the hill which led into Peaceful Valley Dad stepped into 'low' and we sped along at the rate of five miles per hour. Ever so often one of us kids worriedly asked Dad whether we would make it or not. Reassured we settle back to praise our wonderful car. I remember how we stopped to 'cool off' with water from the water bag and how at the steepest points everyone would get out and puff along behind and when it actually stopped how we all scurried for rocks, for we were frantic when she rolled back a few feet. It is hard to explain the ecstasy of finally reaching the top and coasting down."
"Dad, how far do you think she'll coast?"
"Four miles!"
"Gosh!"
“Another forty or fifty miles up and down, crossing several times a small river, I remember always imploring Dad to stop the car and let me pick the wild flowers. We all wanted to get the choke cherries that grew abundantly by the road, and it is true, that if they grew out far enough, we could pluck a few as we 'sped' by. Sometimes we coerced Dad to put the top down so we could be right out in the open. Oh, the feeling that came with the lowering of the top. It buoyed us up almost to the bursting point, the sensation will never be recaptured!"
"On one of our trips I remember a rain storm coming up suddenly, and Dad and the boys fastening on the curtains, leather with ising glass windows, foldup affairs and the darndest things to get on."
"Well, these journeys with their interesting happenings make other stories, personal and sentimental. I started to tell you about Grandmother. She lived in a tiny town, more important to us than any city."
[The grandmother Audrey talks about was Lillian's mother, Minnie Zink. Her house was where Dennis and Bea Maggard live in Council, on the northeast corner of Railroad St. and Central Ave.- just southeast of the old RR crossing on the road to Hornet Creek. The house was Council's first "hospital". The first phone line in town ran between her house and Dr. Frank Brown's.]
"Her house was white and big, we thought, and great trees and a board walk surrounded it. There was a well and a windmill and a cellar outdoors, a regular building with an attic, whose floor was covered with sawdust and an attic filled with treasures."
"There was an outdoor toilet, scrubbed and well-supplied with reading material. There was a wood shed near by, just like the Specialist suggests but this was long before he suggested it. Grandmother had another house on the grounds where Aunt Lena, Uncle D. and my cousins, V, M, B and B lived. This was fine having them right there."
"Grandmother's yard was so shady it was never carpeted in green velvet as the poets say, but there were grass and flowers of every kind, here and there, hit and miss, but Grandmother knew about each one and cared for them all, tenderly, going the rounds with her watering pot."
"There was a hammock too, for us kids to fight and scramble over particularly after meals. There was everything, even mystery, for all along the yard at the back was a high board fence and we weren't to go near or over it. There was a big ditch back there."
"Just across the street ran the railroad, where we saw 'the Galloping Goose' once a day and often played on the high platform of the warehouse there."
2-5-98
Continuing with Audrey Wilkie Dolphin's writing:
"It seems that when we went to Grandmother's it was sort of a reunion. As I said, Aunt Lena lived there and also in the same town tow of the dearest uncles any niece or nephew ever had, Uncle L [Lee Zink] and Uncle Vollie [Zink]."
"I always slept in Aunt Hazel's room. She was a trained nurse and sometimes was there. When she was, I seemed to have even more fun. She used to get out boxes of girlhood scraps, bits of ribbon and cloth for doll clothes. She showed us pictures there were little letters we had written her, one she laughed so over was one of my first when I signed what I considered proper 'your loving granddaughter.' I always thought niece and nephew a bit hard for children to grasp."
"Another thing that sweeps me with nostalgia is the feeling I remember of awakening in one of Grandmother's high white beds, a strange yet sweetly familiar setting. The sun was peeping in the window and tree branches we could climb out on and slide down to breakfast. I don't think I ever did that but I thought of it."
"Grandmother was always up first. She lighted the fire in the kitchen and put the water on to boil. Other than that it seems that Mother and Dad and the aunts and uncles did the cooking and carrying of water and wood, but she only relinquished the duties by force."
"Grandmother was a church worker and a church goer and a Christian in the true sense, but when we had these reunions we had every day planned and if Sunday was one of these days Grandmother 'skipped' church."
"One day we went to Hornet Creek in the hills and saw the house where I was born. Because it had a sort of little steeple I had remembered it as a castle. Imagine my shock in later years to find it a small house and quite plain."
"Dad used to have a sawmill up there on Hornet Creek and it was in those hills where he and his brothers lived and raised themselves, motherless. You see Grandmother is my mother's mother and although Dad's face always shines and he is cheery, I wonder how he felt when he went back up there. He always spent one day cleaning and fixing up the graves of his father and mother, a brother and a son and daughter were buried under the pines, right there in God's country."
"Another day we went to Payette Lakes. There must have been twenty or thirty of us. We took up a collection and hired a launch to take us around the lake. . . such happiness and fun! People who own yachts could never know what we experienced on that three hour journey."
"Another day we took buckets and containers and went huckleberrying, another time fishing and hunting sage hens. Grandmother never missed a day, always there, happily smiling and examining and picking some new flower or plant. She could hike as far as anyone, never complaining or wearing out. Mother used to say she could outwalk her."
"When these glorious days were over and we all had to go home, Grandmother stood out in her front yard and under a great oak tree and waved us cheerily off. She smiled with shining eyes but never did I see her cry. Mother sniffled as obscurely as possible and was filled up I know. I always bawled outright. Good-byes are one of the worst things about life. The relatives and Grandma always accepted my uncontrolled emotion as part of me and were stronger for my weakness. Their amusement helped out the situation, I guess."
"The World War came during my childhood. I could have been too young to be impressed except for the fact that two of my uncles had to go."
"The memories of the experience of the war made a mark, like a scar on my mind, a horrid ugly scar. My two pet uncles went overseas and Grandmother put a Mother's Service Flag in her window and bravely prayed and knitted and wrote to her sons. They returned and there was another glorious reunion."
Continued next week.
Believe it or not, the museum is moving into cyberspace. By the time you read this our web page should be up and running. Jim Peart was kind enough to do the technical work. We have put in access to my newspaper notes, a short history of Adams County, a short file of notes on historical area people, and four years worth of History Corner columns except for about six months worth that were lost to a computer virus. The newspaper notes alone took several years, so there are already thousands of hours of work literally at the fingertips of the public now. In time, we hope to have access available for local genealogical information, cemetery listings, plus birth, marriage and death records, census records, the museum's photo data base and more. We also hope to have all this on our computer at the museum so you will be able to access it there too. This project is in its infancy, but the possibilities are exciting. The address for our web site is "www.cyberhighway.net/~jcpeart". Those of you who visit are welcome to comment on how we can improve the site or what we should add.
2-12-98
Continuing with Audrey Wilkie Dolphin's writing:
"Childhood had passed but we went again the year I entered college. We did all the same old splendid things. I then helped more with the cooking and dishwashing and was one of the women. But I still had a grand time."
"The next and last time I went to see Grandmother I took my husband. We drove to Hornet Creek and I showed where I was born. We picked choke cherries and I made jelly at Grandmother's. She thought that was pretty good for a bride. She gave me an old fashioned pieced quilt and two of her oldest old hankies and an old dish or two."
"Grandmother died on Christmas Eve, 1932, when my baby was six months old. Her children were all there but not her grandchildren. I didn't go for the funeral, another gesture of absolute weakness. All I could think of was I never could go back to Peaceful Valley again."
"Grandmother has always been close to me, even since her death and I believe I still think of her more often than most anyone I have ever known."
"Five years after she was gone [1937], my husband asked me to go with him up north to see county superintendents to whom he was selling school supplies. He said we would leave the children with his mother and have a few days together. My son was five and my daughter, two and a half, and it was the first time I had left them. I left them cheerily, for once in my life I said good-bye that way, although I thought of them with little tuggings I knew they were safe and happy and were giving their grandmother a good time as well as a lively one. We reached the "mountain of my childhood," the one that takes you into Peaceful Valley and we soared over it at fifty per as if it weren't there at all and even before we started the downward stretch I was choking up and spilling over."
"My husband patted me and said, 'Forget Skip and Sue. They're all right.' I tried to grin but secretly kept dabbling and weeping. I never stopped. It was spring and I saw the blue corn flowers, the blossoms, the syringas, the sun flowers, wild onion blossoms, blue bells and shooting stars through the rain of my misty eyes. I cried and thought of the rain curtains on the old Model T and I told my husband funny things about my early days and our trips to Grandmother's. I especially tried to think of the humorous happenings as I laughed and cried at the same time. Just before we reached Grandmother's town [Council] we came to the cemetery and Lambert asked me if I wanted to stop."
"I said, 'Oh, no' and kept my eyes straight ahead as we went by. But ahead were the living things which were worse than the things that were really dead. Instead of going straight to find Uncle Vollie, who was the only relative now living there, I went with Lambert to the courthouse where I intended to sit in the car and hold a little court for myself. He parked in the yard back of the building and I looked neither to the right nor to the left but straight ahead into my compact. I worked diligently for on my poor, red, swollen face. Then I quickly pulled from a pocket in the car my favorite screen book which I had purchased for just this moment."
"In such surroundings with memories pounding down upon me from every side even the movie stars in person could not have turned the feelings I had. I struggled to pull myself together and went into the office of the county recorder, remembering I had never had a birth certificate and wondering if I had been recorded anywhere besides he family Bible. I went into the office making an attempt to be personable and asked them about my birth certificate. The two women behind the counter knew my family and me as a child and of course they had known my grandmother. The dam broke again and the only thing that saved the whole office was a great big substantial desk blotter. As I sobbed audibly, they consoled me something like this: 'Yes, Grandmother Zink was a fine woman and everybody loved her, but she lived her life, dear, and when one lives to be as old as she was and lived a useful and joyous life every minute she breathed, there should be no unhappiness.' "
“They didn't just quite understand so I dried up my tears and thanked them. My birth was recorded at the capitol or somewhere. I told them the next time I came back I would be careful not to emote so much. I bravely, laughingly retreated."
"We went to see my uncle and his family. He had built a house in back and across the ditch from Grandmother's mysterious ditch. I would have gone miles around rather than go near that house of Grandmother's but there was no other way. I resolved not to cry and I didn't. I scarcely looked at the house but it reached right out at me."
"I know my aunt and uncle must have thought that marriage and motherhood had aged me or that I was in the last stages of something but I controlled everything and joked jovially with dear, jovial, joking Uncle Vollie."
"Needless to say the tears started again as soon as we got away. If I were an interesting enough case, I'd still like a psychologist to analyze me and tell me how in the name of heaven I controlled myself for that one short ordeal or interlude."
"By evening we reached the lakes where we had picnicked so many times. I refused to stay. When we got out of the valley away from familiar scenes, the tears subsided. I was a wreck but aspirin and sleep cured me. Memories had put me through the greatest ordeal I have so far experienced."
"The next spring we went again. It was the same as before, tears and heart hurt almost beyond bearing. We stopped this time to put some cut flowers on Grandmother's grave. Mother had asked me to. It was the day after Memorial Day. I put some wild flowers there, too, from me. On in the little town I grabbed my uncle's hand and burst into sobs, which he understood, absolutely and completely."
"Last spring we went again. The children were with us this time. I told them about things. . . ."
Audrey Wilkie Dolphin died just a few years after this, in 1946. She was only thirty-nine.
I hope you have enjoyed Audrey's memories. I found them very touching. It's so sad that people and places that hold so many memories can fade into oblivion. Even the memories themselves die when we lose those who have them, unless they are written down. I've said it so often that you may be tired of it, but the places we live our lives are like stages where "performances" take place. The corner where Minnie Zink's house stood is now totally different, except for the big trees that still give shade, and I think the ditch may still be there. That corner is now making new memories. So continues the cycle of life . . . and history.
2-19-98
I got a nice letter and some pictures from Afton Logue Fanger. She went to the old grade school here, and now lives in Lyle, Washington. Her mother, Vava Logue, gets the Record and passes them on to Afton. My writing about the old school brought back some memories, and she was kind enough to write them down for us:
"I went to Council grade school 4th thru 8th grades in 1945-50. Yes, we actually had fire drills down the old fire escapes. On the last day of school, when we had games and picnic all day, we got to slide down these a lot. That was when they were covered. I know because I went home one of those times with the seat wore out of my jeans."
"We had Christmas programs on the tiny stage in the upstairs auditorium, and the back part was the library with a long counter and walls lined with books. The lunch room had an enclosed walkway from the main building. It was there, waiting in line one day, that my girlfriends informed me there was no Santa Claus, but I didn't believe them for one minute!"
"Seems it was in this walkway that the "lucky" kids got to beat the chalk out of the erasers after school. Actually there was a little machine with a handle that turned. And then there was Annie Over that we played over the lunchroom."
"Miss Trumbo came to the school every so often to tell us stories and I'm sure our favorite was the poem of Little Orphan Annie. I can still see her cute little mouth all shaped up into an 'ooooo' sound when she came to the part 'and the goblins will get you if you don't watch out!'. She was minister at the Congregational Church close to the school. Such a cute lady."
"A board sidewalk went past the church right on up to a big rock on the edge of the school grounds. The bus kids got to come on the school ground as soon as they got there, but the town kids had to wait at the rock 'till the big old bell in the belfry rang."
"Us Hornet Creek kids didn't have a school bus, usually a farmer was paid to drive us in their own car. One year Mrs. Frank George drove, another time Mick Blakely drove. I believe he later married Naomi Mason."
"We were all a pretty good bunch of kids in school, don't know if the rumor that Mrs. Eva Walstrand had a garden hose in her office that she beat bad kids with had anything to do with that."
"Lydia Newman came to teach in Council on our sixth grade year and moved up with us to the 7th and then to 8th, so we were the blessed class that had her 3 years . . . a great teacher. For 8th grade graduation, Mrs. Newman would take a hit song of the day and change the words for us . . . such as the song 'Pawn Shop On a Corner in Pittsburgh, Pa.' It became 'a school house on a corner in Council, Idaho'."
"The last day of school our 8th grade year we got to take brothers and sisters who would be starting school the next year. I brought my brother, Davie Logue, and Jim Camp brought Johnnie. He, Ray Shepherd and others tried to get these little boys to fight. These Little guys at that time wouldn't have squashed a spider, let alone fight."
"The 4th grade room of Effie Kite had a world globe that hung from the ceiling on a pulley. It fascinated us. Each room had a 'cloak room' for coats and overshoes, and of course for naughty kids to sit sometimes. There were two big wide-open staircases going up on each end of the big hallway we entered from the front door. No way would we ever thought of running in that hall!"
"Besides the teachers mentioned we had Betty Draper and Beth Hulin who I'm sure were fresh out of teacher's college, and we loved them. There was Mrs. Harvey and Chrissie Joyce too. A teacher from New Meadows, Mrs. Campbell, and also Mrs. Sundh. [Mildred Sundh was later Mrs. Fisk and then Mrs. Wilmarth.] I never had a man teacher, but there was a neat old gentleman from Mesa, Mr. Burton, who was janitor. He gave my brother an old black dog one time. Bud gave him a pretty original name also, 'Old Blackie'."
"Out on the Art Thorpe ranch where we lived there was this funny kind of sickness us kids would get. We never found a name for it, but it would instantly get better as soon as the 'school bus' was out of sight. I was the 1st kid in Council to get Scarlet Fever in the 5th grade."
"A lot of country school kids came into town in 7th and 8th grade from the schools at Middle Fork, Fruitvale and Mill Creek. Seems Upper Dale kids waited until 9th."
"It would sure be fun to walk into that old school again. Bet it was not as big as we thought it to be. I'm sending a couple pictures of the school and some kids. The photo shows the fire escape to be open, but it was covered at one time. It was lined with linoleum. Some kids were scared to death to come down it."
"If you don't feel any of this is up to repeating, that's fine. Just stick it in a drawer and 100 years from now it might be interest someone as they fly into Council on their space ship from another planet to another. But they will never really know how neat it was growing up in Council, Idaho! And one of the neatest is getting to visit with many of those same old friends some 40 years later!"
Ruth Husted also gave me a clipping from a newspaper from Northwestern Washington. It reads, "Mamie Dessiah Duncan, a life-long Whatcom County resident, died Tuesday, Jan. 27, 1998. She was 94. She was born May 23, 1903, to Wiley and Gretta Wisdom Duncan in Council, Idaho."
Does anybody have any more information about her? I know there were some Wisdoms living here way back when, but I don't know much about them.
We are busily working on new exhibits at the museum. Just as we knew it would, our bank account is down to its normal pittance after all the grand figures that poured in and out of it during our big expansion project. In other words, we need any monetary help you can give. There are the things we have to do, like finish making exhibits and paint the outside of the building this spring. And then there those projects we would like to do, which are only limited by finances. If you have enjoyed this column for the past four years, and if the history of our community and its people are important to you, please consider helping us with a donation. Remember that Idaho has a 50% tax credit for such donations up to a total of $100. That means you get half your money back! Donations can be made to Council Valley Museum, Box 252, Council, ID 83612.
2-26-98
When Afton Logue Fanger sent her letter awhile back, she included a clipping from the Idaho Statesman of May 12, 1963. The article was written by Joy Beckman, who use to live in Council. The last I heard, Joy lives in Weiser now. Her article was a very interesting history of our library, and I thought you might like to read it. At the time she wrote this, the library shared space with the museum in the same building where the museum is now. Here is Joy's article:
"Library Week is every week, or so it seems to Mrs. Ruth Winkler, librarian at the Council Valley Free Library. On Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday afternoon it's a sure bet that she's the most popular adult in town in the eyes of the youngsters as they stream up the hill to 'trade books' and view the treasure trove of old relics which are on display in glass cases in the library."
"The centennial year seems to have spurred many adults as well as children because the library, which has been open nine hours each week, will soon begin opening at 1 p.m. instead of 2 p.m."
"Mrs. Winkler is currently working on an inventory of the nearly 5,000 books and 65 new ones have been ordered since the first of the year. Between 800 and 900 books are checked out each month."
"While the library is now a well ordered, restful place to go, such was not always the story. Back in 1926 the Worthwhile Club decided Council needed a library and this group of dedicated ladies set out to see that it got one. Books were collected from hither, thither and yon."
"They continued to collect books and began their first library on a shelf in the Legion Hall. This arrangement lasted about a year and then they advanced to the Odd Fellows Hall which, although it seemed like a step upward at the time, almost proved to be their undoing."
They nearly froze to death. They had the use of the building for free, but they had to furnish their own heat. Coal was bought by the sack and their funds just wouldn't stretch far enough to cover much of this luxury.:
"Finally a friend, Jim Kesler, came to the rescue and they moved books and baggage into his jewelry store where they stayed until he retired. It can be assumed that this was a sad day for the women as he also furnished the heat."
"From there it was moved to the [Congregational] church annex and all the while it was growing. Then, much of the relief of the Worthwhile Club members, it was moved to the old school house and the teachers took over. After a period of time it went back to the church annex - in packing boxes where it remained until 1949 when the city hall was erected and it finally 'came home to stay.' "
"The club loaned money to the building fund to help with the new building. Then began the job of furnishing the large room and as before, the members pitched in and did the job."
"The women had long since given up serving as volunteer librarians and had been paying one of their members to act in this capacity."
"Now that they had a permanent home, everyone went to work cataloging the books and putting things to order. Mrs. Hugh Addington became the first librarian in the new building to be followed by Mrs. Frank Hulin. When Mrs. Ralph Finn took over around 1952 they were diligently trying to get tax support for their project. Mrs. Finn stayed for nearly 10 years."
"Finally, in 1955 their work paid off and Council became the first place in Idaho to create a library district to be supported by tax funds."
"The members of the Worthwhile Club still take a very active interest in the library and only last year donated a bookcase and $100 toward the purchase of Idaho books. They also collected an additional $50 from other organizations for the same project. currently they are preparing to join the state-wide movement to encourage school children to read books about Idaho and the West."
Just to bring you up to date, the current library was set up in October of 1978. It was made from about four pre-fabricated Boise - Cascade units.
3-5-98
The engineers' report has come in on the structural survey of the courthouse done by Atwood-Hinzman-Jones. This was a preliminary examination to evaluate the building for obvious defects and find any problems that might need more intensive investigation. I've tried to translate the main points of the report into English, and have put any direct quotes within quotation marks.
First the engineers noted that the job was more challenging because the building had undergone cosmetic repairs that concealed some of its structural defects. The courthouse is a two-story structure over a partial basement. It was built in 1915. Walls are unreinforced brick, 12 inches thick.
One of the biggest problems in the building is the separation of the floors and the roof from the outside walls. "Existing wall anchorages by inspection are insufficient. It is evident that the existing anchorage assemblies are not effective due to the various floor to wall separations throughout the structure. This issue is quite evident and quite serious. These separations appear to be up to 3/4" in some areas." The roof is fastened to the walls with 3/4" bolts every five feet, and the floors are fastened to the walls with 1/4" steel straps every five feet. Anchoring the walls and roof to the walls would be the biggest expense in bringing the courthouse up to code.
Another, associated, expense would be installing "tension chords" in the floor and roof diaphragms. These are structural elements which help the floor or roof keep from pushing out on the walls when weight is put on them. "The structure as a whole appears to have no significant deficiencies regarding shear wall and floor/roof diaphragm shear capacity. The primary concern is the ability of the floor and roof diaphragms to transfer lateral forces to the shear wall panels as previously mentioned."
It's interesting to note that some of the ceilings in the courthouse are made of concrete, which of course makes them very heavy.
About the wood-truss roof, the report says: "Water penetration is evident in many areas. Daylight can be seen from the attic area through some portions of the roof deck. Otherwise the trusses seem to be in good shape. A major concern regarding the truss-to-wall attachment occurs in the courtroom area." Some areas of the courtroom walls show signs of stress cracks due to outward pressure from the roof. "This condition should be investigated more accurately for a corresponding repair process. This issue is a primary area of concern regarding the integrity of the structure and will worsen with time."
There are cracks in most of the lintels above the windows just below the roof. Many of these cracks go clear through the brick walls. "These structural elements are obviously over-stressed and need repair." Repairs of this problem usually entail installing angle iron and plate assemblies bolted to the walls around the windows.
The floors are not level. This might not be serious, but it's impossible to tell without taking things apart to see how well the floors are fastened to the walls. "This should also be properly uncovered and examined for a complete structural investigation."
There are a number of cracks in the brick walls, "primarily at the corners and along the roof and floor lines." "Some cracks, however, also appear in the mid span of the wall." Most of them are probably due to the building having settled over time. This should be investigated to make sure that's all they are. If they are typical stress cracks caused by settling, they "can usually be repaired with minimal effort and cost."
The basement leaks. During some times of the year, water runs from the jail bunk bed area to the boiler room and into a floor drain. This problem is usually fixed by excavating along the outside of a basement wall, sealing the wall, and installing gravel and drain tile. This may not be so simple because the "ground" under and around the courthouse is generally solid rock.
"A typical concern with older structures such as this one is the accumulation of plaster layers on the ceiling which can become too heavy for the corresponding attachments. Some of the ceilings in this structure show stress cracks. This is either due to sagging floor joists, or internal stresses in the built-up ceiling assembly. This issue should be investigated to determine the severity of the ceiling cracks."
Some pipes and ducts are not braced well enough, but this should be fairly inexpensive to remedy.
The three primary concerns are: 1- How well the roof and floors are attached to the outside walls. 2- The roof truss condition over the courtroom which applies outward thrust at the bearing points. 3- Water penetration into the basement.
A change in how the building is used, such as if it would ever be used as a library, storage for heavy objects, etc. could change the code requirements a great deal. For example, a library would put a lot of weight on the floors from all the books. Obviously this would make stronger floors necessary than for routine office use. For this reason, the cost of bringing the building up to code depends on what level of code is required, determined by the use of the building.
We haven't received a bill for this inspection yet, but it was estimated at $800 to $1,000. (The cost is being paid by the Idaho Heritage Trust.) That seems like a lot for just walking through a building, taking a few pictures and typing a report. The biggest headache is that to really know the condition of the courthouse, "destructive testing" would have to be done. In other words the floors or walls would have to be taken apart in places to actually see the critical elements, and, in some cases, apply stress to them to test their integrity. Bottom line: very expensive. One engineer I talked to estimated the cost of "destructive testing" to really evaluate the nature and cost of bringing the building up to code, at $5,000 to $10,000.
The electrical and plumbing conditions of the courthouse were not addressed by these engineers, as their job (and field of expertise) was only to evaluate the structural integrity. I've read that the building "cannot be rewired". That's a new one to me. I thought any building could be rewired. It has already been rewired extensively if the conduit running everywhere means anything. It seems to me the building is repairable. The only question is how much money it would cost and how much anyone is willing to spend.
The commissioners seem to have given up on preserving the old courthouse as a public building because of the expense of bringing it up to code for public use. There has even been talk of tearing it down. Most of us hope this is not a serious alternative, at least not yet. That old monument has been a landmark in Council for longer than most of us can remember, and its absence would leave a hole in the heart of this community. But, if the cost is just too high, it may be that the only realistic route is to sell the building to a private party with a stipulation that the outside appearance cannot be altered.
A number of people have told me that the old courthouse would make a great museum. Yes, it sure would. I just don't see how the financial hurdle of such a project could ever be cleared. Look at what a money pit the New Meadows depot has become. Plus, we have already invested five or six years of work and money into our present location. Many people have given so much to get us to where we are; I can't see starting over unless some kind of trade could be made without losing what we've gained. Besides, the museum and its building belongs to the City of Council, not the county. If you have any ideas about all this, now is the time to step forward.
I would like to thank Jim and Laura Camp for a donation to the museum in memory of Carlos and Ella Weed. They were truly Landmarks. I would also like to thank Jay Thorp for his donation. Jay is a former Council boy who lives in Boise now. As I mentioned before, donations could not come at a better time because we're taking on the big job of building exhibits in our new section.
3-12-98
For years I have noticed something on maps of the area that has made me curious. They show an old railroad grade between the Meadows Valley and Long Valley. Just a couple years ago I heard there was actually a railroad there and that it had something to do with logging, but nobody I talked to knew much about it. Now there is a book out that tells exactly what that rail line was for and when it was built.
The book is "Lonesome Whistle - Shay Logging in Central Idaho" by Duane L. Petersen. Duane is a life-long resident of Cascade, and the book was printed so recently that the ink is practically still wet.
For most of the book, Duane covers the locations of, and stories about, "Shay" logging in Long Valley. I had heard the term "Shay" before a few times, but didn't know what it meant. Shay was a name brand of steam locomotives that were used for logging, and the name was generally applied to any engine used to pull log trains. Shay engines were smaller and lighter than most locomotives, and had a lower center of gravity for negotiating tracks that were not always well built or horizontally level. They could also handle steeper grades.
So why would anyone go to all the work of building a railroad into an area just to log it? I'm so used to the way things are done now that I have to stop and think about how things were before we had all the heavy equipment we have today. Shay logging started in Long Valley about 1918, a time when automobiles and trucks were still in their infancy. We've all seen pictures of the spindly little wheels and gutless little engines those early vehicles had. There were heavier trucks designed for bigger jobs, but they were pretty inadequate. Besides, this was an era when people did big jobs with steam power. It's amazing when you realize the Panama Canal was dug with steam-powered excavators, locomotives and human muscle.
One thing I hadn't thought about was how you would operate a steam engine when the temperature gets as cold as it does in Long Valley. Basically you had a big metal container full of water, so what did you do with it when you're not using it? They either had to laboriously drain al the water from the tank and every pipe every night, or a fire had to be maintained in the firebox 24 hours a day. It was more practical to do the latter.
Even when logging trucks came along, there was no such thing as antifreeze. What's more, the old trucks had water-cooled brakes which meant a water tank and lines full of water. When not in use, vehicles had to be drained, run continuously or put in a heated building in below freezing temperatures. Most people just put their cars up on blocks and drained them for the winter, and went back to horse-power. Ah, the good old days!
In his book, Duane goes into the stories behind the old towns of Cabarton and McGregor, plus other locations and the people who lived and worked there.
By 1939 most of easily accessible areas at Long Valley had been logged, and Gordon McGregor and the Boise Payette Lumber Co. moved their Long Valley logging operations to New Meadows. Big buildings and machinery were moved by rail on tracks built for that purpose. The line went through Sunflower Flat, by Fish Lake, and down into Meadows Valley from the southeast. The track was never used for anything else and was soon taken out.
The above mentioned outfits built a Shay line that joined the P&IN railroad at Rubicon and was used to log the Mud Creek area between 1940 and 1946.
At the same time Boise Payette was moving into the Meadows area (1939), they moved into the Council area. Andy Anderson was one of the Long Valley loggers that came here with them. That's the year construction was started on the mill here. It started operations in 1940. The arrival of these logging companies in New Meadows and Council brought population and economic booms to both towns.
World War II interrupted logging to some extent. After the war the timber industry here really came into its stride. To me, one of the most fascinating parts of Duane's book is his accounts of how logging equipment changed over the years. I've just skimmed the surface of his interesting book. If you are interested in buying a copy, I don't know what he's charging, but you can order one from him at: D&D Books, P.O. Box 458, Cascade, ID 83611. Phone: (208) 382-4532.
3-19-98
This week I'm trying to catch up on some odds and ends.
Delmar Hallett was kind enough to send me some information about the beginnings of the Council airport quite some time ago, but I haven't found time or opportunity to put it in this column until now:
"The town of Council acquired the property where the airport is located in 1947 or 1948. The original layout and field engineering was done by the late Ellis B. Snow and myself with advice and consultation from Chet Moulton, Director of Aeronautics for the State of Idaho, and Al Witter of the Federal Aviation Administration. The completed plan was submitted and approved by these officials and served as the basis for a grant of federal funds to complete the work consisting of grading and gravel surfacing a runway and taxi strip. The blacktop surface of the runway and other improvements were done at a later date, and I am not familiar with the details of that part of the development."
"I distinctly recall helping set the blue top grade stakes for final grading. I believe Hugh Addington built the first hanger on the property to house his plane."
I received a couple of interesting letters concerning Dr. Gerber back when we were putting her office together at the museum. Roy Gould told of some of his childhood memories of her:
"I asked my dad [Clarence Gould] why he thought she did not use deadening. He told me that he thought it was because Dr. Gerber believed that a man should be able to withstand a little pain. He told me that one summer while Dr. Gerber's husband was working alone at their gold mine that he had fallen and broken his leg. After a week or so of lying in his cabin in pain, he had shot himself. Two or three days later someone arrived at the cabin and found him dead. My dad said that Dr. Gerber thought that if her husband had just endured a little more pain that he would have made it. I have often thought of the story my dad told me and wondered if it was true. Whether it was true or not, this story has helped me several times when I was not feeling well."
I'm not sure about the enduring pain aspect of the story, but I've heard similar versions of now Dr. Gerber's husband died. I've heard he went up to the mine, which was in an isolated area north of McCall somewhere, very early in the season before other miners went into that vicinity. When he broke his leg, he probably didn't figure anyone would come along very soon.
Afton Logue Fanger also sent some of her memories of Dr. Gerber:
"Right after arriving on Hornet Creek [1945] my mom went looking for a dentist, with no encouragement from us kids of course. Her office we found was up the steep stairs over the drugstore on the corner." [Now the Heartland Inn.]
"When we got to the doorway at the bottom of the stairs we found a lady in old grubby clothes, surely the janitor, sweeping the stairs very energetically. Mom asked where the dentist's office was, and she said, 'Follow me'." So up the stairs we went, into a room. This lady disappeared into another room and came out wearing a white dentist shirt, and this is how we met Dr. Gerber."
"In Payette many years before that, about 1923, my mom's little brother had practically kicked her office apart when my grandmother took him there. Many years after all this, I took my two little boys, Norman and Kenny to her for their first dental visit. They had fonder memories: she polished and gave each of them a dime."
Thanks everybody for your contributions. If others out there have memories or good stories about this area's past, and I know you do, everybody enjoys reading them, so send 'em to me. (Box 252, Council, ID 83612)
I don't remember if I mentioned before that I'm helping Don Dopf write a book on the history of the P&IN railroad. One question I have is about the old railroad stop at Vista. The location is near where Cottonwood Creek meets Highway 95. To be more precise, I believe it was just north of Renwick's driveway on the west side of the tracks. What little I know about it is that this is where Mesa Orchards used to load fruit before the tramway was built in 1920. Was there a loading platform there? There must have been. I'm assuming the siding was used to load lumber from the sawmills up Cottonwood Creek. Can anybody tell me for sure, and was it used for other things? I'd appreciate any information about this, or any other stops along the P&IN.
I got a call last week about an interesting alternative for use of the old courthouse building after the new one is built. Several schools in Oregon are participating in a program involving foreign exchange students, kids from abusive homes or ones who need to get away bad influences in urban areas. The schools provide housing for these students, in some cases using existing buildings as dormitories. In one case the dormitory was a restored railroad depot. The dormitories have an adult couple live there and supervise the kids. I'm told the program is so successful that there are waiting lists at some schools. If anyone is interested in more information, they can contact these participating Oregon schools: Harper (541-358-2473), Crane (541- 493-2641), Condon (541-384-2581), Mitchell (541-462-3311), or Paisley (541-943-3111).
3-26-98
Awhile back I was writing about stories along the route up Hornet Creek to the Seven Devils. I don't think I wrote about the bridge just outside Council as you start that excursion.
The place where the Council - Cuprum road crosses the Weiser River seems to be the original location of the first bridge accessing Hornet Creek from Council. Before a bridge was built here, the earliest residents here sometimes crossed the river in a small boat.
I should mention that the Council area, in the very earliest days of settlement, was referred to as "Hornet", "Hornet Creek" or "Hornet Valley" because this was the place where Hornet Creek entered the main Weiser River. This is no different from the way we still refer to Middle Fork, East Fork, etc. The Fruitvale area was simply called "West Fork" at first.
It isn't clear when the first bridge was built here, but in1886 a new one was constructed. In May, the County Commissioners made a trip to Council to inspect a site for it. When they arrived, there was a sizable crowd of local citizens gathered to discuss the new bridge, and anything else that came up, on what seemed to be an excuse for a social gathering. The commissioners decided to put the new bridge at the same site of the old one. This bridge didn't last long. One of the reasons was a severe ice jam and resulting flood, in 1891. Lewis Winkler replaced the bridge in 1894.
Another source of wear to the bridge was the fact that spring runoff sometimes piled a large accumulation of drift wood and debris against the bridge supports. Once when this happened it was feared that the bridge would be swept away. Someone came up with the idea of breaking up the debris with dynamite. This plan was carried out, and it was very successful in removing the debris. It also removed a big section of the bridge!
By 1906, the bridge was in such bad shape that freighters hauling ore from mines in the Seven Devils were not allowed to cross it with their heavy loads. They had to ford the river.
Two years later, in 1908, a steel bridge was installed here at a cost of $6,000 - a small fortune in those days. It was one of the few steel bridges in this part of Idaho at the time, and the community was very proud of it.
From 1901 to 1905, Steve Richardson had a sawmill just north east of the bridge. Richardson was an entrepreneur who rode the wave of business opportunities that the railroad made as it was built up the Weiser River valleys. He and his son had run a sawmill and a store at Cambridge. They moved their store and mill to Council when the rail road arrived. The store stood on the south east corner of Moser and Main, where the Pomona Hotel was later built.
The coming of the railroad caused an unprecedented building boom in Council, causing a demand for lumber. The very first lumber hauled on the new P&IN railroad was from Richardson's mill. All the towns along the Weiser River were also experiencing rapid growth, and Richardson could have sold twice the 25,000 board feet of lumber a day that he was able to saw.
Adel Parke wrote about Richardson in her book, "Memoirs of an Old Timer": "Steve Richardson was quite an eccentric. His favorite expression was "Bull-rye" (and some more, unfit for print), which preceded his every statement. Sawdust from his mill he persistently dumped into the river, and was arrested and fined frequently for the deed. John [Routson (Adel's father)] repeatedly admonished him to build a pit for the waste, but Steve always said, 'Bull-rye, Johnnie, it's cheaper to dump it in the river!' So there it went."
Another story associated with this spot involves one of Council's most colorful early characters, Bill Camp. Bill was a big, powerful man with unique, and sometimes intimidating, sense of humor. At some time, Camp was floating logs down the river here to a sawmill, possibly Richardson's. As Bill approached the bridge with the logs, he spied a minister inflicting a baptismal service on a group of local citizens at the edge of the river. Bill jumped off the logs, grabbed the preacher and unceremoniously "baptized" him by dunking him under the water.
Telling of the incident in later years, Bill's son, Barney Camp, said, "Dad, he picked the preacher up by the seat of the pants and the back of the neck, and throwed him out in the water that way, and I guess he just went down like and old dead-head log. When he came up he'd liked to have splashed the creek dry. Dad swum under the bridge, and some of 'em throwed rocks at him, and some of 'em throwed bouquets."
In 1905 Richardson moved his mill to Mill creek and sawed railroad ties for the new extension of the tracks to New Meadows. By 1910 he had followed the tracks to Price Valley. Again, he established a sawmill and a store. The post office in his store was dubbed "Tamarack", and the location is still known by that name. Richardson donated the land on which the Tamarack school was built in 1911.
4-2-98
We are busily putting together an exhibit about the fruit industry in the Council area at the museum. If you have any pictures, artifacts, or other memorabilia of the local fruit industry, we would be very interested in borrowing them. I'd also be interested in your memories of fruit growing in this area. If you care to write any of them down and send them to me, I'd appreciate it.
I recently re-read the article that Clyde Rush wrote about Mesa for the Weiser Signal in 1965. In it he mentions having a map of the original plat of Mesa. Does anyone know how to get in touch with any members of the Rush family so I could ask them if this plat is still around? It would be very valuable to have a copy of it in our museum. If anyone knows of any other maps of Mesa, please contact me.
Connie Mocaby and I did a little bit of interviewing lately, getting info about Mesa and the Orchard District. That's something I wish I had more time to do. It's also something I wish more people would get involved with. It's as simple as sitting down with an older person and having a tape recorder running. Video cameras add another dimension to it if you care to do that. A lot of people have them now. I've been using mine to record the voices during interviews because it's so handy and the tapes are longer than any audio tape. It also comes in handy if a picture is being talked about. I hope some of you will think about doing this. Every year we lose priceless memories because nobody recorded them.
Speaking of losing priceless memories. Vennes Kite sent a donation to the museum in memory of a number local Landmarks that we have lost in the past year: Harriet Rogers, Hazel Harrington, Stub Yantis, Mildred Hancock, Ella and Carlos Weed, and Bob Cardiff. Our thanks go to Vennes for the donation.
And on the same subject, I have heard that Carl Marble died recently. His mother, Katie Marble was a local legend as a school teacher.
When Katie was a young girl in Missouri, her father didn't believe girls needed an education, and certainly thought it was nonsense when Katie was determined to become a teacher. In spite of the opposition of her father, Katie worked at odd jobs, and paid her own way through high school. After that, her father softened his attitude, and paid Katie's tuition to teacher's college.
At her first teaching job in 1907, Katie was paid $25 per month during a nine month term.
Her first teaching job in Idaho was at Lower Dale when she came to visit relatives in1913, at the age of 24. Lower Dale was a one-room school that was about 6 miles up Hornet Creek from Council.
Katie later told a newspaper reporter of her experiences there: "My brother told me that he would help me if I would take up a homestead and his children could stay with me. I filed on a homestead the other side of Hornet Creek. It was eight miles from Council. Experience is a dear school, but fools will learn no other way. I learned a plenty. I hired my land broke but I put my crop in. I had to have ten acres in crops the first year. I planted ten acres of corn and beans with a hand job planter. Second year, I cultivated and planted twenty acres of corn and beans. I cultivated the crops with a hoe. The third year, there were 40 acres to work. Betwix and between I worked for one neighbor then another doing this and that, keeping the wolf from the doors. I had to walk eight miles to Council for my groceries."
Apparently, Katie did no teaching during this time, but began again in 1916, at the school that had just been built the previous year on Pleasant Ridge, west of Fruitvale. After proving up on her homestead, and a short teaching jaunt in Missouri, Katie came back to Idaho and married Guy Marble in 1918. They lived on his homestead on Pleasant Ridge, and Katie stopped teaching for a few years.
Beginning in 1923, Katie taught at Wildhorse, then Middle Fork (1924-25), Fruitvale (1926 - 27), Upper Dale (1928 - 29), Pleasant Ridge (1931), Upper Dale (1932), Middle Fork (1933 -1935), Indian Valley (1936 - 40), Crooked River (1941 - 42), Fruitvale (1943 - 53), North Crane Creek (1954 - 57). At the age of 68, while doing janitorial work at the North Crane Creek school, Katie fell and broke her back. This ended her 45 year career as a teacher.
It's easy to see why, at one time, almost everyone living in the Council area had once had Katie Marble as their teacher. During her career, she taught her brothers, one sister, cousins, nephews, nieces, school mates, and her own grandsons. At Fruitvale, she taught the grandson of a student she had taught years before. Katie Marble, a true Landmark if there ever was one, died in 1963, at the age of 74.
I've heard from a few people about the photo I ran a couple weeks ago. One person thought it might be the Rush Creek power plant near Cambridge that supplies the first electricity to Council in 1915. That sounded good to me, then someone else said it might be the old power plant at Cascade near where the dam is now. That sounds even better because the rocks in the photo sure look like the ones there. I'm going to follow up on that. If anyone has any more information, please let me know.
4-9-98
A couple friends of mine stopped by the museum last Tuesday: Larry Kingsbury is the Payette National Forest Archaeologist, and Steve Stoddard is a musician, archaeologist and curator for the Central Idaho Cultural Center Museum in McCall. They were on their way to do a cultural survey at the place where the Wildhorse Road leaves the Council - Cuprum road. This is in preparation for the rerouting and paving of the road from Council to Cuprum. The plan is that the road will go more straight there instead of making the hair-pin curve like it does now just past there. Anytime something like this is planned on government land, a survey is done to assess the historical information that might be lost if the project is done without such a study.
This seemingly nondescript spot has seen a lot. At different times, it was the location of a prehistoric campground, a cow camp, a homestead, a school and a lumber camp.
I don't know much about the particulars, but this site shows signs of definite use by people about 4,000 years ago. Larry and Steve were taking buckets of dirt back to McCall to wash it through screens to find tool flakes, etc. They normally would have sifted it through screens on site, but the "dirt" was more like wet clay.
In the late 1800's, as many as 400 head of cattle ranged the Seven Devils area. They were allowed to roam the mountains with little herding, but were encouraged to stay in certain areas by placing salt there.
One of the cattlemen who summered stock here during that time, was John McGlinchy. The McGlinchy family maintained a camp here which included a cabin that stood just to the north east of the current cattle guard. A pile of stones from the old chimney was still in evidence fairly recently.
The McGlinchey family homesteaded the land in Meadows Valley in 1889 on which Zim's hot springs is located. They moved to Payette in 1903, and sold the hot springs the following year.
Byron D. and Nancy Davis bought this land from McGlinchey in 1890. Byron had been a scout for many emigrant wagon trains coming west, and later drove freight wagons between Umatilla Landing and Boise City. After they were married, the Davises came west in the same wagon train as the Groseclose family in 1876. Byron's older brother, Tom Davis, came to Boise City in 1864, and planted the first orchard and some of the first shade trees. When he later gave his orchard to the city for a park, he asked that it be named after his wife, Julia. That's how Julia Davis Park came to be.
The Davises built a big, two-story log house here on a stone foundation. A daughter that was stillborn is buried on the bench east of the road junction. For a while, this location was known as "Old Davis" because it was the old Davis place. I highly recommend the book that a descendant of the Davises, Cary Davis George, wrote entitled, "Listen, the Pine Trees Are Singing". She is very sentimental about this place, and tells several stories about the people who lived here.
Steve and Larry brought the museum some cuttings from the yellow roses that are still growing at the old Davis homestead. They are a particular strain of roses that pioneers commonly planted, and are very hardy. What a perfect way to start our landscaping project at the museum! If anyone is interested in helping with this landscaping work, please let me or one of the other museum people know. We will be needing plants and help.
While I'm thinking of it, we plan to face the cement ramp outside with local basalt rock. We could definitely use some help getting rock as soon as the weather cooperates.
A school existed near the Davis homestead for a number of years before the Forest Service donated a log building for that purpose in the spring of 1912. That year, nine students attended the school. The school continued into the 1920s, but by 1927 the attendance was only four students. This lack of pupils was probably what led to the closure of the school soon afterward. A second school operated here in the late 1930s.
In the fall of 1931, Lee Zink, who had the mail contract from Council to Cuprum, bought the school building. He moved it a short distance and converted it into a half-way stage station for winter use. Otto Russell lived here for a time, tending the horses that were sometimes used to relay the mail on that part of the stage line. Even though a truck was used on the mail route by this time, the roads were not well maintained in winter, and horse drawn sleds often had to be used.
An illustration of just how bad things could get had occurred just two winters before. Zink's predecessor on this route, Frank George, had set out for Cuprum with his mail truck, but had to abandon it after shoveling through snow drifts for several hours. He finally borrowed a team and sleigh and continued on. That team became too tired from wading the deep snow, so he borrowed another one. With relentless dedication to getting the job done, he wore out five teams of horses by the time he reached Cuprum at midnight.
By the winter of 1932, Zink used two other men to relay the mail to Cuprum. Zink took it to Old Davis, Oscar Russell took it to Bear, and Toby Warner carried it on to Cuprum.
I recently wrote about how the Shay logging outfits came here from Long Valley. This spot played a major part in the story. In late 1938, the Boise - Payette Lumber Co. sat up a portable sawmill here. A small community sprang up in conjunction with the mill, with a cook house, office building, tool shed, gas and oil house and eight portable houses. The company originally planned to saw logs here, then haul the rough lumber to Council. From there, it was to be shipped by rail to Emmett for finishing. Instead, they built a mill at Council.
A small dam, which is still in evidence, was built to form a log pond, but there wasn't a adequate amount of water to consistently serve that purpose very well. The plan was abandoned, and the company decided to build a sawmill at Council. Before the portable mill was taken down, the timbers for the framework of the Council sawmill were sawed here.
In late 1939, Andy Anderson, a logging contractor for the Boise - Payette Company, arrived in the area, and set up his headquarters here. Soon, another school was started here for the children of his logging crew. Katie Marble was probably the first teacher. School was conducted in a half of this portable building, and the teacher lived in the other half.
After only a few years, the logging operation moved on. A number of the houses were moved to Council and set up west of the railroad tracks. Some of the present houses are remodeled versions of these previously portable homes.
4-16-98
People who have researched history or genealogy know that finding a piece of missing information can be rewarding beyond anything money can buy. This past week I found a photograph.
It was in a photo album that has been within a few miles of me most of my life, but I didn't know it. It was in an album full of pictures associated with Mesa Orchards that were taken from about 1909 to 1912. It belonged to Juda P. Gray who was in on the ground floor of Mesa. Gray was postmaster and ran the store until about 1919. I understand he gave the album to Florence Brown who gave it to Thurn and Phyllis Woods. I had seen most of the photos before, but the Woodses were kind enough to let me copy the ones the museum didn't have.
Just about all the photos have some kind of caption written on them. The last photo in the book was captioned "A Valley North of Mesa". I assumed it was on the Middle Fork somewhere as there were a number of shots of that area. As I looked at the photo to orient myself as to where along the Middle Fork it might be, I couldn't match any of the landmarks. I soon noticed a similarity between one of the hills in the background and a hill just north of my house. I immediately dismissed this crazy idea. I continued to scrutinized the hills for something matching someplace just north of Mesa. Suddenly it was as if the picture yelled at me, "THIS IS NEAR FRUITVALE!". I just about fell over. I was instantly overwhelmed that I was looking back almost 90 years at a landscape very familiar and yet so different.
As I looked at this photo, things fell into place, just where they should be. There was old Bill Glenn's cabin, up the creek east of the new house that his sons, Ike and Herbie built later. There was Art Wilkie's Fruitvale Hotel, standing out boldly because no trees stood in the way as they do now. (It is now Jim and Pam Joslin's house.) There was the old McMahan school, bright white with a bell steeple at the west end.
I had known for years that the original road to Fruitvale went around the foothills southeast of the townsite and then entered the "town" going west by the Fruitvale Hotel. This photo was taken looking northwest from that road, up the hill east of where Dick and Georgiana Parker live now. The view is the same one my paternal grandparents would have seen when they came to Fruitvale about that time along that road. There is not a sign of a road in the picture where the paved one now runs up the bottom of the valley. It wasn't built until about 1920.
I've often thought how fantastic it would be to go back in time and walk the streets of Council or Fruitvale when they were in their infancy. Pictures like this are the next best thing to a time machine. I haven't had time to study the photo for more treasures, but you can bet I'll be spending some time with it and a magnifying glass.
Another thing I get a kick out of is hearing stories about familiar people from the past. I mentioned in this column once that I was named after Dale Donnelly. He had a store that sat about where the public restrooms are in Council. Our unofficial "project inspector" at the museum, Paul Phillips, told Jim Camp and I a story the other day that illustrates how times have changed, but men and women haven't. Back in the 1920s, the first few radios started showing up in this area. Very few stations could be received in Council at first. Around that time, Charlie Roper came into Donnelly's feed store and proudly exclaimed, "I turned on the radio last night and got Denver, Colorado!" Donnelly replied, "I turned on the radio last night and got hell!"
4-23-98
I recently learned that the old house that used to stand near Don Horton's place on North Hornet used to belong to Clarke Harrington. Harrington was the first postmaster at this general location which became known as "Dale". Apparently, Dale was an inexact area, but generally referred to the area along Hornet Creek starting at the mouth of North Hornet and extending up the valley to the Wilkie place at the mouth of Mill Creek.
The old road up Hornet Creek used to swing north to cross North Hornet Creek above where currently does. The old route and bridge abutments are still in evidence.
Before bridges were common on country roads such as this, crossing even small streams like North Hornet could be a hair raising experience during spring runoff. In the April of 1913, Bert Rose had to cross North Hornet Creek as he came home from Council. The Adams County Leader reported his experience:
"When he drove into the creek the current was so strong that the horses and buggy were carried down stream about 300 feet and it was all he could do to save the horses by cutting the tugs and freeing them."
"The buggy was wrecked, and besides this, he lost his valuable slide trombone, together with a bill of groceries, hardware, etc., which he was taking out to his ranch."
"Mr. Rose had a desperate struggle with the furious waters even to save his team, and can count himself fortunate, although the loss falls heavy on him."
Not far up Hornet Creek, and to the south, is a tributary named Lakey Creek. The families of John and Lewis Lakey settled along this tributary of Hornet Creek in 1881. Some of the Lakeys operated a sawmill here. At least by 1893, John Lakey had moved to Salubria.
Lewis and Pheby Lakey, and their nine children, at first lived in a one-room, dirt floor cabin. Even if they would have had money to buy clothes, there were no stores any closer than Weiser. Phoebe made pants for the boys out of seamless sacks. Unable to buy shoes, they often went barefoot, sometimes even in the winter.
One source says Pheby died in 1904, but a relative of the family sent me information that says she died in 1905. (I'll have to check her headstone.) Lewis Lakey died in 1911. They are both buried in the Hornet Creek cemetery. The same family source claims that Lewis planted the first orchard on Hornet Creek.
Speaking of the Hornet Creek Cemetery, my information says that the earliest marked grave there is that of Charles Adams who was interred here in about 1884. In the following decades, many Hornet Creek pioneers were buried here.
In the fall of 1922, Hornet Creek residents formed a corporation to "...legally hold in trust the title to the Hornet Creek cemetery, and to procure and hold title to a road leading to the same, and to transact any business...." concerning the cemetery. Burial plots here are still being sold.
When I mentioned the first grave at the Hornet Creek Cemetery, I was careful to say the first "marked" grave. There seem to be unmarked graves in most of the cemeteries in this area. They were probably marked with some kind of wooden marker at first, and after they deteriorated they were not replaced. In the case of the Winkler Cemetery, a grass fire went through it in 1914, burning the fence and a number of markers.
The museum could use some help from a local metal worker. The last step in completing the addition is a railing along the outside ramp up to the front door. McAlvain construction will pay for the materials if we can find someone to build it. If you can help us with this I need to hear from you in just the next few days. I need to know as soon as possible so we can get this done. There isn't much time left. Please call me at 253-4582.
I heard from Afton Logue Fanger again. She says she would like to hear from old friends who live in the Council area, or who used to live here. Her address is Afton Logue Fanger, PO Box 193, Lyle, WA 98635.
4-30-98
I have some partial news about the mystery photo that I put in this column a few weeks ago - the one that looks like a hydroelectric plant. I sent the picture to the Long Valley Advocate newspaper, and they printed it with my question as to whether it was the old power plant at Cascade. I got a call from a woman named Nellie (I didn't catch her last name) who said she thought it was the old plant there. She told me Jim Murphy who spent part of his childhood living in the house at the power plant. Evidently she also contacted him because Jim called me last weekend. He said he didn't recognize the plant in the photo, but that it could be the old one that was there before his family came there about 1935.
So, the bottom line is that we don't know for sure, but I'm leaning toward believing it's the old power plant that was there before the dam was put in during the 1940s. Some of you may know even less than I do about that reservoir, so I'll just throw in my two cents worth. About all I know is that there was a town called Van Wyck that was where the Cascade Reservoir is now. The town was there at least as early as 1891. That's fairly early for Long Valley. It wasn't settled until after this area was. I once heard that George Gould went up to Long Valley when he first arrived here in the late 1880s, with the idea of maybe settling there. He took one look at the tell-tale signs of long, hard winters and made a bee line back here to the Cottonwood Creek.
In July of 1905, the Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal reported that George Shepard had robbed the saloon at Van Wyck. S.B. Carter and Bona Whiteley had pursued Shepard on horseback and caught him at Midvale.
That month the Signal also reported that a telephone line was being built from Lardo (McCall) to Van Wyck and from Meadows to Warren. In October, the Meadows Eagle said a telephone line was proposed to connect with the independent line from Grangeville to Whitebird. The paper said, "With the completion of this line, and the line from here to Van Wyck, direct communication will be established between the north and Boise. At present the citizens of Grangeville, when they desire to talk with Boise, are obliged to talk all over the states of Washington and Oregon and the expense is so great that the luxury may be enjoyed only the rich." A similar route was necessary for a journey between those points as well, because there was no road between Meadows Valley and Grangeville.
The town of Van Wyck was obliterated by the waters of the Cascade Reservoir. I assume the town probably moved to the present site of Cascade. The old Van Wyck cemetery is located just a mile or two up the east shore of the reservoir from the dam.
Another bit of Long Valley trivia about Lardo and McCall. In the earliest days, people simply referred to that area as "Payette Lakes." Lardo was the next name used, referring to the little settlement just on the west side of the outlet of the main lake, where Lardo's restaurant is now. About the time the Union Pacific finished its Idaho Northern branch up the Payette River to the lake in 1914, the terminus of the line (on the east side of the river) was called "Lakeport". It seems to be about then that the town started being referred to as McCall.
The completion of the Idaho Northern was a blow to the Pacific and Idaho Northern line up the Weiser River. The P&IN had received a great deal of business from Long Valley, especially tourist travel to Payette Lakes. This loss of business to the IN line was partially to blame for the P&IN going into receivership the next year (1915). The P&IN eventually came out of its financial troubles, but it was touch and go.
"Receivership" is a term you don't hear or read anymore. I had to look it up in a dictionary. Basically it's about the same thing as bankruptcy. A "receiver" was appointed to manage the affairs of and entity that went into receivership until it could get back on its feet, be reorganized, or sold.
I'd like to thank York Excavation for donating a yard of sand to the museum. We're going to be putting a rock face on the new cement work out front, and the sand will be used for mortar. We won't be getting that done before we open because the brains of the operation (Wallace Atkinson) won't be able to ramrod the project until a little later.
We will be holding our "Grand Opening" on Saturday, May 23 at 10:00 AM. That's the first day of Memorial Day weekend which is the day we have chosen to open every year. We are working on a plan to acquire an employee or two again this year. If we do, it will be through the Dept. of Health & Welfare's program enabling people to work to earn their check. This would sure be helpful to us. We love those of you who generously donate time to host the museum, but you can imagine what a hassle it is to round up enough people and schedule everyone. We still may have to do that, but I have my fingers crossed for the employee route.
At any rate, I hope everyone will make a point to visit the museum this summer. Our fruit industry exhibit is really going to be a good one. Plus, Evea Harrington Powers's exhibit is a great addition. We may be even less "finished" than we were last spring when we opened, but you will find the changes interesting and entertaining.
5-7-98
Many of us who have spent time in the mountains have run across metal signs indicating a stock driveway. Often they have been inscribed (by scratching through the painted layer) with the signatures or comments of passing hunters or sheep herders. If the inscription is dated, it's interesting to see how many years ago it was written.
Almost every major divide or long ridge top around here was at one time used as a route over which to move sheep. Stock driveways have been used for cattle as well, but not nearly to the extent that they have been used for sheep. Stock driveways are not used as much these days, partly because there just aren't as many sheep as there once were in the region. In 1905, Idaho Magazine said that 200,000 sheep spent the summer in the general Council area. Idaho was fourth in the nation in wool production
A second reason stock driveways have fallen into relative disuse is that sheep are most often hauled to grazing areas in trucks anymore.
I just have to interject a story here to illustrate the difference between sheep and cattle, and why you can't herd cattle like you can sheep. A few years ago a few of us were moving cattle up to where they were supposed to be along the West Fork of the Weiser. I started up the road alone, driving more than half a dozen cows with calves, while Dean Harrington went back to bring up the horse trailer. One by one, a cow would take off into the brush with her calf. If I spent a few seconds too long getting them back, I would lose some of the others. I was riding the best cowhorse I'd ever ridden, and had a good dog too, but nothing short of a corral on wheels would have kept them together. By the time I'd gone a mile or two, I had two pairs left. They took off up Grouse Creek and dived into the brush at a hard run. When Dean came around the corner with the pickup and trailer, I was sitting there with a very red face, a horse lathered with sweat, and no cattle. And people wonder why ranchers can't keep cattle in the areas where they're supposed to be on the Forest.
One of the biggest stock driveways in this area is the Salmon River Stock Driveway. It enters the Payette National Forest at the southern boundary on Pine Creek west of Cambridge, and follows the top of Cuddy Mountain north. It continues north along the divide between the Weiser River and Snake River drainages to a spot near the head of rapid river, where it forks. One branch of the driveway continues north toward the Seven Devils Mountains, and the other leads down the ridge between Lost Creek and the head of Boulder Creek. From there, one of its several branches leads to the Little Salmon River.
The Salmon River Stock Driveway was mostly used to drive sheep to and from summer range. It has always been the most used stock driveway on the Payette National Forest, and was probably used to move stock through the mountains before the establishment of the Forest Reserves in 1905. According to government records, when the Forest Service allotted grazing areas to stockmen, "it became necessary to limit sheep trailing to posted and authorized routes. Between 1919 and 1923, the center line and side boundaries of the main trunk driveways were posted with metal signs, some of which are still in place." As many as 80,000 sheep traveled this stock driveway onto this forest in the spring. This caused serious overgrazing along the routes the sheep were driven. The people who had grazing rights on the land through which the sheep traveled started to be hurt by this, so the Forest Service had to limit the travel of sheep herds to designated stock driveways.
There is considerable evidence that the approximate route of the Salmon River Stock Driveway was a well used Indian trail. Remains of several camp sites have been found along its course.
A tragedy that occurred in 1901 happened at or near the Salmon River Stock Driveway in the Crooked River area. On July 10th, an 18 year old boy named Edwin Bantee was herding sheep there. When he bent over to tend to a lame sheep, his .45 caliber pistol fell out of its holster and went off. The bullet hit him in the chest, two inches below his heart. In spite of this serious injury, Edwin walked about a third of a mile back to his camp where someone found him. The next morning he was carried to the Wilkie Sawmill. Without the advantages of modern surgery, there wasn't much that could be done for him. He died at 9:00 that evening of "loss of blood and shock."
I'd like to make a request. Several times I've heard about people in other areas who enjoy this column, but who never lived here, or may have never even been here before. Of course that pleases me, but I make me curious as to why a column about the history of a small corner of Idaho would appeal to them. I would really like to hear from somebody out there who even occasionally enjoys reading the History Corner, but never lived here. I would get a kick out of hearing what you like about it. My address is box 252, Council, ID 83612. For you cyber-types, I don't have an E-mail address yet, but you can get a message to me through the museum's web page at: www.cyberhighway.net/~jcpeart. (Of course, I enjoy hearing from anyone who enjoys my column.)
Remember, the museum will be opening for our 1998 season on May 23 at 10:00 AM. Come help us celebrate the opening of the new addition and our new exhibits.
5-14-98
You may have noticed an article in this issue about an award I got from the governor. To say I was surprised is and understatement. The words "shocked" and "stunned" are inadequate. I thought I was at that fancy banquet in Boise because my wife, Anna, was supposed to be there for work-related reasons. You had to be there to understand what I experienced. It was a first class dinner in the Grove, Boise's newest (and most expensive?) hotel, and the kind of people and organizations who were getting awards weren't exactly nobodies - people like Bethine Church (Senator Frank Church's widow), Channel 7 TV, and "Idaho Wildlife" magazine.
The awards ceremony was accompanied by a professionally produced and narrated slide show projected on two huge screens. The first clue I had to the fact that I was getting an award was when my picture appeared on the giant screens and my name was announced. I really had to concentrate to get up, walk up to receive the plaque and shake the governor's hand. As I write this, the photos haven't yet been released, but I hope I was holding the plaque right-side-up. I was in a daze.
Please don't take my writing about this in my column as self-aggrandizement. I'm doing it to share the experience with all of you who have supported the efforts to preserved this area's past. Nobody accomplishes much alone. A debt of gratitude is owed to all of you who have given money, time, artifacts, photographs, information or moral support to me, the museum and what we are trying to do. I especially have to thank Anna for putting up with all the time I spend on history instead of bringing home my share of the bacon.
Somebody once said, "What good is history? You can't eat it!" That's not completely true. People will pay to see interesting historical things, and the museum and local history attracts attention and dollars to Council. But that's not why I am involved in historical work. I do it because I love it. It doesn't help me make a living - quite the opposite - but it sure is part of what makes life worth living.
Another reason for telling this here is that maybe it will help motivate people to help or keep helping with local historic efforts. The whole purpose for this column has been to generate support for those efforts. The only payment I get is people's appreciation and the help they give. There is an overwhelming amount of work to do, and always too little time and money.
The museum has made some pretty big strides in the past two years, but to keep going, we really need your support. Even though we have pinched pennies and received generous help to push the addition to completion, we have spent just about all the money we raised. Any monetary help right now would be very welcome. (Council Valley Museum, Box 252, Council, ID 83612) For every dollar you give the museum (up to $100 total for any year) the State will take half of your donation off your Idaho taxes.
The museum will open on May 23 at 10:00 AM. We will be having a grand opening a little later in the season. Ya'll come see it!
5-21-98
One of the advantages of not being paid to write this column is that I feel I can wander to the edges of the subject of history in what I write. This issue's column will be a very personal one for me. Over the past few months my father has had a series of small strokes. Within the past week he has reached a state of pretty much being in a coma and has very little time left to live. By the time you read this, he may already be gone.
Some time back I explained how I use the term "Landmarks" to refer to people who have been there as we grew up, who served as reference points for our lives. My father was always the biggest Landmark in my life.
The reason this has anything to do with history is that Dad was the one who inspired my love of local history. As I grew up, he constantly told fascinating stories of the people who used to live around this area, and about the experiences of his family. Let me back up and try to put this all in context.
First, I don't mean to slight my mother's side of the family in writing about my Dad's side. Mom's great grand parents settled here earlier (about 1900). Also, I don't mean to portray my ancestors as being early pioneers here. Even by 1900 this was not the wild West anymore, but it was sure a lot different than it is now.
My father's father, Edward Fenner Fiske, was born on a horse ranch in Texas as the oldest of eight children. He was called by his middle name, Fenner. He didn't get along very well with his parents, and left home to make his own living when he was in his early teens. For a time, he worked for ranches in Texas. One time as a messenger, he rode over 100 miles in one day. Another time he was working on a big wheat ranch and got malaria. For many days he lay under a wagon drinking the only known cure at that time: quinine water.
Once he was on his own, Fenner dropped the "e" at the end of Fiske. He felt it looked too aristocratic and arrogant. At some point, Fenner acquired the nick name "Jim". His friends started calling him that because Jim Fisk was an infamous railroad tycoon at the time who was involved in a national corruption scandal. Fenner hated his real name, and was glad to get the new title. He went by Jim Fisk, informally, the rest of his life.
He made his living as a tinsmith for a while, traveling around the country building standpipes, smoke stacks, etc. In 1900 he worked his way to Nome on a steamship. This was during the gold rush there, and he told how men jumped off the ship before it docked. They ran up and down the black-sand beaches expecting to find gold nuggets lying there.
After a brief stint as a rancher near Sacramento, California, he wound up at a boarding house in Tillamook, Oregon. There he met and married my grandmother who was from New York. In a previous column I wrote about their trip from there to here with the Marks family in 1911.
My grandparents first lived on the place where Eileen Nelson lives on Orchard Road. In 1912 they homesteaded on Pleasant Ridge, about three miles west of Fruitvale. Their land was just east the cattle guard where the Ridge road Ts. The evidently took over the homestead of a man named Albert Lewis, and lived in the house he had built at the head of the small canyon about a half mile southeast of the present cattle guard. My Uncle Hub was born there just a few days after the Titanic sank in April 1912. In December, their oldest child, Jim, died from eating the heads off of some matches. Dad came along on November 11, 1913, then came Sam, Amy (Glenn) and John.
There were about twenty other families on the Ridge eventually, which is why the Ridge school was built in 1915. When Dad was pretty young, he, Hub, Sam and Amy set off to school in subzero weather with fog so thick they couldn't see very far. They left the road because it was so badly drifted with snow, and they walked cross-country toward the school. As they walked, they got so cold they could barely talk, and they didn't really know where they were. Suddenly they heard the school bell ring behind them. They had walked past it. In another few minutes, they might have died. They were literally saved by the bell.
A few years ago Dad and I were looking around up where he was born. He told me how they used to play out in the lava rocks, placing rows of stones to mark off rooms in imaginary houses. It was really a pleasant surprise to both of us to find those rocks laying there, just as they had left them some 70 years ago.
Most people wonder how in the world people made a living on those rocky, dry homesteads. Well, they had a hard struggle. And most of them eventually gave up. My grandfather worked as a road overseer to make ends meet.
In 1924, Joe Glenn, who lived in the house I how have, offered to sell Grandpa his place. Grandpa looked at him as if he were crazy and said he could never afford that. Joe said they could arrange payments in a way that Grandpa could afford it, and they struck a bargain.
More next week.
Don't forget the museum is opening this weekend, Saturday, May 23 at 10:00 AM. It will be open through Labor Day weekend. Come in and see what's new.
5-28-98
I hope you will forgive the continuation of my personal catharsis in this column. My father, Dick Fisk, died in the early hours of Sunday morning, May 24. He graduated from this life on the same night as the Council high school seniors got their diplomas.
I left off last week where my grandfather bought Joe Glenn's place west of Fruitvale. In the process of moving to the new house, eight-year-old Sam fell under the wheels of a horse-drawn wagon and was killed.
Dad started attending the Fruitvale school and finished the eighth grade there. Somehow, over the years Grandpa bought out other homesteads on the Ridge, eventually expanding the ranch to about 2,000 acres, including the BLM and the state land he leased. He died in 1995 when I was just a few days short of turning three. Dad drove him to the hospital, as he wasn't feeling well. Dr. Thurston said, "It's your ticker Jim." Grandpa replied, "That's odd, I've always had a good heart."
Dr. Thurston put grandpa in the hospital for the night, and Dad went home. Before he left, grandpa asked dad to take care of the ranch. He died that night. As I grew up on the ranch, Dad continually told stories of the past that filled my imagination and took me into a world I could never see in person. When we rode after cattle, he would tell about his adventures in the Lost Valley cow camp, stories about people like Albert Campbell or wrecks Dad had with horses. While we were mending fences or haying, he would point out places in the pastures and fields where homesteads used to be or where some notable event had happened to him or his family. We seldom passed the place where Sam was killed without Dad mentioning it.
The place where dad was born was hallowed ground to me. Another sacred place was the old Indian campground where we found arrowheads. Then there was the patch of brush where his prize horse, Star, hung up in the wire fence and died. It seems as if every corner of the ranch had some special memory. Over time I added my own special memories.
Interwoven with his stories, Dad always reminded us kids that someday the ranch would be ours to take care of. He gave me a sense that I was part of the story that was much bigger than my own. I was expected to contribute to a family heritage that began long before I arrived. Someone once said, Having something isn't what makes you rich; it's being part of something." I certainly felt rich. The ranch was an integral part of my family and of me, and I was part of it. It was the one place in the universe where I felt like I really belonged. I wanted to pass the same legacy on to future generations.
I'll shorten a long and agonizing story by saying that in 1990 my parents and I were forced into a no-win situation where the lesser of two evils was to sell the ranch. Losing the place, and everything it represented, was the most difficult thing I've ever had to survive. Feeling unwelcome on the land that is so fused with my identity is impossible to explain – a wall of grief that defies the pitiful stones my words can throw against it.
Losing my father is the same wound cut deeper. At least I knew this was coming. We parted trails with a shared understanding of the love we have for each other and our heritage. Every story I write is the continuation of the legacy he gave me.
I guess the kinds of loss that I've had happens to most of us sooner or later. We lose our parents or a spouse, have to move away from the only place we've ever called home, or some other dramatic change in life leaves us feeling like our landmarks have vanished. Researching and writing local history and improving the museum has been my way of recovering from my loss by finding a broader sense of my heritage here. (It's also a way to make lemonade of the lemons that I've been handed.) We all need a center to our universe – a place to remind us who we are and where we come from – a place to be part of and have it be part of us. I think knowledge of local history helps give us that. I hope, by telling the story of the Council area, that I am helping to fill that need. Happy trails, dad. You will always be a part of me.
6-4-98
Its been awhile since I've looked around the old diggings at the North Hornet Mines. To get there, you turn north off the Council - Cuprum Road just before Summit Creek, before the old Kramer stage station.
As a teenager, a group of us high school guys went hunting up there. I think I went with Ray and David Lakey, Steve Paradis and my brother, Clint. We explored some of the tunnels, shafts, etc. Somehow one of the guys found the entrance to one tunnel by digging down to it where it had caved in. It was only about three feet in diameter. We crawled back into it as far as it went, about a hundred yards if I remember right. There was one shaft about six feet across. We dropped a rock into it, and it was a few seconds before we heard it hit anything. There was no fence or any kind of barrier around it.
I haven't been able to dig up much information about the North Hornet Mines. From old newspaper references, they were apparently looking for gold. The Adams County Leader, Sept 17, 1926 mentions Charlie Allen as foreman of the Glenn Group of mining claims on North Hornet. You may remember that Charlie Allen was the son of Levi Allen who discovered the first copper mine in the Seven Devils.
In 1927 a large diamond drill was brought in with the hope of finding a really large vein of gold, but in January of 1928 the mine closed because Cooley Butler, who owned the mines, was involved in litigation concerning the Red Ledge Mine on Deep Creek. By January of 1928, Charlie Allen was dismantling and removing the machinery.
In June of 1932, Will Freehafer set up a gold ore mill at North Hornet. By 1935 Freehafer and his partner, John Freeze, had 15 to 20 men working for them there, building a saw mill and several buildings. This activity was probably brought on by an increase in gold prices. That was the reason the Placer Basin mine was reopened about this time. I've never been able to find out if any gold was ever found at North Hornet, but in October of 1936 the Leader reported that the mine was in financial trouble. Twenty-eight buildings were being sold for delinquent taxes.
This was not the first time Freehafer and Freeze had teamed up to operate a mine, and John Freeze had been digging around the general area for years. The first reference I find to him in my newspaper notes are from the Council Leader for April 11, 1912. It mentioned that John Freeze had a mine near Summit [also known as Kramer]. At the time, he was "...associated with Messers. and Spoor". The paper later referred to the mine at his Peck Mountain mine, and said it was a promising gold mine. The mine was still in operation in October of 1913, under the name the "Gold Standard".
The next June, the paper said that John Freeze and Frank Peck discovered a rich gold vein one and a half miles north of Hornet Reservoir. This claim, dubbed "Last Chance" by Peck and Freeze, sold for $30,000 in 1922 and the name was changed to “Cuddy Mine.” That mine produced galena (lead ore) and gold for several years. The last time I was up there, the old icehouse was still standing. I wrote a History Corner about the Cuddy Mine a few years ago. The thing that sticks in my memory about it was the God-awful road to it. If you've ever been up there, or to Hornet Reservoir, you know what I mean.
Very sincere thanks go to several people for making donations to the museum in memory of my dad, Dick Fisk: Bruce and Mary Fewkes, Harold & Rita Balderson, Jerry Balderson and John & Lenis Balderson - Paul and Nita Phillips - Ethel Gossard - Nita McCullough. Thank you to all of you for your generosity and thoughtfulness. Dad would have appreciated how much it will help the museum.
The museum is open six days a week, Tuesday through Sunday from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. (1:00 to 4:00 on Sundays)
6-11-98
I've been going back to the historic places along the Council - Cuprum road whenever I don't have other things to write about. You . may have heard that the Federal government is planning to spend a big chunk of our tax money on improving and paving that road. To me it seems like a pork barrel project that will radically change the character of the area along the road, but that's beside the point here.
In 1896 Frenchy David was quoted in . an area newspaper as saying the road into the Seven Devils mining district, "is the best mountain road almost in the west; ranches all the way into the mines." This statement would be hard for a modern person to swallow because there were few roads in those days that were anything more than a dirt trail with places that would curl the hair of the best teamster.
The beginning of a modern road from Council to Cuprum came in the 1930s after crawler tractors and other heavy equipment became available. About 1937 or 1938 local CCC crews started reconstruction of the road, beginning at the National Forest boundary on Hornet Creek. In 1940 the project was finished except for "surfacing", as far as Rocky Comfort. It followed close to the original wagon road route except for the section along Dick Ross Creek. Here the new road stayed on the east side of the meadow. The old road is still visible at some places, across the clearing to the west of the present road. A fence runs just next to it. Somewhere along the old road there is said to be the grave of a man named White. Information on who he was, and the location of the grave, have been lost.
Dick Ross, whose name has been given to the creek named above, had a home about a quarter of a mile past the Kramer stage station. Ross was the City Marshal in Council in 1909, and a pair of brass knuckles that he confiscated from a trouble maker is in the Council Valley Museum. Ross lived at this location near Crooked River at least as early as 1904. A 1900 newspaper mentioned that "the Ross Brothers" were issued a liquor license at Summit. This was at the Kramer stage stop. The location was often called Summit since it was near the summit between the Hornet Creek and Crooked River drainages. I'm not sure if Dick Ross was one of the brothers, but it stands to reason. Jim Ross is mentioned a number of times in Seven Devils history, but I'm not sure if he was Dick's brother.
Not far past Dick Ross's place, John and Sarah ran "a stopping place on the road to the Devils "with food for man and beast" according to an 1899 newspaper. They had a saloon and store. That December, the Salubria Citizen reported that the house burned, and that "Lige Caulk, who was tending bar there, was terribly burned about the hands and face trying to extinguish the flames." The next year Cambridge Citizen for June 1, 1900 said John was putting in a complete blacksmith shop at his place on Crooked river. The paper quoted as saying there were between 60 and 100 teams using the road, and he felt a blacksmith shop was a necessity. Later that year the Citizen listed " & Shell" as receiving a liquor license for their establishment on Crooked River.
According to Marguerite Diffendaffer, many times the s would hear the bells on the hames of the horses coming from a distance, and would get up in the middle of the night to start a fire in the wood stove and cook for the freighters. Much of their work involved milking cows and making large quantities of butter, cottage cheese, buttermilk. They went to town once or twice a year for food staples, otherwise grew their own food on their 350 acres. Mrs. Diffendaffer says the saloon was across the road. Their home burned twice, first from faulty stove pipe, and a second, much better, prettier one was burned when a spark from the chimney landed on the roof. When John tried to rescue a large sack of sugar from the burning house, it melted, dripping onto his back and burning him badly. A third fire got the saloon across the road. The grinding wheel in his blacksmith shop was powered by a water wheel in Crooked River. The s eventually moved to California to get away from cold winters.
One thing that makes me curious is that Ms. Diffendaffer mentions a school that was built about a half mile north of the 's house. I've never run across any other information about it. Can anybody out there help me with that?
I would like to thank more people who sent donations to the museum in memory of my father, Dick Fisk: Mary Owens, Gerry & Mary Lou O'Day, Barb & Brian McLaughlin, LaDell & Margaret Merk, Frank & Betty Smith. Your help and thoughtfulness are very much appreciated.
June 18, 1998
Lately some of the museum's business has revolved around -cemeteries. First, the Hornet Creek Cemetery gave us the iron fencing that used to be around one of the old graves years ago. We are going to use it as part of our outside ramp railing. It is really nice old iron work that would cost a fortune nowadays. We owe a debt of gratitude to the people in charge of the cemetery. This really helps. We were scratching our heads wondering just how to make the railing without spending a lot, and this is just the perfect answer!
There are two projects that a couple of the museum people are working on that are going to be very useful. Kathy Norton is helping with putting the available census records into a computer database. She has the 1880 census done, and available on the'internet. (You can access it through our museum web site: www.cyberhighway. net / -jcp eart.) She also has the 1920 census done, and is double checking it. Eventually all the Idaho census records that are on microfilm will be available via the internet or on disk.
Gayle Dixon is organizing a database with all the names of people buried in Adams County. This is in cooperation with the Idaho Historical Society. There are nine "organized" cemeteries in the county: Bear, Cuprum, Cottonwood, Indian Valley, Kesler, Winkler, IOOF, Meadows and Hornet Creek. From what I can gather, the records of whose grave is where have become a bit scrambled, but Gayle and Don Horton are working on getting things as organized as humanly possible.
One thing that Don told me makes it understandable how the • Hornet Creek cemetery got some graves "misplaced". I guess at some point, the cemetery grounds were plowed, worked down and reseeded in order to get the nice lawn that covers it now. During this process, some grave markers were misplaced or maybe lost. I would assume
that is was during this project that the iron fencing that we were given was removed.
Gayle is recording burials outside of the cemeteries, and she would like any help you readers can render. The following is a list of all the graves that she knows of in Adams County outside of the nine cemeteries. She has dates on most of them, except where noted. If you have any information as to any graves not listed, please contact Gayle at 253- 4765 or E-mail at dxgr@juno.com or write to Box 252 Council, ID 83612. Also, if you can answer the questions we have written with the list, please let her know.
Near Fort Hall Hill: Charles A. Webb - Patrick Arthur Pederson - Ron Myrmel - John Luke Knickerbacker - Martha Denny Crouch.
Middle Fork: Joseph Arbuckle - Arbuckle - Marguritte Arbuckle
Hornet Creek: Harry R. Black - Ralph Black
No Business Canyon, Wildhorse: Grant Blew - Brown (baby)
Wildhorse: Willard F. Smith - Charles E. Rogers - Richard H. Rogers - Frank Whitcraft - Lloyd Hemenger. Hemenger's grave was reportedly disturbed by flood waters, but we don't know if the remains were reinterred near the original location or even where that location is or was.
Fruitvale: Burt (baby boy, son of Wm. Burt - when? where is the grave?)
Goodrich: Orvel John Button - Riggs (baby) - Smith (baby) I understand
that these graves may be in the middle of a field now, and the exact location has been lost?
Near Lost Valley: Tom Cleggette
Crooked River: Davis (baby), White (first name and exact location unknown)
Big Bar on Snake River: John Eckles - Archibald Richie (anybody know the date he died? I think it's on his marker.)
Bear: Pete Galligar
Pollock Mt. : Unidentified Indian
Indian Valley: Lay (baby girl, daughter of John Lay) The grave is said to be on the family's ranch in Indian Valley, but no location is listed. Does anybody know where it is?
Glendale: Richard Olsen
Mesa: Moore child or children - we need names and dates
I thought that Jim Summer's grave on Cuddy Mountain would go on this list, but it is just south of the Adams County line in Washington County, believe it or not.
Hey! I have an E-mail address now. If you would like to drop me a line, I'm at dalefisk@juno.com.
Thank yous go to Bob & Ilene Whiteman, and Roger & Marcy Combs for donations to the museum in memory of my dad, Dick Fisk. Frank & Betty Smith sent a donation in memory of Dad and in memory of Irene Draper. Your help and thoughtfulness are really appreciated.
June 25, 1998
Wrote about the Crooked River School and its location: approximately
44 54' 37” 116 39' 46”
Announced the grand opening of the Museum with the new addition on July 4.
7-2-98
In the photo albums that Harold Smith loaned the museum, some of the pictures are identified and some aren't. The pictures shown here are identified, hopefully correctly. The first is identified as Amos Warner. I've been told some of the family may not know about this picture. The best one l;Heidi Bigler Cole was able to find of him for her book, "A Wild Cowboy", was very blurred, reportedly in an attempt to obscure the fact that he smoked a pipe.
The other photo here shows a group of students at the Bear school on the last day of school: April 25, 1913. On the back of the photos is written the name "Mary Gaarden". I'm not sure if she is in the picture or if that means it was her photo. The man in the picture must be the teacher, W.H. Grant, who is listed as the teacher in 1912 and 1913.
Mary Gaarden had been one of ten students who graduated from the eighth grade at the Bear school in 1912. The other graduates were: Joel Mackey, Ruth Mackey, Clyde Mackey, Arthur Robertson, Dopha Barton, Edith Shelton, Bergie Robertson, Vivian Robertson and Lottie Smith. That was the largest group of eighth grade graduate's anywhere in Adams County. County-wide there were 56 eighth grade graduates that year. In July of 1914, the Council Leader said that Pete Gaarden's daughter, Mary, taught in Adams County. "last year and it is claimed she was the youngest teacher in Idaho."
In 1915 Mary attended classes at the State normal school at Albion, Idaho. Don't ask me why schools for teachers were (are?) called "normal" schools.
Mary's father, Pete Gaarden was a miner in the area. An immigrant from Denmark (like his neighbor, stage line owner, Pete Kramer) Gaarden came to the U.S. in 1882 to mine in Missouri and Colorado. He came Silver City, Idaho in 1890, then to Bear in 1895 at the age of 35. One of his principal claims seems to have been in Deep Creek, and there is (or was) a trail down that drainage named after him. Pete Gaarden was road overseer in the Bear district in 1927. The next year (1928), the family's home in Beat burned down, and the next year (1929) Gaarden died on April 6 at the age of 69 years plus one day. He left behind a wife and three daughters. He is buried in the Bear Cemetery.
The girl at the lower right of the photo, with only part of her face showing, looks like Lois Smith. She had very long, beautiful hair, which was put up in this photo.
In J.D. Neale's 1912 report, he said:
"This is one of the districts which are found up among the pines, has daily mail service, telephones, much rich farming land, good roads, maintains a full term of school, pays well for the service of the teacher; has a splendid literary organization, uses the school house as a community Center where social gatherings, and church services are held, has the loyal support of the entire population of the district, and is planning for a Rural High school building and full High School privileges for all grammar school graduates."
"The teacher organized a High School where a splendid year of High School work was accomplished. The trustees work well together, the patrons take a great interest and the pupils cheerfully travel a number of miles in some cases, to be present each day."
I'd like to thank John & Colleen Spalding and Vern and Vi Ward for donations to the Museum in Dad's memory. It really is appreciated.
"Teacher's salary—$70.00 (per month for 8 mos.] Mr. Grant has been employed to teach the coming term at $90.00 per month." "Trustees... Arthur V. Robertson, Thomas Mackey, David Milne. Average attendance ... 14."
Remember the Museum's Grand Opening on the 4th at 10:00. I'll be giving historical tours of downtown every hour, on the hour, from 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. The Museum's regular hours are Tues - Sat. 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m, and Sundays 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. We're still looking for a good vacuum cleaner that someone could donate.
7-9-98
To say the least, the 4th of July was a success for the Museum. I've never seen so many people in that place! According to the guest book, 228 people came in on the 4th and 34 the next day. We received tons of compliments on what a nice museum we have. The historic tours weren't in big demand, but the people who went enjoyed them. If you are interested in the tour brochure, you can get them at the Museum. They have a map and photos, so you can take a self-guided tour. We were giving the brochures away during the weekend of the 4th, but we will be charging a dollar each from now on to cover our printing costs.
Our Grand Opening "ceremony" was very short and to the point. I'm not too big on ceremonies, but I wanted to mark the occasion in some way. I got so busy putting the new railing up on the outside ramp and getting the tour brochure done that I didn't have the energy to plan anything very organized. Mostly what we did was cut a ribbon. We used the big wooden scissors (about 3 feet long) that were used in a ceremony to open the new highway over Mesa Hill in 1975.
If you haven't seen our new railing outside the Museum, it really looks great. The old, ornamental-iron grave fencing is just perfect for our museum railing. You should have seen it before Roy Mocaby and I started working on it. Six of the sections had been made into a rock jack at the corner of the Hornet Creek Cemetery property years ago. They had been formed into a triangle and filled with rocks. They were sitting in the middle of a jungle of that brush, and thorn brush a couple inches thick had grown up through them. After about an hour of chainsaw work and lifting rocks out, I got them out and hauled them to Roy's shop. He spent about eight hours just dismantling, straightening and repairing the six "posts". Some of the sections had moss and lichen growing all over them. It all had to be sandblasted. At the moment, the railing still has some places that need to be hammered into shape, and we're going to paint it black, but it looks good. Roy brought his cutting torch and portable welder down on the 2nd and we worked the whole day putting it up. I'll tell you what, Roy is a good welder! When we got done, we talked about how much that railing would have cost if we had to buy it new and have it installed - that is if we could find material like that nowadays. It surely would have to have been in the thousands.
I need to thank Doug McAIvain for the material for the hand rail we put along the old railing. Doug and Serena have been very good to the Museum. Next time you see them, tell them you appreciate it.
Another person that needs to be thanked for a repair at the Museum is Rich Klein. He put cane in the seat of the old wheel chair. Thanks Rich, it really looks good! Another contribution to the Museum was made by Anna Kamerdula. She gave us the blueprints from when the Fruitvale school was built in1928.
The children of early residents of Fruitvale had to walk all the way the to White school, three miles north of Council, on the northeast corner of present-day highway 95 and Lappin Lane. About the time that the Fruitvale townsite was established in 1909, Fruitvale built its own school on land donated by Isaac and Lucy McMahan. This was about a half mile south west of Fruitvale. The "McMahan" school, as it was called, was very up to date, being a frame structure set on a cement foundation. It measured 24 X 36 feet. By 1911 there were 40 pupils enrolled.
During school hours, a barn was provided at the McMahan school in which to keep and feed the horses that students rode to school from more distant points. The school board provided the hay. The teachers also sometimes rode horses to school.
The McMahan school house was in use up until the end of 1928, when a new school was built just up the hill, east of the Fruitvale store. For the next year the old school building was regularly used for dances until it was auctioned off to Lester McMahan for $80. About three years later the old building fell in under the weight of heavy snow and rain. Lester said he had planned to tear down "the old shack" anyway. When Isaac and Lucy McMahan moved back to Fruitvale from Portland in 1934, their sons built a little house for them to live in on the old school's foundation.
Classes started in the new Fruitvale school after Christmas vacation ended in January of 1929. One notable luxury came to the school in 1945 when a new well was drilled. The water was pumped with an electric pump since Fruitvale now had electricity. Up until this time, water had been carried to the school from the store.
When area schools began .to consolidate in the late 1950s, the Fruitvale school was closed, and children from the area were bused to Council. Marvin and Lillian Imler converted the school into a home which is still in part-time use at this writing.
The older photo shown here is the one of Fruitvale I wrote about a few weeks
ago. I think it was taken about 1910 - 1912 or so. It was taken looking northwest at Fruitvale from the old, pre-1920 road to Fruitvale that ran east of Dick Parker's house, along the hillside. You can still see the old road from the Fruitvale-Glendale road. The Parker's house is just to the left of the area shown in this photo. Unfortunately the buildings in the picture are so small they are hard to see, especially printed in a newspaper. Building # 1 is the McMahan school; #2 is a small, log building that is still standing in exactly the same place today. Just to the left of it is Bill Glenn's house. Its hard to see. There is a big barn today where the hay stacks are in the photo, to the left of the Glenn house; #3 is where Jim & Pam Joslin live now. It was a hotel run by Art Wilkie at the time.
Just above #4 there is a light strip running left to right and curving up as it goes to the right. That’s the railroad. Vern & Teresa Ludwig’s house now sits just above the #4 in that dark colored field.
The newer photo is taken from the same place this spring. The numbers correspond to the same places and buildings. The white building just under #5 in the present-day photo is the school built in 1928. You might notice there are more trees now, both on the hills and in the valley. On the hills, that's because there were more fires in the old days.
I'd like to thank Jim and Laura Camp for their donation to the Museum in memory of my dad.
July 16, 1998
Well, that was a mistake. Last week's attempt to put in those photos of Fruitvale' didn't work too well. You really could see the buildings and numbers in the original photos, but by the time they got printed it was another story.
The reason I've been putting in more pictures lately is because I bought a scanner and printer for my computer. Neither one of them were expensive, but they do a pretty good job. For the newspaper, I just scan in the photos (and number anything that needs it), save it on a floppy disk and give the disk to the gang at the paper, along with my column (which is also on disk). I'll be putting in more pictures. Hopefully they will look better as I learn what works.
When I gave the historical tours of downtown over the 4th, I learned something interesting. I was asked about whether there was ever actually a bowling alley in Council, and the people on the tour had the story. In the 1940s there was a three-lane alley set up in the vacant lot now occupied by the Longbranch Saloon between Marvin's Cafe (now the Seven Devils Cafe) and the drug store (now Bear Country Books). It was an outdoor affair with no roof over it. Alvin Shaw used to set up the pins when he was a young man. He said the balls were not much bigger than a soft ball and had no finger holes. This set-up was later moved to the building now occupied by the west end of Shavers (then the Merit Store). I've been told the building was built as a bowling alley, but I'm not sure about that. Can anybody fill me in on that?
The place was called the "Sugar Bowl" and was run by Bob Dagget and Tom McCord and their wives. They also sold hamburgers, etc. This location was taken over by Idaho First National Bank' in 1951. (The bank was at that location until the present bank was built in 1971.) When the bank moved in, the Leader said they were moving into the "Merit Store annex", so .maybe the store had the building built?
On Saturday, I got a fantastic phone call. Beth Van Hoesen called from McCall
to tell me she was up there from San Francisco and that she had a video version of her parent's home movie footage taken between 1928 and the early 1930s. I drove up to meet her and Phil Soulen's daughter, Teresa, at Shore Lodge. (Phil Soulen and Beth Van Hoesen are first cousins.) To refresh your memory, Beth's parents were Enderse and Freda Van Hoesen who helped operate Mesa Orchards until the mid 1930s. I got to take the video home and copy it for the Museum.
When I got the video home and looked at it, I was not disappointed. Scenes shown: the dam at Lost Lake before and after it was raised - the dam being raised, using horse teams and fresnoes - an old cabin at the edge of the lake (could it be one of the Ryan brother's homestead cabins?) - a pan of the Mesa Orchards at their peak (really amazing!) - the Mesa tram being loaded and in operation - people picking fruit (the trees are barely tall enough to need a ladder) - a team and wagon picking up boxes of apples and pears in the orchards - an early crawler tractor pulling a ripper between the rows of trees - old Fordson tractors and horse teams pulling plows and disks between the trees - the nice homes that once stood in a row at Mesa, with immaculate yards and landscaping. The smelter smokestack at Landore with a pan of the framework of the smelter beside it as well as what was left at Landore at the time - Mr. and Mrs. Stephans in front of their "Stephan's Hotel" in Cuprum (late 1920s, later bought by Darlands).
What price can you put on such a wonderful gift? It's like someone giving you a magical keyhole through which to see a glimpse of another world - the world that once existed right here where we live.
I'd like to thank Bonnie Wininger for a donation to the Museum in memory of my dad, Dick Fisk. It is very much appreciated.
July 23, 1998
A few weeks ago I wrote about the Crooked River area and the school there. Let's go on up the road.
W.S. Rooker, a former business man and Wild Horse rancher , built a mill at what was referred to as Crooked River in 1926. It was actually on Dick Ross Creek, a branch of Crooked River. It was not far to the west of the where the Council - Cuprum road is today, and may have been quite close to the old road. Rooker's logging crews and mill workers lived in tents until the mill was running and could provide lumber. Then "lumber jack shacks" were built all over the flat. The mill employed more than 30 men until it burned down in the fall of 1935. I mentioned some time ago that this is where my maternal grandmother, Mae Baker, met my grandfather, Russell Merk. She was cooking there, and he was doing carpentry work.
The summer before Rooker's mill burned, a notorious accident happened here. Frank Fanning, who was about 75 years old, was working underneath the mill, probably cleaning out sawdust and pieces of slab wood that had accumulated under the saw. Not realizing he was so near the whirling circular saw above him, he stood up right underneath it. Blood and hair sprayed the air as the saw cut through Frank's skull and into his brain cavity. Miraculously, he was not killed. In fact the next week Dr. Thurston announced that, aside from having a metal plate where part of his skull used to be, Fanning would be "normal again after a few weeks." Frank lived another 22 years, dying in a Weiser nursing home in 1957.
Lafferty Campground is hard to miss along the Council - Cuprum road. It's a pretty nice
campground, with toilets and drinking water facilities, and camping spots with fire pits. It fills to the brim during deer, elk and turkey hunting seasons. The Campground is named after J. B. Lafferty, the first Forest Supervisor (Ranger) of what is now the Payette National Forest. Lafferty was appointed to the newly created Weiser National Forest in the spring of 1906. His salary was $1,000 per year.
When Lafferty set up his office in Weiser in 1906, he had no employees, and was in charge of an area that was huge, even by modern standards. He said: "During the field season the average ranger put in something like eight hours twice a day." "Trips that can now be made in an hour or two then took several days of hard riding on horseback. When a supervisor left his office, he never knew just when he might return. It was this uncertainty that was responsible for the custom adopted in some offices of kissing the clerk every time one left the office."
Lafferty would often travel the expanse of his district on a bicycle. Shortly after his appointment in 1906, the Weiser Signal reported that he ". . .made the 75 mile trip from Pine to Boise between early in the morning and noon on his bicycle.
In Ivan Doig's book English Creek, which chronicles the fictional story a Forest Service family in western Montana in the 1930s, the main character, Jick McGaskill has this to say about men such asLafferty:
"In any Forest Service family such as ours, lore of setting up the national forests, of the boundary examiners who established them onto the maps of America as public preserves, was almost holy writ. I could remember time upon time of hearing my father and the other Forest Service men of his age mention those original rangers and supervisors, the ones who were sent out in the first years of the century with not much more than the legal description of a million or so acres and orders to transform them into a national forest." "... the tales of them still circulated, refreshed by the comments of the younger rangers wondering how they'd managed to do all they had. Famous, famous guys. Sort of combinations of Old Testament prophets and mountain men, rolled into one."
J.B. Lafferty served as Forest Supervisor until 1920. After being in private business for several years, he became a CCC camp superintendent in 1933. During the period from 1941 to about 1950, he worked intermittently as a seasonal Forest Service employee. Lyle J. Watts, who succeeded Lafferty as Supervisor of the Weiser Forest, later became chief of the Forest Service in Washington, D.C.
I understand that Lafferty's son, George, is about 80 years old and lives in Boise. Maybe we can get a photo or two from him.
In 1944 and 1947, the location of the present campground was used as a camp site by the Forest Service timber sale crew while the Boise-Payette Lumber Company was logging in the area. Forester Dave Arrivee persuaded the Company not to cut the trees at this camp area. Lafferty was staying at this camp during this time.
The Adams County Leader for Aug 20, 1948 reported that there was some work being done on this campground. It was fenced and two additional fireplaces were built. The paper said, "The old buildings maintained by the brush camp eventually, will be removed ..." and reported that Gordon McGregor consented to leave the big pine trees when he logged here so long as the place was to be a public camp grounds.
Lafferty and his good friend, Ellis Snow, were very interested in preserving the site as a campground, and they urged local organizations to buy the land for that purpose. Later that year the Council X Club, the Cambridge Chamber of Commerce, and the Weiser Kiwanis Club pooled their resources, and purchased 15 acres here for $150. These organizations did some development, and installed tables and a toilet. Ellis Snow persuaded them to name the camp after Mr. Lafferty. The paper said, "Since the park has been improved, it has been a busy place most every week...."
In 1966 the land was donated to the Payette National Forest, and a new campground was finished by the next year. On August 6, 1967, dedication ceremonies were held here.
I would like to thank the Quilt Show Committee for a very generous donation to the Museum. We really appreciate their continued support!
I would also like to thank Amy Glenn for her donation to the Museum in memory of Amine Nichols. Another big thank you goes to Roger and Pete Swanstrom and Barbara (Swanstrom) Samulski for a very generous donation. You may recall that their mother, Lillian Swanstrom died not long ago. Roger wrote, "Recently my brother, sister and I learned that a small office account our father had at the Council bank at the time of his death in 1976 was overlooked; eventually it ended up with the Unclaimed Property Division of the Idaho State Tax Commission. Because our mother died before we learned of the account, we were entitled to make a claim for it. However, the three of us decided that the appropriate use of this "windfall" should be for some community purpose at Council. We thought the money should go to the Council Museum because of the dedicated effort of people like you who are determined ton have an outstanding museum."
History Corner 30 July 1998
This week I'll try to catch up on items donated to the museum lately. I should have been doing this all along, and haven't, so I may forget to thank people here that I should. I hope they will forgive me.
The most recent donation was made by Betty Thomason. She had two bowling balls and one pin from the bowling alley I wrote about a couple weeks ago. The pin is about ten inches tall and looks kind of fat, with a small bottom end. The balls are black, about five inches in diameter, and are Brunswick brand. I would guess they are probably collectors items. I wanted to get them on display at the Museum, but didn't have a good, safe place to put them, plus I didn't have time to make a sign the day I was working there. Until we get them on exhibit, they are in the "office". Ask whoever is hosting the Museum to show them to you if you would like to see them. Betty also donated an old cash register that was in the Shabby Shop when she moved in there, and an adding machine that Sy Winkler used in the old Merit Store.
Another exciting donation was from Shirley Glemser who brought in a blueprint / map of the water system at Mesa Orchards. It shows all the irrigation pipes, their sizes and where they ran. It's amazing how extensive that system was! This is another item we don't have out yet, but plan to as soon as possible.
Helen Lortz donated a medical bag full of old veterinary equipment that was in one of the buildings at Starkey when they bought the place. I have never heard of a vet who was associated with Starkey. I have to wonder if Dr. Brown did some work on animals, as there may not have been a veterinarian in this area. If anyone has a clue about this, please let me know.
Nancy Thompson donated an old map of Idaho. We don't know exactly how old yet. Speaking of maps, Barry McDaniels donated the big railroad map that's on the Museum wall over the ramp.
Lavonna Rudger gave us a unique, old mortar and pestle set that came from a yard sale at Dr. Gerber's. Jess Hulit brought us a box full of old sheet music and song books from way back. I haven't had time to look through them, so I can't tell you about the treasures that may be in that box.
Dave Yost gave us a whole bunch of "picking cards" for lack of a better name, from Mesa Orchards. They were the cards that were punched with the number of baskets or boxes of apples someone picked.
I would like to thank all the people who have donated or loaned things to the Museum. It's this kind of generosity that makes our little museum grow and improve so that we can all be proud of it. I would also like to thank Mary Owens for money donated in memory of Ivan Moser. It seems appropriate to remember those we've lost by contributing to an effort to preserve the memories of our community.
I know there are people who donated or loaned things, and I've neglected to thank them. It's not because your help was not appreciated. There is always too much to do and too little time.
On the subject of donations, people sometimes wonder why the item they donated hasn't been put on display. First, because of limited space, time and money, everything the Museum has can not be exhibited at once. We have some very interesting items that are in storage right now, but it's not because the item isn't valued. It takes a lot of time and work to display things. It's not easy figuring out what story is most important to tell, and what items are available to illustrate that story. As the Museum fills up, any new items put on exhibit will push another item into storage, so we'll have to decide what gets put away. Then there's planning a way to display items in the available space, designing an enclosure and building it, researching and writing labels, etc. All this is done by a very few volunteers with very limited time. If you would like to help with this, you are more than welcome.
A fair question is, "What's the use of having artifacts if you don't display them?" First the item is, hopefully, safer in a museum where they can be properly stored. Second, the item is in a place where people can come to study the item and get information. One of the basic functions of a museum is to educate. Almost anything in your museum is available for you to examine and study as long as it is done without harming it. Third, any item we have will probably be exhibited at some point. We plan to change exhibits from time to time so that you have something new and interesting to see.
One thing I hate to do is turn down items that someone wants to donate. Sometimes the item doesn't help say anything about our history, but most often we just don't have anyplace to put it. We have a very limited amount of storage and exhibit space, especially for larger things. We have told the City that if the city shop moves to the old Boise Cascade shop we could sure use some of the bottom floor of the museum / shop building. We're keeping our fingers crossed on that.
6 August 1998
A while back I mentioned the place that some people called "Old Davis", where the road to Wildhorse leaves the Council - Cuprum road. "Wildhorse" refers to the area along the Wildhorse River. The Wildhorse is formed by the conjunction of Lick Creek, Bear Creek and Crooked River. It runs south, almost the opposite direction of Crooked River, just over the ridge to the east. Wildhorse enters the Snake River just below Brownlee Dam. The road from the Council - Cuprum Road goes down the Wildhorse a long way, but you can't drive on through to the Snake River. The one thing Wildhorse is most known for is rattlesnakes. If you spend much time there, it's not a question of whether you see them, but how many.
Before many people had settled in this area, John McMullough pastured his horses in this canyon. Because of the steep, irregular terrain, the horses could not always be rounded up when needed. Due to the low elevation, the winters here were relatively mild, and the horses were able to roam the canyon year around, and the ones that escaped capture for very long became very wild. That's the origin of the name "Wildhorse". Historian, Frank Harris, said, "These animals ran there for several years until they were killed off by prospectors who didn't want their saddle and pack animals to acquire bad habits by association."
There is a limited amount of farm ground in Widlhorse Canyon, which attracted a few early homesteaders. Legend has it that, before a road was built into this inaccessible canyon, the first settlers had to let their wagons down over steep drop-offs by means of ropes.
A post office was established here in 1907. It consisted mostly of a box kept by whomever was Postmaster. The box had pigeon holes for the mail, and a lid with a padlock. The office was discontinued in 1952. At its peak, in the 1930s, Wildhorse Canyon was home to seventeen families. A school existed here before 1912, but a new and larger building was constructed about that year. It had six students at that time. It closed in 1946.
An unexplained alteration of the climate in Wildhorse Canyon seems to have taken place since the old days. There is more snow and colder temperatures in the last few decades. One theory as to why this occurred says that since the dams on the Snake were built in the late 1950s and early 1960s, they seem to have effected the winter climate in the canyon, perhaps by changing the temperature of the air currents from the Snake River canyon.
I'd like to thank Margaret and LaDell Merk for donating an old miner's lantern and a black powder, post-splitting wedge to the Museum. I've only seen one or two of these wedges, but they are pretty interesting. They were used to split logs for posts, and I suppose sometime wood. The hollow metal wedge was filled with black powder and driven into the end grain of the log (maybe not in that order?). The wedge had a hole in the side for a fuse. I'm not sure if a cap was needed. The force of the blast was forced down into the log, splitting it. If anyone can fill in some of my knowledge about these wedges, give me a call would you?
I'm hoping that someone can identify the sawmills in the two pictures here. They were taken in about the 1930s or '40s I think, by a Forest Service employee. The one in the closer view may have been somewhere in the Bear or Cuprum area. The other one is a total mystery. I'm hoping they turn out well enough when printed in the paper that you can make them out.
If you have any info on these photos or can add to what I know about black powder splitting wedges, please contact me at 253-4582 or Box 252 Council, or dalefisk@juno.com.
8-13-98
Started story of Nez Perce War. Edgar Hall brings word to Council Valley.
8-20 -1998
Before I return to the Nez Perce War story, I need to catch up on some things from previous columns.
First, I'm told the sawmill in the lower photo that I put in a couple weeks ago looks like the Turnipseed mill that once was up Mill Creek quite a ways. I only heard from one person. If anyone else has information, please let me know.
Lynn Pearson filled me in on black powder wedges like the one the Merks donated to the Museum. Lynn helped a man use one when he was just a youngster. They used one to split logs before cutting them to length on a buzz saw. The logs were not more than about a foot in diameter, were about five feet long, and were generally not split more than once to make two halves. The logs were split lying horizontally on the ground. The wedge was "filled" with black powder (Lynn wasn't in charge of this and didn't know how much the man used), then it was driven into the log at least two inches or so. No blasting cap was required, so about four inches of fuse was shoved into the hole in the side of the wedge. The fuse was lit, and when the charge went off the wedge flew twenty feet or so and hit the ground pretty hard. You didn't want to be standing in its path. The log generally popped open the full length, and required no further work to separate the halves.
The string of violent events that led to the Nez Perce War had begun in the spring of 1877. The government had finally decided it was ready to back its repeated orders for the Wallowa band of Nez Perces to report to the reservation. The Indians submitted and moved in the direction of the reservation, but disaster ensued. While the main group of Nez Perce was camped near the town of Mount Idaho, near present-day Grangeville, some resentful young warriors left the main group, and settled old scores by killing white settlers along the Salmon River. The first murder happened not far north of the present town of Riggins. Things snowballed until 14 whites were dead and the situation was completely out of control.
When Edgar Hall arrived at Indian Valley on the morning of June 18th with news of the initial massacre, his father, Solon Hall, immediately wrote a letter for Edgar to take to Milton Kelly and the Governor. This was the same day Kelly arrived at Salubria, 12 miles away. It would appear that, when he wrote this letter, Solon had no knowledge of Kelly's arrival with guns:
Indian Valley, June 18, 1877
Hon. Milton Kelly
Dear Sir:
The Indians have broken out on Salmon river and have killed fourteen men. We are looking for trouble here every minute. If you can assist us in getting something to protect ourselves with you will do us a great favor. We send a petition to the Governor for arms and ammunition; and if we can get them, please send them to Crystal Springs by stage or some other same conveyance. If the Governor asks security send word and I will be responsible. Please go with my son to the Governor. Edgar (the expressman) got to Warrens Saturday night, and started back the same night and came here in 24 hours from Warrens - getting in two days ahead of time. The Postmaster at Washington (Warrens) advised him to get back as soon as possible, as he feared that the Indians would cut him (Edgar) off the trail. My son, the bearer, will give you all the particulars as nearly as I could. Please do for us all that you can, and oblige.
Yours, &c.,
Solon Hall"
Continued next week.
27 August 1998
Continuing with the story of the Nez Perce War.
After his arrival at Salubria, Milton Kelly wrote this letter:
"Salubria, June 20th
I reached here the next night after leaving Boise City, with guns and ammunition all right. Twelve men came up with me from the Lower Weiser and from Mann's Creek. No one had heard of the Indian outbreak. The news created great excitement here and all along the road. I was only twenty-six hours to this place, 110 miles from Boise City. The families on this, the west side of the Middle Weiser Valley, gathered in here to Abernathy's place, Salubria last night; and the men brought all the arms they had - which were not many - and remained here, keeping a guard out all night. The arms I brought were badly needed - especially the ammunition. A company of twenty-five men will be organized here to-day [sic] under Captain John Sailing, and scour around the outskirts of this and Indian Valleys to-day, hoping that Major Collins and command will be here to-night. The families on the east side of this valley, and those in Indian Valley, got together at Wilkins' place."
Major Collins was the commander at Fort Boise. "Wilkins' place" should have read "Wilkerson's", although the Indian Valley gathering point was actually at William Munday's house. The settlers from Indian Valley and Council (about ninety men, and fifty women and children) had first gathered at Solon Hall's house. That night (June 19), guards were posted in case of attack. One of the group later recalled, "They put out guards, but forgot to give the first lot out any cartridges, and they stood guard for about four hours with empty guns, and were so rattled (I guess that is the right name for it) they did not think anything about it until when the relief came they asked for the cartridges."
The next morning it was decided there was too much brush near Solon Hall's house, and the settlers moved to William Munday's place. Munday was the Postmaster at Indian Valley, and the post office was undoubtedly in his home.
That day, June 20, would prove to be an eventful day. After writing his letter that morning, Milton Kelly accompanied twenty armed, mounted men to Indian Valley under the leadership of John Sailing and William Allison. Meanwhile, the first few families moving from the gathering place at Solon Hall's had reached William Monday's farm. As they were settling in, someone looked down the valley toward Salubria and saw armed riders coming. Adrenaline pumped through every vein as the men grabbed their guns and ran to the fence in front of Munday's house. One of the group recalled, "We were sure they were Indians. We supposed they had passed through the hills and taken Salubria and a band of them were coming up there to take us too, and no one knew how many there were behind."
Milton Kelly and the volunteers from Salubria who were coming to aid the settlers had no idea they were causing such panic as they rode up the valley. The new guns they carried flashed in the sunlight and made them look very formidable to the people huddled near Munday's house. Id Hitt remembered the incident clearly. She said, "The women and children ran in to the house, all but I. I caught up my little cousin, and hid behind a bush with the intention when firing began I would run to the trees along the stream and follow down it, which I believe yet would have saved us."
One of the settlers named Alex later wrote:
The house where we were was at the upper end of a lane leading from the road, and another house, Billy McCullough's, was at the lower end of the land, close to the road, so this handful of men determined to meet them at the foot of the lane and keep as many as possible from coming up to the house. The nine - no, only eight, as there was one coward among them; he wouldn't go. Mrs. Mc. said to him 'Why don't you go?' 'I ain't any gun.' 'Take the ax that's good for one.' But no, he wouldn't go but got in the house among the women, worse frightened than any of them. The eight crept down through the tall rye grass. As they were going, Tom Price said, 'Boys, every feller pick his man; that __ on the big brown horse is mine,' and they did. Each on had his man picked, and the only thing that saved them was that something got wrong with one of the saddles and they all stopped while the rider fixed it. They happened to be just on the other side of the house, so our men couldn't see them, and they thought they were preparing for a rush. But fortunately for them, when they started up again they saw two men coming down the road from Mr. Hall's and rode on up to meet them instead of going up the lane. When they saw the eight men with guns come out into the road it was their turn to be frightened, as they saw how near they had some of them come to being shot.
Ida Hitt said from where she was hiding she heard William Munday shout, "You better throw up your hands, you damn sons of bitches!" Fortunately the settlers recognized their neighbors before it was too late. William Allison later remarked that he was sure he would have been killed if he had turned up the lane. He was the man on big brown horse that Tom Price had picked out to shoot, and Price was apparently known as an expert marksman.
To be continued next week.
The Museum will be open through Labor Day weekend, and then close for the season. If you haven't come in to see it, you had better do it soon. Of course we will be open by appointment, and on most Tuesdays.
3 September 1998
Continuing with the story of the Nez Perce War. Alex, the "Old Timer" recalled what happened after the close call with the riders from Salubria:
"Well, by night everybody in Council and Indian valleys were camped there - some two or three hundred, all told. A little fun was had, in spite of our fears, by the young folks getting a suit of women's clothing for the coward, who brought his bed and made it down among the women and children, but it did not hurt his feelings. He was a married man, too but his family were east and were spared the shame of seeing him display his cowardice. They made a corral of the wagons around the house and guards were stationed this time with plenty of ammunition."
About the situation at Indian Valley, Milton Kelly later wrote:
The first object was to learn the feeling and condition of the Weiser Indians - about seventy in number, under Eagle Eye. Solon Hall and other citizens in this valley had already anticipated this movement and runners had been sent out, and the Indians were in camp at their regular camping ground, next to Hall's place and promised peace and friendship with the white people and that the men should remain in camp until the trouble was over. Several straggling Indians from the Malheur and Fort Hall agencies were seen, who had permits from the agencies to travel and hunt, but went into the Weiser band and promised to be peaceable and remain in camp."
Late in the day on the 20th, George Riebold arrived from Warren with an urgent letter for the Governor. The letter was dated June 18, and started off with elegant penmanship, but by the end it had degenerated into more hastily-scribbled script. It went into detail, listing every person killed by the Indians. On the fourth page there was reference to the town of Mount Idaho: "It is greatly feared that the entire Settlement has been annihilated . . . ."
The letter ended with a plea for help:
They have not made any raid upon us as yet, but we expect it hourly. We are fortifying ourselves as best we can, but we are comparatively helpless - there not being sufficient arms and ammunition here to enable us to stand much of a siege. It is nearly certain that they will attack us, as several Indians have been seen skulking around in the mountains near us. The messenger, Mr. George Riebold, who carries to you this communication can tell you more particularly our situation and needs. The object of this communication is that you immediately dispatch to us aid.
Very Respectfully Yours,
Jas. W. Poe
Although it was not mentioned in the letter, Riebold had received word that an even worse disaster had happened involving the Nez Perce. While Edgar Hall was starting his desperate ride from Warrens to Indian Valley on June 17th, cavalry troops had clashed with the Indians on the rolling hills just north of the present town of Whitebird. The soldiers were brutally defeated.
Riebold got this news from a messenger from Slate Creek. The settlers there were huddled in terror inside a stone cellar that can still be seen today if you drive through one of the little back streets of the little community there.
To be continued next week.
This is it folks. The Museum will be open trough Monday, September 7, and then we will close except by appointment or when we are there working.
History Corner 10 September 1998
Last week I threw in a picture of Edgar Hall without a caption reminding you that he was the mail carrier who brought the first news of the Nez Perce War to this area. He continued to appear in this story from time to time. Roy Gould sent me some info that his uncle, John Gould, gave him, including the fact that George Moser admired Edgar Hall enough to name his son, Edgar Moser, after him. Fort Hall Hill is also named after the Hall family. They had a cabin there where they would spend the night, if necessary, along the mail route.
I'll continue now with the story:
Upon reading Poe's letter, Milton Kelly wrote his own letter to send on to Boise with Riebold. He scribbled the letter in pencil on four sheets of plain paper measuring six inches wide by almost nineteen inches long. His penmanship was so poor that parts of the letter were unreadable:
Indian Valley
Governor Brayman
June 20th 7'oclock PM
George Riebolt has just arrived from Warrens with a letter which I enclose. He has one to you + He has much later [news] from the messenger from Slate [Creek]. The soldiers had a fight in the White Bird canyon and lost 36 killed. Indians say they lost 13. They have driven all the stock along or near Salmon River on this side of Salmon River, and it is expected they will come this way at any time.
There have been several stray Indians here within the last few days, 3 were coralled and 7 passed by ; 2 from Malheur and 1 from Fort Hall - 7 unknown. The local Indians are all here and peaceable with only two out, said to be out hunting. I send you a list of names who want guns. There are 50 women and children here about one half are at Abernathy's in Middle Valley and the rest here at Wm. Munday's. There are about 90 men , but only 50 guns. I send you a list of names who want guns here and must have them and we must have 100 citizens who can come armed. The people here would feed them. Every kind of business is suspended in all of the valleys. We want help in time, shall we get it? Show this to Curtis + Joe Perrault. [Two unintelligible sentences here] Also
send arms and all the ammunition that can be spared for north Idaho and we will send them through from here. Hall's boy will be the carrier of this and Riebolt will be with him. I got here 26 hours from the time I started. Send 25 more guns and 2000 rounds of ammunition by stage. Let the men get a team at Weiser and come to the Middle Weiser valley, the same way I did. In great haste, Milton Kelly
On the back of the last page Kelly penciled, "Those Indians are blood thirsty. They are getting all the supplies and liquor they want and will jump on fresh horses and come here in 36 hours after they leave Salmon [River] if they come this way."
Some of the early information that spread about the conflict was untrue or exaggerated. Although it was initially reported in the letter that 36 soldiers had been killed at Whitebird, there were actually 34 killed and four wounded. No Indians were killed until later.
Among the 27 men Kelly listed as having guns were Zaddock Loveless, Wm Lovelace [Loveless], George Moser, Robert White, James Harrington, and Wm R [Ryal] Harrington. Most of these were listed as living at "Hornet". Other men were listed who would soon settle in the Council area, or would play a roll in its future: Thomas Price, Rufus Anderson, Calvin White, Andy Kesler and Andy Bacon.
Also among those gathered at Munday's house was the family of Alex and Martha Kesler, and Alex's brother, Andrew (listed as Andy Kesler). They had arrived in the Salubria Valley about a year earlier, and would soon move on to the Council Valley.
To be continued.
A personal side note: This has been an interesting week for me. Last Wednesday I killed a six-point bull elk with my bow. The next day Anna, Blaine and I left for New Mexico to meet an eight-year old girl we are going to adopt.
History Corner 17 September 1998
About the same time that George Riebold and Edgar Hall got to Boise with their pleas for help, other letters were arriving at the governor's office. The following are short excerpts:
From Salubria, June 19th: "There are lots of women and children and they are scared to death . . . "
From Lower Payette, June 19th: "Our citizens in this section are in a bad fix to defend themselves . . . we are liable to be attacked at any time, & we most earnestly request you to forward them [guns] by return stage." "The Weiser Indians are on Hornet Creek, fishing."
No date or exact location: "We the Citizens of Ada County, Weeser [sic] and Hornet Vallies [sic] do request that immediate assistance be furnished us in the way of arms and ammunition. Our last mail brings us the intelligence that the Indians have murdered 14 of the citizens on Salmon R. and have made threats against this portion of our country & we know not what hour they will be upon us."
The reason that citizens so readily asked the Territorial Governor for guns was a policy that had been set in place four years earlier (1873). The Governor had requisitioned ". . . 500 breech-loading Springfield rifled muskets, and also 25,000 round of metallic cartridges, . . . ." from the U.S. Ordinance Department. These guns were to be furnished to citizens of Idaho Territory that were in "exposed localities" and used for "the public defense". Requests to the Governor for arms were required to be signed by ". . . at least five good and responsible citizens . . . ."
By June 21st, news of the defeat at Whitebird had reached Boise, and the Statesman's headline read, "TWO THOUSAND INDIANS IN ARMS! - Troops defeated with heavy loss". The article that followed said, "The country is wild with alarm. The Indians are massacring men, women and children in Camas prairie, and the settlers are fleeing in all directions for safety." Backing off from the sensational headline, the paper stated that the bands of Joseph and White Bird had only about 200 members, but if other bands and tribes joined in there could be as many as 2,000 hostiles.
The fear of this kind of "general uprising" inspired communities from the Wallowa Valley in Oregon to Boise and beyond to become armed and ready to meet an Indian attack. Volunteer militias formed everywhere. In almost every issue of the Statesman, editor Kelly angrily blasted the army, and General Howard specifically, for undermanning forts throughout the Northwest. Kelly said there were only eight men available for duty at Fort Boise.
Milton Kelly went back to Boise on June 23, but sent his right hand man, Joe Perrault (mentioned in Kelly's letter of the 20th) to Indian Valley to act as the paper's correspondent.
Also on the 23rd, Eagle Eye's band began a trek toward the more remote Payette River country. The Statesman reported it had seen a, ". . . a letter from Mr. Wilkerson, Cal White and other prominent citizens of Indian valley, saying that Eagle Eye's band was perfectly peaceable and would remain so and were afraid to stay where they were for fear if the Nez Perces came this way they would do violence or some kind of mischief to them for not fighting the whites. They asked to move their camp over to the Payette, 50 miles away, where they would be out of danger. Wilkerson and others have assented to this and wrote the letter so that they might not be molested by the settlers. The Indians started on Saturday and camped on Willow or Crain's creek on Sunday . . . ."
To be continued.
History Corner 24 September 1998
In spite of a total lack of hostile native actions anywhere near them, the fortified settlers in southwestern Idaho during the Nez Perce War convinced themselves that every bush and tree
concealed a murderous savage. Military units and groups of armed volunteers, including a crew
composed of men from the Indian Valley / Salubria area, scoured the countryside.
Ida Hitt told a story of such a "scouting party" in her autobiographical manuscript. It occurred shortly after the scare they got from Galloway's volunteers:
After the excitement died down, the older scouts decided to go out scouting. Over on Grey's Creek, 2 miles away, was a trail thru from the eastern part of the State, where one could ride close to the mountain without striking a settlement. It was always used by Indians visiting from one tribe to another. When the men were ready to start we girls, there were 3 of us, told them if they brought in an Indian we would give them strawberries & cream for dinner. Strawberries were a rare treat as very few were grown any place in the state. But one of the girls' fathers was a gardener; he had sent for strawberry plants and replanted from shoots until he had a fine patch. It was only one-half mile from where we were gathered. With the scouts with us we felt there was a little danger, besides two young scouts with guns went with us.
When the scouting party returned, consisting of John Sailing, A.F. Hitt [Ida's fiancee at the time], Tom Brassfield and I forgot the other names. They brought their Indian. Looking thru a spy glass they discovered in the distance a lone horseman. He had a small white flag on the end of a staff in front of him. The men selected Grey's Creek to conceal themselves; there were bushes on each side, so two on each side of the creek crouched in the bushes with their guns drawn. When the Indian was in the creek they stepped out. The Indian threw up his hands but showed no surprise. So proudly the men marched in. The Indian had a small bundle in front of him, which he untied and held when they told him to get off his horse. When Mr. Sailing took it from him and unwrapped it, he held up a most gorgeous headdress. On the front of the head piece it had a pair of goat horns fastened securely; the rest of it was covered with weasel tails. One man six feet tall put it on, and it touched the ground.
Tom Hailey [Healey] (the squaw man) said he [the Indian] was the war chief of the Bannock Indians. When the Bannocks went on the war path the next spring he wore it. The Indian claimed he was going into the mountains to bring in his father who was on a fishing trip with a few others, but why the headdress, a new rifle and a belt of cartridges? This part of the story of the Nez Perce war is not in the histories, but undoubtedly by arrangement with the Nez Perce he was to collect the fishing band and join the war party, and they would have come right thru Indian Valley, been joined by Eagle Eye's band, who were located not much more than 2 miles from us in the canyon. What a slaughter of men, women & children there would have been; all prevented by 4 scouts bringing him in. This is unwritten history, but true. Well the scouts had their strawberries and cream, as did the rest of the crowd."
While Ida's assessment of the situation was inaccurate, her account certainly illustrates the feelings of the time.
Continued next week.
In case you've notice a lack of activity at the Museum, end-of-the-summer busy-ness has kept some of the regular volunteers (including me) from coming in. We'll start up again soon. I also mean to thank the volunteers who helped host the Museum over the summer, but right now I'm about a month behind so it will have to wait.
History Corner 1 October 1998
Milton Kelly wrote another letter to the governor on June 23rd:
Gov. Brayman:
On receipt of the news of the outbreak of the non-treaty Nez Perce Indians in North Idaho, and the probability the Indians would make for Weiser Settlements in southern Idaho . . . [I] proceeded to Indian Valley. [I] Found the people, some ten families gathered in at Wm. Munday's house in great consternation over the news. My first object was to learn the character of the Weiser Indians in this valley; about 75 in number under Eagle Eye, about half bucks. They was scattered some but were soon brought in, and professed peace. They had heard the news from North Idaho but promised to a man to remain in camp and keep peace with the whites. [They] would send some of their squaws out to dig roots, but bucks would remain in camp. Found several scatterings of Indians, some from Fort Hall, two from Malheur Agency with permit from Indian Agent to travel and hunt. One bunch of seven bucks had gone through the valley the day before I arrived. Their destination, North Idaho, they were all well armed with from 40 - 50 rounds of ammunition. Eagle Eye's band is pretty well armed. My opinion is that these Indians will remain peaceable unless the hostiles come over, with a few that may go [to] the fighting ground . . . "
Two days later (June 25th) Captain Orlando Robbins arrived on the "upper Weiser" and dispatched this letter from Indian Valley:
"To His Excellency M. Brayman, Governor of Idaho
Sir;
I respectfully report the following. Arrived here this afternoon with my command: 26 men besides the [?] transport wagon. I ascertain from reliable sources that there are hostile Indians this side of the mountains. No hostile act has as yet been committed. I think this section is closely watched by Indians. The friendly Indians have all left the Weiser. The people of this section are much alarmed. Women and children have left this valley - a fort for protection of families is being built on the Upper Weiser . . . [signed] O. Robbins, Capt. Co. A."
Another letter from Captain Robbins reported that he found the "... settlers in [a] fearful state of alarm, constructing [a] stockade & fortifications - all farms deserted & laid waste to loose stock (of which there is a great many)."
As Robbins mentioned, many of the women and children left the Salubria and Indian Valley areas. They went to a fort that was built near Weiser or traveled on to Boise.
According to Alex "The Old Timer", some of the settlers holed up at Munday's place became frightened and started for the Weiser area at eleven o'clock one night. He said, "Their going stampeded the valleys on down, and at daylight the next morning they commenced coming and all day a steady string of vehicles of all descriptions passed along the road and night found them all camped at Woodson Jeffrey's. But there was not sufficient grass and water for their teams, so in a day or two they commenced going back, and each valley built them a fort of their own."
The settlers who gathered at William Munday's farm in Indian Valley stayed there for several days, before deciding to build a fort closer to Salubria.
Ida Hitt described how the fort came about: ". . . they [the settlers at Munday's] decided to go down to the upper part of Salubria Valley and build a fort. The settlers from Council and Hornet Creek were all there. At that time there was no settlers in Meadows Valley. The men selected a dry piece of land belonging to Wilkerson Bro. It was close to a hill where they built a rifle pit. The fort was built of upright posts, with a thickness of 3 ft. with loop holes to shoot from. Then a heavy gate was put up with two strong bars to lock it. The men from Weiser helped with the building."
Alex the "Old Timer" said, Indian Valley built a stockade around the school house and all summer we stayed there most of the time, and everyone in that time eating their allotted peck of dirt. The crops were harvested after a fashion, most of the men going to the fields by day and returning to the fort at night.
We had a laughable scare one night in the Indian valley fort. Cal White lived close by and the dogs got after an old sow of his and ran her inside the stockade. Nearly everyone was asleep, or trying to, and the way she leaped over beds, grunting like all possessed, was enough to strike terror into us fora few minutes.
Continued next week.
History Corner 10 October 1998
Pieces of the story of the upper Weiser valleys in the weeks following the initial events of the Nez Perce War are found in Statesman articles from that time period:
June 26, 1877:
Milton Kelly reports, "The fact that several days had passed and no confirmation of the report that the Indians were headed for the Weiser gave a better opportunity to organize and get more guns and ammunition to defend themselves." "Mr. Thomas Galloway left the Lower Weiser the next day after we did. He reports that they have organized two companies, one at Lower Weiser and one at Upper Weiser and Indian valley of about seventy men in both companies and he is asking for arms and ammunition from the Governor to arm seventeen men in his company, he being the captain of the company at Lower Weiser." "Crops of all kinds on the Weiser are remarkably good. Never saw better grain in any country. It is to be hoped that serious troubles will be averted and they will have the opportunity of gathering in a bountiful harvest."
June 28, 1877:
"Three men from Indian Valley were out all night and saw many fresh Indian tracks. Anderson and Riebold started for Warrens with the mail on the evening of the 25th and would travel all night. After they got over the summit of the mountain Riebold would take it on foot as it would be the safest way to travel. Tom Clay and party expected from Warrens to meet Riebold at Indian valley had not arrived or been heard from. Riebold will return with men for the arms sent to Indian valley for Warrens. Andy Bacon, who lives on the main Weiser the farthest up of anybody, came in from Goose creek and Salmon meadows over the summit of the mountain between Little Salmon and the Weiser the 25th, says he saw Indians all over the country between Goose creek and the Weiser valleys, one and two together as scouts, but no large bodies."
"Many of the families who came out to the lower valley [Weiser] have gone back. They have fortified at Wilkerson's place and keep out scouts all the time to give the alarm of danger. The people say they might as well die as lose all they have and they will take chances and defend their property to the last."
"Some suppose that the war will soon be put to an end - that it will be merely local - but my own impression is that it is more likely to prove a general outbreak."
June 30, 1877:
". . . Capt. Robbins . . . says that the Nez Perce scouts are watching his command on the Weiser and that they evidently have a line of signals and sentinels extending from the Weiser to their camp on the Salmon River. Their main object in this is most probably to guard against the approach of troops from this side . . . ."
Rumors that Indians burned Cuddy's mill are false.
Some immigrants between Boise and Kelton, Utah are turning back because of fear of Indian attack.
A Captain Bendire, who arrived on the Weiser and camped at Mann Creek with 45 men had hurried there because he had heard that 60 men had been killed by Indians on the Weiser. He had been ordered to Boise, but upon hearing this rumor, he came to the Weiser.
July 3, 1877:
Page 3- "Lieut. John S. Gray, of Company 'A' Idaho Volunteers, came into town [Boise] Sunday evening. He reports everything quiet on the Weiser and at Indian Valley. The women and children are carefully guarded at the Stockade Forts, and most of the farmers are busy tending to their crops. Scouts are kept out all the time, so that there is no danger of a surprise."
"The Weiser Indians - Several of the Indians recently encamped near Indian Valley on the Upper Weiser are now encamped near this city. [Boise] Their professed business is to beg for flour and other provisions to take with them to the Great Camas Prairie. They met with poor success as the citizens here are unwilling to make Boise City a depot for gratuitous supplies to vagabond Indians, whom the Government and humanitarians of the East believe to be upon Reservations under the civilizing and Christianizing teachings of exemplary Agents and devoted Missionaries."
Governor Brayman ordered Robbins' Co. "A" back to Boise on July 2nd because the presence of U.S. troops "makes his stay no longer necessary. He will bring back the arms intrusted to him for delivery, unless in his careful discretion he thinks proper to supply responsible and reliable resident citizens who have pressing need of them - taking receipts." signed, Governor Brayman.
July 5, 1877:
Editor Kelly thinks returning the guns from the upper country is a mistake because no one knows where the hostile Indians will go next.
The conclusion of the Nez Perce War story next week.
There was some interesting activity at the museum this past week. Thanks to someone required to do community service, the outside ramp railing got painted.
Houston Fruge (pronounced "froo-zay") from Louisiana, and his daughter, Evelyn, came through Council on Saturday. You may remember I mentioned Houston some time ago as having been in the CCC camp at Middle Fork in 1940. They looked through the Museum and then came out to my house for a short visit. Houston played his Cajun accordion for us.
Houston reports that the plaque along the Middle Fork Road, commemorating the death of his
fellow CCC worker while building the road, is missing. He doesn't know if the rock it was mounted on has fallen apart and the plaque is in the rubble somewhere, or if someone has intentionally removed it. If anyone out there has any information about this, please contact me. If the plaque is to be moved, the Museum would like to have custody of it to make sure it isn't lost.
Other visitors to Council in search of historical roots were Dan and Jo Palmer, from Maryland. Dan's father manned the Council Mountain lookout in 1918. Kevin Gray took Dan on a hike up to the site of the lookout, and then took him through the Museum.
A couple of memorial donations came in this week. Vennes Kite sent a donation in memory of Dick Fisk, Margarit Gibbs and Zoa Hutchison. John and Lillian Ballard sent a donation in memory of Florence and Orley Hart. Thank you all very much for your kindness.
History Corner 15 October 1998
Since I hadn't been into the Museum for awhile, I got behind on checking the donations there. I found a couple of checks that had been there since early September, and I apologize for being late in thanking some people for donations. Frank and Betty Smith made a donation in memory of Don Poulson. Jon and Janice Jones made a donation in memory of Florence Hart. Thank you all for your thoughtfulness and generosity.
Continuing with Statesman newspaper reports on the Nez Perce War: July 7, 1877:
Page one headline: "JOSEPH'S BAND MOVED CAMP - WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN" "Capt. Robbins, chief of scouts, yesterday sent Oglesby with a message to Bendire to have Tom Price, one of the scouts, report at this place as soon as possible." [As previously noted, Tom Price was the man after whom Price Valley was named.]
July 10, 1877:
Fighting on the Clearwater River near Mount Idaho. Soldiers coming through Boise, up the Weiser River to "Camp Bendire" and on north.
July 21, 1877:
Nez Perce fleeing on Lolo Trail - Gen. Howard in pursuit
July 26, 1877:
Three companies of infantry that have been camped at Indian Valley under the command of Major Egbert were ordered to Mount Idaho. Major Collins and soldiers from Fort Boise arrived at Indian Valley and ". . . soon made things lively about the residence of Mr. Calvin White." Collins's company of infantry were ordered to stay at Indian Valley. "This will give the settlers confidence and allow them to harvest their grain. The exposed condition in which the departure of the troops would have left them would have prevented any work from being done as all the men would be required to remain on guard to avoid surprise."
July 31, 1877:
Editor says everyone thought the Nez Perce would hole up in the mountains in the Salmon and Snake River area, and if run out, they would come down the Weiser River. No one dreamed they would retrace to the Camas Prairie.
Letter from Statesman corespondent, Joe Perrault: "Indian Valley, July 29 - Fort Collins in this valley is now completed. It is made of logs, with bastions, etc., against which earthen breastworks have been thrown up. Major Collins has also had a good well dug inside the fort. Two large arbors have Been erected in front of the fort; one for Major Collins and Lieut. Riley, the other for the soldiers of the company. Under these arbors they have pitched their tents . . . " We (Perrault & co.) "...stopped a moment to examine Fort Growler in the Upper Weiser valley, and called at the residence of Mr. Wilkinson [sic], on whose farm Fort Growler stands."
Major Collins sent two men to guard Cuddy's Mill.
Aug 4, 1877:
"Besides Fort Collins in Indian Valley there were constructed during the Indian excitement Fort Growler in Upper Weiser valley, Fort Jefferies in Lower Weiser valley [near Weiser] and Fort Devens in Payette valley. These posts should be allowed to stand as historical souvenirs of the present Indian War." (It's a little confusing to me just how many forts there were at Indian Valley and
Salubria. It sounds like there may have been two separate forts. The term "upper Weiser" is
confusing as it was used in general for anyplace between Midvale and Council.)
Aug 7, 1877:
"Hornet Valley" [Council] residents who left for Indian Valley fort would be safe to go home and harvest crops. "Hornet valley is about twelve miles in the mountains, nearly north of Indian Valley and is one of the most beautiful places in Idaho."
By this time, it was known that the Nez Perce were being hounded by Federal troops in Montana, and it sank in that Weiser River settlers were not in danger from local natives. After things calmed down, the Council settlers went back home. The Moser family was concerned about their garden, but it had apparently done well in their absence. The little cabbage plants that George had shaded with boards had not only survived unattended, but had grown big enough to push over the boards.
At some point that year, after the Indian scare had subsided, the Kesler family moved from Indian Valley to the Council Valley. They settled on land that was just northeast of the Loveless homestead and the Council trees. The Kesler Cemetery is on what was the original homestead.
Well, that's the end of my account of the Nez Perce War as experienced by the people who lived in this area. I hope you enjoyed it.
I'm just now catching up on thanking the people who helped at the Museum this past season. Special
thanks go to several ladies who came in every week for a three hour shift: Bobbie Darland, June
Ryals, Marie Bailey, Norah York and Margaret Merk. I can't say enough how much I apprecieated
that. I really dislike calling people to ask for favors, and counting on them on a regular basis helped
me get through the summer.
Other nice people who helped at the Museum: Kris Carr Mary Owens, Frank and Betty Smith, Bob Miller, Judy Huter, Mary Sterner, Jim and Laura Camp, Alma Fisk, June and Clarke Childers, June Davis, Vera Hutman, Jan Hill, Judy Mahon, Gamaliel Masters, Patty Gross, Marian Feil, Kitty Ingrahm, Resa Yantis, Cindy Jordan, Elenor Riggin, June Derie and Lavona Rudger. Several students helped and got credit for community service at the same time: Stacey Laine, Shelly Wiskirken, Heather Lacy, Andrea Harrington and Livia Peart. This is a very easy way for students to earn community service credit. I hope more take advantage of it next season.
History Corner 22 October 1998
Harold Smith sent me a quote: "All the historical books which contain no lies are extremely tedious." - Anatole France, French author and critic (1844-1924). That must be why people always seem to prefer a wild story over the truth so often.
That brings me to a manuscript I just received from Roger Swanstrom. It contains some pretty biased information relative to what I've been writing about the Nez Perce War. I'm not going to copy the whole thing here (it's 10 1/2 type-written legal-size pages long), but I'm going to relate the story to you with some interpretation.
First a little background. Many of you have read accounts of how Mrs. Charles Campbell's
grandmother, Elizabeth Osborn - Clay, lost her first husband in the opening hours of the Nez Perce War. The manuscript is an account of Elizabeth's life, including the Indian attacks and her days as "The Mother of Meadows Valley".
Roger Swanstrom had this to say about it: "Principally, it is the story of Elizabeth Klein who married William Osborn. After he was killed by Indians in 1877, she married Thomas Clay in 1879. One of the Osborn children, Caroline became Mrs. Charles Campbell. Of this marriage, Albert, Loyal, Rollie and Caroline were born."
"It is my recollection that another child of the Osborns who survived the Indian attacks was Annie, and that Annie grew up and married a Krigbaum; that Annie lived a long time at Meadows and was one of the people who related the early history of the Osborn/Clay families to Betty Campbell, the daughter of Loyal and Mary Campbell. Betty wrote this history as a class project while she was attending the University of Idaho. Betty died at an early age and about 1957 Mrs. Campbell gave a copy of Betty's history to my wife, Yvonne, who typed several copies of the history for Mrs. Campbell."
Elizabeth Klein was born in Germany in 1845. Her childhood was somewhat unhappy because she
was raised by a stepmother who treated her poorly. This may be why, when she was 18 years old, she took an opportunity to go to America. In 1863 she and her sixteen-year-old sister, Anna, put everything they could pack into a flour sack and sailed to Boston. Even though Anna was very homesick, Elizabeth persuaded her to continue around Cape Horn to San Francisco where their married sister, Mary, lived.
After about a year, Mary and her husband moved back to Germany. Soon after this, "the two sisters decided to leave San Francisco and go to Portland, Oregon, then by boat they traveled up the Columbia river, and finally in a very small boat they followed the Snake River until they landed at Lewiston, Idaho in 1865. Here they stayed one year. The town of Lewiston, Idaho, at this time was the important town of Idaho, as it's being located on the Snake River afforded transportation of all mining supplies to be sent from Portland, Oregon, and then packed out to the various mining camps of Florence, Pierce, Warrens, and Orofino."
The standard route to reach the Idaho gold fields was the one the sisters took. Most of the traffic to Idaho in the earliest days came from the west coast. You have to remember that at the time, there was no railroad across the U.S. (It came in 1869.) The alternatives for reaching Idaho were: 1- Follow the Oregon Trail, or a similar route, cross country, or 2- take a ship to Portland then book passage on smaller boats to Lewiston.
At this time (1865) Idaho was in its infancy. When Idaho Territory was created on Mar 3, 1863 it looked nothing like the present map of the state. It included what is now Montana, Wyoming, and parts of North and South Dakota and Nebraska.
Lewiston was probably the biggest town, and was considered so much closer to civilization than any other community that it was chosen as the territorial capitol. The Territory had four counties, ten mining towns, and an estimated white population of 20,000.
Three quarters of those people inhabited the Boise Basin area, in the mountains northeast of Boise. For that reason the capitol of the Territory was soon changed to a new town that was born just that year: Boise City. No one lived along the Weiser River north of Weiser until about 1868.
I'll continue with this story next week
I would like to thank Jerry and Mary Lou O'Day for a donation to the Museum in memory of Cindy Jordan's mother, Gladys Karlburg. Your thoughtfulness is very much appreciated.
History Corner 10-29-1998
Continuing with the story of Elizabeth Osborn - Clay.
In the summer of 1866, the two sisters, Anna and Elizabeth, left Lewiston and traveled to the mining boom town of Warrens, north of present-day McCall.
"This trip had to be taken on horseback. Neither of the girls had ever ridden horseback, but that was not considered as anything out of the ordinary. So they were each given a horse that had been equipped with a bridle and a side-saddle. For the most part the horses followed the guide, so all that was required of the girls was to be able to sit in the saddle. this, however, became difficult after hours and hours of travel. They related that they never knew so many sore spots could develop from sitting. When helped from the horses the first nigh they were unable to stand. However, by morning they had rested sufficiently to continue the trip."
"Women in those days were the one thing all miners would take time to visit with. There was a group of men working somewhere on the trail when the party was announced to be coming. The men, [were] all anxious to see the two young girls, so they purposely felled a tree across the trail, thus the party was held up until the tree was cut out of the trail, and from accounts, the sawing progressed rather slowly. Here it was that Elizabeth first met the man she later married."
"They arrived in the mining camp of Warrens in the fall of 1866. Gold had been discovered in Warrens in 1862 and by 1863 the population had increased to fifteen hundred, and the population four years later was not less than twelve hundred. The discovery of quartz in 1868 brought in a few more men."
James Warren found gold at what became known as "Warren's Diggings" or "Warren's Camp"
about 23 miles southeast of Florence in July of 1862.. The town established here was referred to as "Warrens" for many years, and later simply as "Warren".
The mention of the discovery of deposits of quartz gold is interesting. Placer gold is found in nuggets or dust, and is sometimes called "free" gold because it wasn't bound into other rock. It could be separated from other minerals with very few tools.
Gold found in quartz rock was harder to separate, and took expensive milling equipment. The placer deposits were always grabbed up first, and the quartz was undertaken by those with more money and / or patience to invest.
"As the placer diggings began to show signs of exhaustion they were turned over to the Chinamen, several hundred of whom found employment for a number of years."
"These Chinamen for the most part were good people, as a matter of fact it was very necessary thatthey obey the rules of the white miners or there were no Chinamen."
"Elizabeth often told about, if a Chinaman got a leg or and arm broken or cut off, in just a day or so he would be no more. When they would ask about the crippled one, always the reply, 'The devil got him'. So she said one never saw a crippled Chinaman."
One has to wonder about that last paragraph.
"On October 23, 1868, Elizabeth Klein was married to William Osborn, at the mining camp of
Warrens, Idaho. Four children were born to this union, two girls, and two boys. They remained in the camp until the spring of 1874."
"At this time the gold had become somewhat exhausted so they decided to move to the Big Salmon about four miles up the river from Whitebird. They had still at this time only pack trails through the mountains, so the family had to be transported the 100 miles on horseback."
"The oldest boy, Willie, was able to ride on the horse behind his father. Elizabeth, the mother, packed the baby "Annie: on her lap, and the two others, Caroline and Edward were put in boxes - these were placed in alforkses [sic] and lashed one on either side of the horse."
"This was a very trying experience as the trails were tough and very narrow. There was always the fear that the horse might stumble and fall, or see some wild animal and become frightened, if so the children certainly would have been doomed to death. However, the trip was completed in safety."
"They arrived on the Big Salmon River some time in the summer of 1874. Here Mr. Osborn, his
brother-in-law, Mr. Mason, and others mined the bars along the river. While the gold was not so plentiful as it had been in some of the rich mining towns, they were always able to pan out a good living."
"Here they lived, worked, and were happy for three years. Mr. Osborn being 20 years older than Mrs. Osborn, was father as well as husband. Always on Saturday nights after supper he would have the mother get a paper and read aloud to him while he bathed the children and got them ready for bed."
"At this time Elizabeth's dream had seemed to come true, she had found a kind and devoted
husband, and they were the parents of four healthy, happy children. With the responsibility of motherhood, grew the desire to talk, read, and write the American language. She worked hard evenings by the light of a tallow candle to accomplish these things. However, like always in her life, she never let anything discourage her, and soon she was able to read the newspapers quite understandingly by herself."
Continued next week.
History Corner 11- 5 -1998
Continuing with he story of Elizabeth Obsorn - Clay.
"There were other families along the River at this time, so life was quite complete and happy, until the spring of 1877, when the Nez Perce Indian trouble began to be heard of. Elizabeth often begged to move away. Mr. Osborn would always comfort her by telling her there was no danger because he was friendly with the Indians and they liked him. She still seemed to be a great deal uneasy and begged him often to go."
For several years, the U.S. government had wanted the Wallowa Band of the Nez Perce tribe to move to a reservation in northern Idaho. Because of a shortage of money and manpower, the orders to move had not been enforced. In the spring of 1877 the army gave the band 30 days to move onto the reservation. The Wallowa valley that is mention in the manuscript is in eastern Oregon, where the towns of Enterprise and Joseph are located now.
"There seemed to be a great deal of resentment among the Indians, because the whites had settled in the Wallo Wallo [Wallowa] Valley and the Government wanted to put the Indians on a reservation. They could not think of giving up this grand country of theirs and so after determining not to give up without at least a last stand, Chief Joseph who was Chief of all the Nez Perce tribe, decided to take from the whites what they thought rightfully belonged to them." Joseph was not Chief of all the NezPerce, but one of several chiefs in the Wallowa band. Some of the chiefs wanted to fight for their home, but Joseph is said to have talked them out of it. An agreement was reached among the chiefs to surrender peacefully to the reservation.
At this point, it should be remembered that the Nez Perce had never been at war with whites. They had established a record of cooperation that would be hard to improve. Lewis and Clark noted that the Nez Perce were about the most intelligent and amiable natives they encountered on their journey. This view was confirmed many times over the years, in spite of the abuses heaped upon them.
"There were four distinct bands of non-treaty Indians: Joseph's who made their home in the Wallowa and Jinnaha [Imnaha] Valleys; White Bird's or the Salmon River Indians; Looking Glasses' whose home was on the Middle Fork of the Clearwater; and a small band under Toohulhulsote, the "Dreamer"; who remained on the Snake River most of the year. Of the friendly Chiefs who were in the country close to Camas Prairie we may mention Kooskoos, Nela, Captain Jon, Eagle-of-the-Light and Black Tail."
Actually there were five non-treaty bands, the Wallowa band plus those led by Whitebird, Red Echo, Looking Glass and Too-hool-hool-zote.
"For years the Indians and the whites on Camas prairie had been friendly with each other. They had traded together, herded stock together, and been very neighborly. So it was very hard for the settlers to believe that any great danger might come from all this talk about the Indians going on the War Path."
The following should be taken with a grain of salt.
"Sometime in April 1877, a friendly Indian on the Salmon River came to the house of Charles Cone of the Salmon and told him that the Indians surely were going to fight; that they would never go on the reservation; and the Indians expected to settle some old scores, naming a number of intended victims. This friendly Indian warned the settlers of what was coming, but few believed the Indians were in earnest. The Cones, Woods and Joshua Fockler, organized for protection and for one night stood guard."
Much of the rest of what the writer says about the conflict from here on is questionable. As I've pointed out before in Ida Hitt's writing, people in those days were prone to relate events in a melodramatic way that highlighted the villainy of the Indian and the role of settlers as blameless victims.
"On Camas prairie the Indians were slowly gathering all through the month of May and preparing for the conflict. From time to time they warned their white friends that trouble was coming and that they did not intend to go on the reservations. The red-skins visited Grangeville and Mt. Idaho in large numbers and purchased all the ammunition, and guns they could get, saying that they wanted them when they got on the reservation. They gathered their hundreds of ponies, bought cattle or traded for them, bought and by other means accumulated all the supplies they could get, and in many other ways prepared for the coming conflict. Nearly all of the settlers supposed they were preparing for going on the reservation."
"One of the largest Indian camps at the time was at the mouth of Rock Creek eight miles west of Grangeville. The smaller canyon derives its name from its rocky appearance. It cuts a furrow hundreds of feet deep and is four miles long, forming an excellent place for the Indians purpose. Here they herded their stock, killed their beef, dried the meat, stored their supplies in a wonderful cave, and prepared to take a last stand for the country they loved."
"At the head of South Fork of this canyon were two beautiful lakes. Around these lakes the Indians erected their teepees. During the early days of June the non-treaty's with the exception of Looking-Glass's band, assembled in larger numbers than ever at this delightful camping ground, holding councils and drills during the day time and dances at night. Regular picket lines were set up which told the Indians of any whites approaching. Here they argued for and against war, a good many were not in favor of such a step as war. Afterwards it was learned that the Indians were about equally divided on the question of going to war, or peacefully going on the reservation."
Regardless of how much of this is true, in the meantime the Wallowa band was making an arduous journey across rugged mountains and the swollen Snake River to get to the reservation.
Continued next week.
History Corner 11-12-1998
Last week a lot was said about the plotting of the Nez Perce to go to war. From the settler's point of view, the Indians were only savages with no legal rights. As I said, the Nez Perce had a clean record up until this time, as far as offenses against whites. The same could not be said for the other side. If I remember the story right, one of the members of the Wallowa band was shot and killed by a settler for the "crime" of riding his horse across a corner of a settler's garden. A close relative of this Nez Perce man was one of the Wallowas being forced off his homeland. Multiply this by many times and you can start to see the kind of resentment that was brewing among the Nez Perce.
I think it's probably hard for most of us to understand the emotional trauma it caused the Nez Perce to be driven out of their home. Many people today move from place to place with little attachment to any one location. The Nez Perce had inhabited the Wallowa Valley for thousands of years. Their parents and their parent's parents were buried there. I guess the closest I could come to an equivalent situation would be one of having all your children taken away. That's how broken-hearted and angry the Nez Perce were.
As I start to quote from the manuscript again, Elizabeth Osborn - Clay. Elizabeth, her husband,William Osborn and their children are living along the Salmon River north of resent-day Riggins. It's the spring of 1877. I have not verified the details given here. They may or may not be true. Some of them certainly are not. I quote all this because it illustrates the point of view of the settlers at that time.
"Hon. Frank A. Fern says that word was sent to the commander at Fort Lapwai nearly ten days before the outbreak. Notifying that officer of the alarming condition of affairs on the prairie and theSalmon River."
"On the 13th of June, Mr. Fern says Tuconllacasena, a brother of Looking-Glass, notified Admiral Chapman and M.H. Rice that the Indians were just about ready to go on the war path and that they better be on their guard."
"General Howard was notified of the condition and asked to send aid. He replied that two
companies of cavalry were being sent, and told the mesenger to "Cheer the people". If these Generals had known Indian habits and would have taken advice from settlers, a great many lives might have been saved."
"On this same day, the 13th of June, a number of Indians came down from the prairie to the Manual ranch on Whitebird Crook, where they used Mr. Manual's grindstone to sharpen their knives, and other edged weapons. They acted very friendly and nothing was thought of the incident. Further up the river, three young Indians stopped at the Cone house. They asked for read for themselves, and bullets for their guns. The Indians were given the bread, and would have been given the bullets except that Charlie Cone was short of ammunition so they did not get the bullets. They explained that they're out on a hunting trip, so nothing was thought of it. After talking a while with the Cones the Indians mounted their ponies and rode on up the river. That night, the 14th of June, they camped in the brush near the home of Dick Divine."
"Dick Divine was an old English sailor living alone on his ranch on the Salmon six miles above John Day Creek. He had always been friendly with the Indians, but he did posses a new improved rifle, and it was well known to be one of the first guns in the country. There Indians wished very much to obtain this gun, which must have been the cause of them killing Mr. Divine."
The first murders took place just a few miles north of Riggins. You can more or less see the places from the highway.
"After scouring the rifle, and once having started the gruesome job of killing, they took the trail back down the Salmon. Arriving at the Elfers ranch at the mouth of the John Day creek, this was the morning of the 14th of June, Mr. Elfers, Robert Bland, and Harry Beckrage were killed by them. On this fatal morning Beckrage and Bland went up to the bench land above the house to get the horses. The men were putting up hay at the time."
"Mr. Elfers had remained at the house to finish some chores. He had just come into the house when two of the Indians came to the house apparently looking for him. They talked a bit to Mrs. Elfers then left. Mrs. Elfers supposed they had left the place entirely. When Mr. Elfers finished his chores he started up the hill to the field, and his wife stood and watched him until he was out of sight. This was the last time she saw him alive. The Indians shot him immediately after he reached the bench field. They had already killed Beckrage and Bland. Mrs. Elfers did not hear the shots, as the noise of the guns must have been drowned by the noise of the creek, but a Frenchman living a little farther
down John Day Creek, saw the smoke of the guns and became suspicious that something was
wrong. He at once went and told some of the other miners."
"An invalid named Whitefield, who had been out hunting had returned and discovered the bodies of Elfers, Bland, and Beckrage. He notified Norman Gould and his hired men at the saw mill, then they got their guns and went with him to the scene of the murder. Mrs. Elfers did not know anything had happened until she saw the men bringing the three dead bodies to the house. The Indians had exchanged their ponies for three of Mr. Elfers horses. The horses stolen were very fine animals, one of them was a trained race horse. They also took Mr. Elfers rifle. The Indians at once left the Elfers place as they had seen Whitefield out hunting and knew he was armed, they feared he might return and make trouble."
Continued next week.
History Corner 11-19-1998
Continuing with the story of Elizabeth Osborn - Clay and the initial murders of the Nez Perce War.
"From here they [the three Nez Perce warriors] went on down the river avoiding the Cone house by leaving the trial. A mile and a half below the Cone Ranch, Charley Cone, Sr. was at his placer mine. When the redskins saw him they rushed down on him in a threatening manner and asked him if he knew the horses they were riding. Cone had, of course, recognized the horses at once but also knew something was wrong; he thought quickly and said he did not know the horses. The Indians told him to go home and stay there; that they were very mad and would fight."
"These three Indians knew that Harry Mason and Mr. Osborn were well-armed and that Mr.
Osborn was an experienced Indian fighter, so they avoided any trouble at the Mason ranch. Near the mouth of the Whitebird creek, they met Samuel Benedict, who was out looking after stock, and shot him, the bullet taking affect in his legs. Although seriously injured he managed to crawl home, he gave his wife all his valuable papers and what gold dust they had and begged her to go out and hide in the woods. This she would not do as she would rather stay and care for her wounded husband though it might mean death for her. Mr. Benedict had had some trouble with some Indians shortly before this, so it was that reason for killing him."
"After shooting Mr. Benedict the three Indians turned their horses up Whitebird creek and during the afternoon rejoined their fellows at the head of Rocky Canyon. When they arrived they told all the other Indians what they had done and said, "Now you have to fight", and seemed to be very happy over the deeds they had done. this was the deciding factor; the feeling was so strong that they decided they would never let the three young Indians be arrested and now that the terrible job had been started, the Indians that night voted to commence general hostilities. [I don't think this is true, but several more men decided to join in the hostilities.] Here those same three Indians secured about fifteen other grease-painted followers, under the leadership of Mox Mox (Yellow Bull) and immediately returned to Salmon River."
"During this time, James Baker and Pat Price had become aware of the shooting of Mr. Benedict, and had warned the Manuel family of their danger. They decided to flee for safety at once. Mrs. Manuel and her baby were placed on one horse, Mr. Manuel and his seven year old daughter, Maggie, mounted another and Mr. Baker rode a third horse. Mrs. Manuel's father, George Popham, and Pat Price stayed in the brush near the house to see if any Indians returned. The family decided to go to a rock cellar on the Baker place, hardly had they started, however before Mox Mox and his warriors were upon them. Mr. Manuel and Maggie were wounded and fell from their horse, Mrs. Manuel and her baby were thrown from their horse, and Baker fell mortally wounded from arrows. Manuel was only wounded but thought dead by the Indians, finally he escaped to the settlement after wondering in the brush and weeds for thirteen days, while Maggie was later found by Pat Price and carried to the Fort and Mt. Idaho."
"The Indians carried Mrs. Manuel and the baby back to the house and forced her to give up the ammunition that they had. After this the Indians took the trail down the creek, passing the Osborns and Masons and William George, but this party kept in the brush and the Indians appeared to be afraid to go in after them. In the exchange of shots George was wounded in the thumb. That night they decided it would be best for him to try to make his way to the Fort at Mt. Idaho, this he succeeded in doing and gave the first authentic news of the Salmon river murders."
"At the mouth of Whitebird creek, the Indians found Mr. Benedict, who they had previously
wounded and thought dead. This time they made sure they killed him. Another man by the name of Bacon was also killed at this place. The Indians said afterward that they offered Bacon his life if he would come out and let them have Benedict, but this he refused to do, so both men were killed. From here they went down the River to H.C. Brown's store. This family had seen them coming and escaped in a boat to the other side of the river. Later they were picked up near Cottonwood and taken to Mount Idaho."
"At Brown's store the Indians took all the ammunition and goods found, besides drinking freely of the liquor that was in the saloon. After getting good and drunk they were more fit than ever for the terrible crimes that were committed."
"On the morning of the 15th the Indians started back for the Mason place. During the previous night the Masons and Oborns had decided to return to their homes. They went to the Mason ranch where they hid in a gulch near the house. Here they remained for some time, but they had no food, so finally the children became so hungry and cried for food that the party was forced to do something for them. They decided they would go to the Osborn home, get something to eat and provisions to take with them, and then escape by taking a boat they had, and try to drift down the Salmon to Lewiston. While they were at the house getting the provisions ready the Indians attacked them. The Indians did not like Mr. Mason
and offered to let the rest go if they would deliver Mason to them. Of course the
whites refused to do this, so the Indians attacked the little party. Osborn, Chodoza, and Mason were killed. Mr. and Mrs.. Osborn were kneeling by a window, he trying to shoot the Indians as they crept up, finally a bullet pierced his heart. The only thing he was able to say was, "My God, why did I ever bring you here:' the children were all hid under the bed. After the men were all killed, Chief Mox Mox who knew Mrs. Osborn, told her, and the other women, Mrs. Mason, and Mrs. Walsh to take the children and go to Slate Creek where the white settlers had hurriedly fixed up a temporary stockade. He said they would not meet any Indians. The women dragged the men's bodies out into the yard and covered them with blankets, laying heavy rocks along the edges of the blankets, to keep the wind from blowing them off."
"Here our once happy Elizabeth was forced to leave her loyal and devoted husband and father. They made their way to safety and remained at Slate Creek for three months. Here many times they were short on provisions, and always the fear of being attacked by the Indians. She said she never could have stood those awful days, only for the fact that she knew that now all depended on her to make a living for the four children who were aged three, five, seven and nine. When they arrived at the Fort she nor the children had any clothes except the ones they had on. There was a small store at Slate Creek, so the women who were in the fort got together and made some clothing for she and the children, they also provided her with enough bedding that they might be comfortable."
What remains of the stone cellar where the settlers fortified themselves is still standing at Slate Creek.
11-26-98 Continuation of Elizabeth Osborn/Clay story
12-3-98
Last week I neglected to comment on Maggie Bowman's eye-witness account of the murder of her mother by a man she thought was Chief Joseph. It seems very unlikely. in fact nearly impossible that his man was Joseph. During this time Joseph was leading a group of men who had gone back toward the Snake River to slaughter some cattle. When he arrived back at the main camp and heard the news of the murders, he was appalled. He had always advised against violence. Even after the outbreak of war, he consistently counseled his people harm only those who attacked them.
Continuing with our story, Mrs. Osborn has moved back to Warren.
12-10-98 More Elizabeth Osborn/Clay story
12-17-98 Last of Elizabeth Osborn/Clay story
12-24-98
June Shaw Wirthlin called me this week from California and filled me in on some odds and ends about Deb Shaw. She said she came back to Council a few years ago and found so many of the places that held fond memories for her had changed. The Post Office had moved, the drug store "wasn't the drug store anymore". the high school had been replaced by a new one. the old grade school was gone without a trace, the Merit Store had a new name and look. the bank had moved. . . . All these changes have happened since 1960. Needless to say, many of the people she knew here then are gone. I want to take you back to a time in Council long before that... to a time when the town looked completely different . . . a time earlier than the memory of almost anyone alive today.
This particular journey into the past started for me when my sister. Elaine Whitney. told me she had a couple things the Museum might be interested in. She bought the drug store building from the Pearsons. and was going through things they had left in the store. When I went there to see what she had, [she led me out the back door and up a cleverly contrived elevator into the storage building on the alley. My mind filled with what I knew about that building. It was built in 1909 as a bank. Since then it has served as a series of retail stores of one kind or another. So much of Council's history is wrapped up in that one strip of buildings on the north side of Illinois Avenue (what most of us think of as Main Street).
For someone who likes old stuff, this storage building full of old stuff looked really interesting. On a table were two big "books". One was about a foot and a half square and five inches thick. The other was a little less thick, but taller. Originally they had contained cloth samples and illrrstrations of the suits available from the companies whose names were on the covers. One cover said, "Crack-aJack Brand Tailoring". The other said, "Selig Brothers - San Francisco's leading Wholesale Tailors - Spring & Summer, 1920". Bothbooks were covered with a thick layer of dust and grit.
I opened the first book, and found each of the stiff, cardboard pages plastered with about a hundred prescription forms. They were arranged like a card file. each 4" X 5" form overlap-. ping the other with just the edge of the next one showing. Some of first ones I saw were printed with the prescribing doctor's name: "Frank E. Brown - Physician & Surgeon". The earliest ones were dated 1903. 1 started drifting back in time.
In 1903 the main road through this area came north into Council and turned cast around the town square as it does now. At Galena Street it turned north again. On the corner where the road turned north, there was a small, false- fronted building belonging to Dr. Frank Brown. It sat where the old drug store building is now. Currently Bear Country Books and the Heartland Inn.
Dr. Brown grew up in Salem, Oregon and graduated from Willamette University with his M.D. in
1900. He practiced briefly in Jefferson and Portland. Oregon before coming to Council with his wife. Ida, in 1901. He owned a ranch about a half mile west of town. but lived just north of his office on Galena Street.
It is sometimes confusing when talking about Dr.
Brown because there were two of them around this general area at the same time. Dr. William Brown was at Salubria and the towns in the Seven Devils mining district until he came here in 1916 to replace Dr. Frank Brown.
Dr. Frank Brown and the railroad arrived in Council at about the same time. The town was at the peak of its wild days, with five or six saloons and several small brothels. In wet weather the streets were knee deep with mud. In warm weather. the air was heavy with the smell of the horse manure that lay piled along the streets and around the livery stables.
Earl Wayland Bowman arrived in town about that same year. I love what he wrote about what Council was like then: "Dirty? My gracious! There were pigs wallowing along the streets, beer kegs piled out by the half dozen saloons, trash and litter everywhere and dogs. Dogs! Suffering saints. I never dreamed there could be so many in a place so small!"
There were two fatal shootings in Council the year Dr. Brown arrived.
I'll have more about Council drug stores and these old books of prescriptions next week. In the meantime, I hope you all have a really great Christmas!
12-31-98
First a note on the crossword puzzle from last week. I got all but a few of the words down in the left bottom corner. I even had to look up some of the historical ones based on my writing. The one about being able to take a bath in the Council Drug store in 1904 was a little off. Actually it was J.H. Mohler's barber shop that offered baths that year.
The earliest prescription forms in the books that were in the old drug store building are dated 1903, and have printed along the left edge, "Take This To the Council Drug Company - Council, Idaho". The first reference I can find to this drug store is in 1902 when it burned down, along with several other businesses on the north side of Illinois Ave.. It was evidently rebuilt on the same spot within weeks. The last reference I find to it is in 1908. Ironically, this drug store probably stood very near the spot I was standing, reading these books filled with prescriptions. The building also housed the Post Office and telephone office. H.M.Jorgens was the druggist and Postmaster. Soon after this, maybe around 1910 or so, E.E. Ransopher had a .drug store in the Overland Hotel build ing which stood where the Ace is today. Some of the prescriptions forms from 1912 in the old books have "Ransopher Drug Store" printed on them. In 1912 Ransopher's brother in law,' a dentist named C.P. Gillespie, came to Council. He bought the, lot where the Winklers had their blacksmith shop, on the northeast corner of Moser and Main. He built a two-story structure there that housed his dentist office upstairs and a drug store on the first floor.
A 1912 drug store ad in the Council Leader said, "Rexall will please all". I'm not sure how far back the Rexall name goes. You should stop in at Elaine's store and see the old Rexall banner she has up.
In 1912, Joe Lorton bought out the stock and fixtures of the Ransopher store. He operated a drug store here in Council, but I'm not sure if it was in the same building. In 1914 Lorton bought his brother's store in Cambridge and ran it, as well as the one in Council. By about 1920 he had sold the Council store and only ran the one in Cambridge. His son continued the operation until recently.
In 1913, Dr. Frank Brown replaced the little frame building on the northwest corner of Galena St: and Illinois Ave. with the big brick building that is there today. His offices were upstairs and a drug store was downstairs. It must have been L.E. Griffith who ran it at first, or at least soon after that. In 1920 Griffith's brother in-law, Alva Alcorn came to Council and bought the drug store business. In 1929 he also bought the building from Dr. Brown. Charlie Winkler married Alcorn's daughter, Esther, and became the pharmacist at the store. When Alva Alcorn died in 1944 he took over the entire operation. His drug store became a Landmark for several generations of people here.
The names on many of the prescriptions written in 1903 read like a Who's Who of Council at the time: Mrs. L.S. Cool, Mrs. Charles Barbour, Lydia Draper, S.F. Richardson, L. Shaw, Hattie Houston, Mrs. William Clark, Mr. Krigbaum, Win Hartley, Mrs. Jno. Hancock, Chas. Criss, Geo.. Mitchell, Mrs. Lakey, Wm. Keithley, Mrs. S. Wood, Robert Harrington. Mrs. Robert Harrington, Mr. G.W. Robertson, Ethel Woods, Mr. E. Manning, Mrs. Kesler, and Mrs. Jno. Lakey. Often the prescription was written for "baby" so and so. One was for "Baby Whiteley".
The symbols on the prescriptions are Greek to anyone but a pharmacist, but sometimes the ingredients or instructions are legible. Digitalis is mentioned. One mentioned "morph. sulph." followed by the instructions, "If 2 powders do not induce sleep, a tablet". Another says "For toothache - Cocaine hydocl." plus some other ingredients. A very typical instruction from Dr. Brown was "Take 4 - one each half hour, the last at bedtime. Take a good dose of salts in the morning." By salts he meant Epsom salt. Many of these prescriptions seem to be for bowel and stomach problems. One prescription for "Baby West" was for cocoa butter suppositories.
Two of the prescriptions were written by a Dr. J.T. Walls of Portland in July of 1903. Evidently they were filled here.
The main bunch of prescriptions in the first book are from 1912 through 1914. Some of the names during that time are: Blaine Woods, Mrs. Jno. Woods. Mrs. Sam Criss, Lem Haines, Mrs. Thomas Mackey. Mrs. Soren Hanson, Mrs. C.A. Phillips, Lela Kesler. Mr. W. -Mills, Mrs. E.C. Draper, E. Oling. Alice Lappin, W. Freehafer, Mrs. A. Campbell. Clyde Stewart. "Uncle Bob", Nim Duree, Mrs. Harpham. Mrs. I.S. Carter. Mrs. C.F.Kiser, E.D. Shaw, J.P. Gray. Mrs. A.[August] Kampeter. Mrs. A. Kampeter's baby (dated 1914), Philip H. Ware. Fred Brooks, Mrs. Lester McMahan, Mr. Walston of Fruitvale, Robert Young, Mrs. ' Robert Young.,, Mr. Rush of Mesa, Louis Harp, Geo.. Pfann, Rev. Biggs, W.R. Brown, Annie Gould. Hubert Woods, Ed Hart of Mesa, Sam Whiteley's baby, L.J. Rainwater. Robert Barbour (he of course often supplied his own medication), F.1:. Fife, Jess Shaw, R.H. Mulvihill of Mesa, Mrs. E. Hinkle, H. Camp, Pete Roberston, Cecil Woods. Mary Cool, Willard McDowell, V.V. Zink, M.M. Monteith. Clyde E. Walston, M. Oling. Geo.. Winkler.
Some of the prescriptions had instructions to "mix with feed twice daily". etc. I thought this was odd until I looked at who the prescribing doctor was. Mixed in with the other prescriptions are ones from Dr. W.E. Fuller who was a local veterinarian. The "patients" are listed: A.H. Huntely stock. Dale Donnelly's horse. J.J. Jones horse. C. Weed's cow, John Kesler's horse. Hancock & Koontz horse, Ellis Hartely's cow. etc. One must have been for Dr. Fuller's horse, as it is written for "My own horse".
Other prescribing doctors during this time were Dr. D.L. Martin. Dr. H.T. Low. The price of the drug(s) is written in the upper corner of the form. It is almost never over a dollar.
The second of the two books covers 1916 -17, and has more names familiar to long time residents. Almost all of these prescriptions are written on forms printed with "J.I. Lorton. Druggist - Council. Idaho" and are from Dr. R.T. Whiteman or Dr. W.M. Brown. There are a few from Dr. C.E. Schmitz of Cambridge.
Stuck between the pages is a form labeled "Order Form for Opium, Etc." dated 8-17-16 and signed by Dr. R.T. Whiteman. Another loose sheet has a recipe for scours medication written by Dr. Fuller in 1915: 1 oz. prepared chalk, 1/2 oz. powdered calechu. 2 drachms powdered ginger, 1/2 drachms powdered opium, 1/2 pint peppermint water. It was for W. Emery's calf.
1-7-99
I'm going to backtrack to the Elizabeth Osborn - Clay series for this column. I got a nice letter and some information that l thought you would find interesting. I love it when people send me information. There is so much of it to collect and preserve. and it really helps when people contribute what they know or send pictures the Museum doesn't have, etc..
Ralph is a former Council boy who lives in Coronado, California now. He sent along an excerpt from a book on Idaho history. It's about what Maggie Bowman said about Chief Joseph supposedly killing her mother in the opening days of the Nez Perce War.
The following was excerpted from the book "The River of No Return", Revised Edition, by Robert G. Bailey in published 1947. This portion was written in 1933 and also published in the first edition of the book.
A most baffling mystery of the Salmon River fights between the Indians and the whites has to do with the supposed murder and cremation o/' Mrs. John J. Manual and her small son. In a history of North Idaho a statement is attributed to Mrs. Maggie Bowman, who at the time of the Salmon River tragedies was seven years v/ age, in which she claims to have been an eye witness to the murder of Mrs. Manual and her child. Mrs. Bowman was a daughter of Mrs. Manual. In this statement Mrs. Bowman claims to have seen Chief Joseph deliberately drive a knife into her mother's breast while she was nursing the child. She says the same day the house was set on fire and Mrs. Manual and the child cremated; that subsequently the charred
remains and her mother's earrings were recovered from the ruins of the house. James Conley, a resident of Lewiston, who saw much service in the Nez Perce war, informs the writer that he went to the scene of the Manual home, together with several other men, and that they carefully raked over the ashes without finding any trace of human bones. This was before the ashes had been disturbed. Harry Cone informed me that when Yellow Bull (Mox Mox), who was in command of the Salmon River contingent of Chief Joseph's Indians, encamped near his home at Slate Creek, subsequent to the Salmon River murders. he (Yellow Bull boasted that he had Mrs. Manual with him in his camp. Shortly after this Yellow Bull and his band departed to join Chief Joseph and Mr. Cone was unable to verify the story of Yellow Bull or what actually became of Mrs. Manual. C.T. Stranahan informs me that an Indian of Yellow Bull's command told him under a pledge of secrecy, that Mrs. Manual was not cremated in her dwelling. At this writing it is 56 years since the Manual mystery, and there is little likelihood of its ever being solved .
The story as told me by Mr. Stranahan was substantially as follows: "It was generally reported that Chief Joseph killed Mrs. Manual. This is absolutely untrue. I have it from two of Joseph's band that not only did Joseph take no part in the killing, but actually defended Mrs. Manual. He stayed for some time by her side and made his men leave her alone.
"Twenty-three years after the war was over, I cornered Yellow Bull on this subject. He said Mrs. Manual was burned in her house. I told him he was lying: that I knew different, and that I knew that he knew what became of her. After bantering words a while, he said, 'If you and We-sol-li-iet (my interpreter) will solemnly swear and promise never to reveal during my lifetime, what I tell you, I will tell you the truth.' We made solemn promise and convinced him that we would obey his request. The interpreter died many years ago and Yellow Bull died July 20, 1919. Therefore I am at liberty to make Mrs. Manual's fate known to the public for the first time, as I have it.
"Yellow Bull said that Mrs. Manual was taken a captive and was kept in custody of one certain Indian until they • had Just crossed the divide into Montana. over the Lolo Trail. when one night her custodian and another Indian had a f fight over her. The next morning she was missing. He said she was killed and dragged into the brush. He could not tell me whether she was properly buried or not. He refused. if he knew, to tell me who murdered her, saying, 'I want to live a while yet.' 1 assumed, that the murderer was still alive and that Yellow Bull did not dare to reveal his name. "According to Yellow Bull's statement, and I believe it to be true, Mrs. Manual was kept captive for over a month. Judging from the experience of other captives. Mrs. Manual was never given any chance whatever to escape. While riding, their feet were tied together under the horse, and at night they were securely bound."
In 1934 Mrs. Bowman (nee Maggie Manual) came from her home in Butte. Montana, to visit her daughter, whose husband is publishing a newspaper in Pomeroy. Washington. I made a special trip to Pomeroy to interview Mrs. Bowman. She was very explicit and clear in her detailed story of the murder of her mother. In her mind there was no question but that Chief Joseph was the murderer. Mrs. Bowman went intimately into the details of the Salmon River tragedy as she remembered them. That her mother was murdered by Chief Joseph she was certain. She saw the murder committed and afterwards friends went to the ruins of the burned home and rescued from the skull of Mrs. Manual an earring whichMrs. Bowman later had made into a breast pin and which she still retains. This illustrates how frustrating it can be to find the truth about what happened in the past.
People are strange creatures.
I would like to thank some people who sent end-of-the-year donations to the Museum and took advantage of Idaho's generous tax credit. Hannes and Deborah Kury, Phil Soulen, and Joe and Cindy Jordan have our sincere gratitude for their help.
1-14-99
This week I'm going to share with you a piece of writing by an old-time area resident. I wish more people who saw the early days would have written down their memories.
The following was given to me a long time ago by Galen York. It was written by his grandfather, Sherman York. I put it away, planning to put it in a column, someday. and recently ran across it again.
The Weiser River country and surrounding territory offers a good opportunity for a good history writer of pioneer life. Many events of importance have token place since I came here. I, with my parents and five brothers, landed here in the summer of 1880 and I have resided here ever since. While I cannot be considered a real pioneer, still I would hardly be classed as a Johnny-come-lately. In fact the real pioneers are almost all gone, and are spoken of as residents of the past. There are a few still here who were here when I came, such as some, of the Winklers, the Anderson boys, Jeff and Fred, Tom Buhl and J.L. Starr.
It was in July 1880 that C.R. (Calvin) White in Boise City when we were on our way to western Washington from Kansas. I told my parents of the beautiful Meadows Valley, so ourselves and horses being worn out, we went with him from there to get us a home.
[Calvin White is considered the father of Meadows Valley. His was the first family in the valley, and he established the first store and post office. He, with some help from the Winklers and a few others, hacked out the first wagon trail (described below) between Council and the Meadows Valley.]
We of course went thru the Salubria Valley, which at that time was covered with a dense growth of sagebrush. From where the town of Salubria stood, in an easterly direction it didn't look good to us, as we were sickened with the look of sage brush, and it all looked alike to us. We traveled thru Indian Valley on the day Mrs. Cal Underwood was buried: a woman who had committed suicide, as some of the old timers will remember.
After passing thru Council Valley there was no beaten road from there on, and at times someone had to go ahead of the wagons and view out the road. When got to what is known as Fort Hall Hill, White played a funny little joke on us kids that I have never forgotten. It came about this way. There was a large pitch pine stump standing by the road with lots of pitch standing out all Over it and quite soft. We had never seen pine pitch before, so White pointed it out to ussaid, “Boys, there is the place for you to get your gum, and it's good too." So we of course ran to the stump and proceeded to help ourselves. We all filled our mouths with the white, soft pitch, and say but if you have never tasted the stuff then you cannot appreciate this joke as well as one who has. Oh, such a bitter taste in our mouths, and I think it remained in my mouth for three days after.
When we got to the top of Fort Hall Hill, we went down a rocky hill to the river and forded it. Yes, forded it endways. We had to cross it 37 times between there and Price Valley, and as there had never been a rock taken out of any of the fords, you can imagine how it was: lots of rocks as large as a kitchen range that we had to pass over. So you see it was some rough going.
We finally arrived in Meadows Valley on the 29th day of July, pretty well worn out and I wish to state that my mother and Mrs. Smith who had come with us were the first white women to live in Meadows Valley, except Mrs. C.R. White.
Shortly after that, Clays moved in and Mrs. R. [?] G. Steward. Charles and William Campbell came the same fall, also R.H. Martin. Well do I remember the winter of '80 and '81. At one time there was five feet of snow on the level, but very little effort was made to keep the roads open.
John Steward who now lives on Crane Creek was born there that winter. There were no roads broke to their place, and as there was no doctor there then, it depended on my mother and Mrs. White to go on snowshoes --- of a mile to take care of them and as my mother had never been on snowshoes before, it sure was some undertaking for her. But with true western spirit she made it fine.
1-21-99
This month marks the beginning of the sixth year of the History Corner. I'm going to try something a little different. Within the past year the Museum has cataloged almost 500 new photographs. We didn't actually acquire all of them within the past year; we're playing catch-up on getting some of them cataloged. The point is the Museum is building quite a nice collection of historical photos: over 1500 so far. Some of them we know a lot about, some of them we know very little. I've always planned to include more photos in this column, and this week I have some that I would like more information about.
The first two photos are more idle curiosity than anything. They show "the Club House" near McCall. The information I got with it says it was 1.5 miles from McCall. Just a short distance from the Club House, the road forked to Warren, New Meadows and Sylvian Beach, going three directions. If someone can tell me what it was, where it and about its demise. I’ll put it in next week's column.
The next photo is of a white house that stood in the east end of Council. A number of you will probably recognize it. Somebody call me and fill me in. [This turned out to be the old hospital.]
The last photo is of Andy Anderson's logging trucks lined up in front of his shop on June 14, 1942. The trucks are numbered 1 through 6 on the radiator grill. I've been told these old trucks had ten-foot-wide bunks and water-cooled brakes. The tanks above the cabs held the water for the brakes. Can somebody tell me where his shop was?
Contact me at 253-4582 or Box Council, 83612 or dalefisk@juno.com.
I would like to thank several people for donations to the Museum in memory of Betty Smith's mother, Ethel Stewart: Bessie Smith, Dixie Thomas, Ralph & Mary Stephens, Margaret Koester and Jim Poole.
1-28-99
This week I want to share a picture (96156) with you that is kind of special. It's not the kind of picture that has anything very obviously special about it. It's just a bunch of people posing for the camera. They aren't dressed in any special way, and there is nothing showing that is out of the ordinary. It's the stories that lie behind what is shown that makes it special.
This photo was taken at Landore after the mining boom had peaked - about 1909 or later. Landore was about five miles north of Cuprum, and was the biggest town in the Seven Devils Mining District. The photo came from Winifred Lindsay who grew up in Cuprum, Decorah and Landore. Winifred's father. Dr. William Brown, ran the store shown behind the people in the photo. The information on the back of the photo says the store was deserted by this time, and was used for dances. The dances would start at 8:00 p.m. or earlier, and continue all night with a midnight supper. This picture was taken after such a dance.
As far as I know, all these people are dead now. I guess some of the youngest ones could be alive, but they would be very old. All of them lived in the area between Bear and Landore, and were part of a social group. The note on the back of the photo says, "A few of the auld bunch."
Number one is John Thompson. On March 22, 1916, he was appointed Postmaster at Landore. It was Thompson who was responsible for the destruction of the buildings shown in this picture and of all of the other buildings on the south side of the main street where the Post Office was located. He was in the habit of reading in bed by candle light. On one occasion he fell asleep while reading, and the candle set the building on fire. Fortunately all of the structures that burned, except the Post Office building, were empty. The cancellation stamp and a few other essential Post Office items were saved from the flames, and Thompson carried them in his pocket from then on. Thompson was Postmaster until the office closed June 6, 1920. By that time Landore was practically a ghost town.
Number two is Bill Smith. Number three is hard to read on the original notes, but it looks like "Tonglice" Robertson. It must be Pug. (Did you know his real name was Isaac?) Number lour is Joe Kramer, son of Pete and Martha Kramer. More on them in a minute. One of the two guys marked X is someone named McCall. Number six is Gus Lapke. I don't know anything about Gus except that he is in a lot of the photos taken around Landore. He was undoubtedly an old prospector who probably knew every mine and miner in the Seven Devils district.
Number seven is Elizabeth David. Everyone called her "Lizzie." Her father, Arthur David was one of the earliest prospectors to come into the Seven Devils. Everybody called him "Frenchy" because he was a French Canadian. Lizzie's mother became mentally ill shortly after Lizzie was born. She was sent oft to the asylum zit Blackfoot, and I've never read another word about what became of her after that. Lizzie grew up living in Catholic boarding schools. or with friends and neighbors in the Council - Landore area, and sometimes with her father. Frenchy killed himself in 1922. After that, Lizzie was known to be in California. I wish I knew what happened to her. It would be interesting to know if she married and had children, etc.
Number eight is Pete Kramer and his wife, Martha, is number nine. In almost every photo I've ever seen of Pete he is wearing a hat and a tie. He ran the stage line between Council and all the towns in the mining district. She ran the hotel-stage stop at "Kramer," also known as "Summit" as it was at the summit between the Crooked River and Hornet Creek drainages. Pete and Martha were divorced in 1920. "Two years later Pete sold out and moved to Hillsboro, Oregon. In 1923, Martha married number 11, Sam Stephans. They moved to Council and ran the Pomona Hotel for awhile. I don't know what happened to Sam, but in 1946 Martha married Walter Wright. They ran the "Wayside Cabin Camp" that was later replaced by the Starlight Motel. Martha died November 15, 1954 somewhere in Idaho, but I don't know where. Anybody out there know? Her granddaughter is trying to find out.
Number ten is Ed "Dirty Shirt" Brown. I don't know anything about him. [According to the census of 1910 Edgar Brown was living in Cuprum with a Walter J. Smith. He was born in July, 1870 in England. He died when he fell from a barn where he was putting hay and broke his neck in 1917. He was employed by Joe Warner on his ranch on Bear Creek at the time.]
Number 12 is Rose Groseclose Robertson. She was the matriarch of the Robertson family at Bear. As a girl, she lived at Cottonwood, and the small post office that existed there for a short time was named "Rose” after her. Her oldest brother was killed by Indians in the Long Valley Massacre in 1878. Number 13 is her third son, Arthur "Tuff" Robertson (1894-1977). Numbers 14 & 15 are simply identified as ''Robertson kids." I would assume they are Tuff's since they are right in front of him.
Number 16 is Mrs. Pete Gaarden. Her husband was an old-time miner. There is a trail in Deep Creek named after him. Their daughter,Mary, was a school teacher.
Number 17 is another of Rose's sons. Austin "Bud" Robertson (1891-1964). Number 18 is his oldest brother, Hershel (1889-1941).
Number 19 is Mrs. Frank Lauzon. I don't know anything about her, but her husband was the wildest storyteller in the country. Number 20 is Orson Smith. If I'm not mistaken he was Harold "Ol' Shep" Smith's father. I would really like to have more information on the Smith family and how they are related to the Robertsons and Warners. Somebody send me a family tree Would you?
This is just skimming the surface of all the stories behind the faces of this group of friends. This photo represents an era, a way of life and a community all of which are gone forever.
Two more donations arrived this week in memory of Ethel Stewart. I would Two more donations arrived this week in memory of Ethel Stewart. I would like to thank Virgil and Karen Pettigrew and John and Colleen for for their generosity.
Now for what I've learned about last week's photos. Nobody told me where Andy Anderson's shop or the white house was, but I hope someone will. Thanks to Phil Soulen. who gave me Warren Brown's phone number, I got some info on the big Club House at McCall. That building is still standing. It's not far north of Lardo's along the Warren Wagon road. up the hill on the west side. You can see it from the main road if you stop and look in the right place. Warren Brown told me his father, Carl Brown, sawed the lumber that was used to build the Club House about the time Warren was born —1912. This was shortly after Carl bought into the sawmill on the lake and it became the Hoff & Brown Lumber Company. Carl hauled the lumber to the construction site with a wagon pulled by four big horses. He was never paid for it; Warren didn't know why.
The Club House was a fancy hotel, and owned land down to the lake. Warren seemed to remember a man named Cunnington from Nampa being associated with the hotel in its early days. He didn’t have any info on how successful it was or when it closed. It is owned now by a group of ministers who use it as a retreat.
2-4 –99
As we go through life, we usually notice the events and things that stand outhouse that especially affect us emotionally, financially, or that change our lives. We take pictures of special occasions and special things. Too often it's not until something, or someone, is gone that we realize we didn't stop to appreciate them. It's a shame that, too often, ordinary things become extraordinary only after we lose them.
All this came to the forefront of my mind, partly because last week's photo was so ordinary--at least on the surface. It stuck me again this week as I was cataloging Museum photos. For years, the Museum has had a collection of over 400 snapshots taken by Gene Camp during the late 1960s and early '70s; I just now got caught up enough to start entering them into our database. (By the way, with the addition of Gene's pictures we now have over 2,300 photographs in our collection.)
The photos Gene took are, or at least were, very ordinary. They are mostly of people in our community-- just ordinary people, sitting in ordinary houses, or on the street. They are not dressed up, or at a special occasion. They're not doing anything monumental. In spite of this, as I looked through them I was filled with emotion. Many of the familiar faces were ones I hadn't seen in a long time – some of them because they halve moved away, but many because they are dead. When I saw some of the people, I had to say, "How young they look!"
In a nutshell--things change. People change. Towns change. The ordinary becomes extraordiinary. Mostly, that's all a museum is: a collection of things that, in their time, were ordinary. But because they are not ordinary now, we value them as special.
The photos with my column this week are from Gene Camp's collection, and are classic examples of ordinary people, places or things that have become special in my memory. The Fruitvale store was a daily fixture in my childhood. Every school day morning, my brothers, my sister, and I would walk about a half-mile to the old store to catch the bus. Sterling and Alma McGinley ran the store (starting in 1946), and when it was cold outside, they kindly tolerated all us noisy kids tracking in snow to stand by the wood stove. After about 1964 their daughter, Anna, and her husband, Henry Kamerdula ran the store.
After school, if we were rich, we could buy a Hershey bar for a nickel--or a dime for the big bar. if we were really loaded. I remember the pile of Levi jeans; the price--$4.00. The store closed sometime in the 1970s, but I don't know just what year. If anyone has that info, I'd really like to know.
You readers out there have been great to contribute photos and information to me and the Museum; yet I know there are more great things out there that need to be collected and preserved for our community. My plea to you is this: stop and think about the photos that you have. Do they show something or someone that was familiar to the people of this community but is gone now? These are the kind of photographs that the Museum would like to have or make copies of. If you can donate them, (let them to me any way you can. My address is Box 252, Council, ID, 83612. If you don't want to part with them. I can come to your house and copy a photo in no time flat. without even taking it out of an album. Or if you live far away, they have wonderful laser photocopiers now that can copy a photo without losing quality.
Now for the thank yous. Several people sent donations to the Museum in memory of Ethel Stewart: Paul & Vita Phillips. June Daniels. Eileen Free. and Evelyn Lester. Thank you all for your generosity and for remembering a fine lady.
This week I about fell over when I opened a letter from back east. It contained a donation to the Museum – $1500! The check is from a company out of Boise and Concord. MA. but the actual source of the money wants to remain anonymous. So, whoever you are: THANK YOU.
2-11-99
More pictures. These, like a couple I've put in previous columns. came from Bob Hagar. He gave us a bunch of really great photos when he and his wife, Christy, were here this past summer.
The one of a narrow canyon with trees and a few buildings in it is a mystery to me. On the back is written, "Lamont ranch on Shingle Creek." I probably should know where Shingle Creek is, but I don't. If anyone out there can tell me where this is, please let me know.
The next photo shows the "Council Lumber Company." Somebody tell me if I'm wrong, but I think this is the same mill that later operated as the "Council Box & Lumber Company."
The Council Lumber Company was apparently the first sawmill actually at Council. instead of out in the surrounding area. The first actual reference to the company by name, appears in the July 24. 1914 Council Leader. but there are indications that this mill may have been operating as early as 1909. The mill mentioned in the Council Leader. Nov 26, 1909, tells of "the Council planing mill" with two planers and an edger. It was finishing lumber supplied by a sawmill on Hornet Creek. Since this sounds exactly like the planer the Wilkies were operating at Fruitvale at the time, it could be that the paper wasn't specific enough about the location, and was really talking about Fruitvale.
At any rate, the Council Lumber Company (mentioned in 1914 and shown in the photo) went bankrupt in 1925. 1 suspect that it was this mill that Matt Spencer revived when he started the Council Box and Lumber Company in 1935. It apparently was a sawmill with a planer. It was located a couple hundred yards northwest of where the road leaving Council to Hornet Creek crossed the railroad tracks. Pieces of cement foundation from this mill are still sitting in June Ryals' back yard.
In 1936, S.S. Bounds bought the mill from Spencer. That fall, the mill burned to the ;round. The following year Bounds sold his lumber business to N. X. [Nels] Hansen. Hansen, along with his partners, Carl Swanstrom, Matt Spencer, and Charles Jackson, rebuilt the mill and hired 25 men to run it. But, almost as if the mill were cursed, it burned down again not long after it was built in 1938. Undeterred, the men immediately started from scratch, one more time. By that fall they had sawed 300,000 board feet of lumber, bought that much more standing timber, and were building logging roads.
This was the dawn of the modern logging age. Crawler tractors were becoming available to build logging roads. Also, chainsaws were starting to revolutionize timber harvest. The next year (1939) things really swung into high gear when the Boise-Payette Lumber Company came to town. Andy Anderson was their right-hand man here.
I've received conflicting information about the location of Anderson's shop that was in the photo from a few weeks ago. Some people said he never had a shop in Council, only in New Meadows, near the railroad depot. Several other people told me his shop was near the "new" Boise Cascade shop (now owned by the City of Council) east of where the mill stood. Anderson did operate out of New Meadows until he came to Council in 1939. He had a logging camp at "Old Davis" at first. If someone can give me conclusive evidence about his shop location, I’d like to nail it down for posterity.
I'd like to thank Bert and Tina Warner for a donation to the Museum in memory of Ethel Stewart. It is very much appreciated.
I'd also like to sadly acknowledge the passing of a good friend of the Museum. Nita Phillips. Paul and Nita have been very good to the Museum over the years, both with moral and monetary support. We will miss her.
2-18-99
More pictures from Bob Hagar. These are very interesting photos, and it's too bad we don't have more information about them. I know nothing about the mill at Shingle Flat. Did it actually make shingles, or was it a regular sawmill? The close-up photo of the mill here shows several freshly-sawed timbers about 8 inches square lying at the lower left, and some boards lying at the lower right. Any information about this mill or where the name Shingle Flat came from would be appreciated.
By the way, the photo last week at Shingle Creek can't have been taken at the Shingle Creek that runs from the Shingle Flat area down to East Fork. The country in that photo is too open. It looks to me like the Snake River area west of here.
I need to make a correction concerning the writing of Sherman York that I put in this column a few weeks ago. Sherman was Galen's grandfather, not his uncle. He and his wife, Georgia, lived near the Adams / Washington County line. Sherman died in 1945.
Galen gave me another little piece of history the other day. He had a few documents dated 1903 concerning the construction of what must have been the first wagon road up the Payette River. A couple of the papers are bids on building the road. I'm not sure how it all fits together. but one amount mentioned is $485 per mile. Another place, $700 per mile is mentioned. In what appears to be the final contract, the amount is "$500 per lineal mile for each mile of the first seven miles of said road, beginning at Smith's Ferry and continuing south along the west side of Payette River, and 8650 per mile for the remainder of the road to be built."
A price of $1.00 per cubic yard was agreed on for removing all rock that could to only be removed with dynamite. Total length of the road was to be about 18 miles to the mouth of the North Fork of the Payette River. The contractor was J.J. MacDonald of Nampa, working for The Payette Improvement & Boom Company.
The most interesting part to me was that the road was to be "seven feet wide, turnouts to be constructed at distances of not more than half a mile apart." Nowadays people call the highway there a goat trail, but imagine what people in those days would think of it.
The date on the contract was September 14. 1903, and the road was supposed to be finished by December 31. A letter from MacDonald dated November 24 explained his difficulty:
“Owing to a very heavy snow storm on the 9th and continuing for several days, I had to remove my outfit to your headquarters camp for this year. It was impossible for me to get men to stay on the road to work any long- er. I did everything possible to rush the work to completion this year. according to my contract with you. I hired teams at Boise and shipped all the men I could get to go, at my own expense but even then could not get sufficient to finish the work. I completed about eight miles of the road from Smith's Ferry down the river. With an -early spring I ought not to have any trouble in finishing the road in plenty of time for next summers travel."
I have one more request. I have a list of men who died in World War Two that I got from 1945 newspapers. I would like to make an accurate list of all those from Adams County that died in that war. Here are the names I have: Elwin Craddock. Donald Ham. Walter Shearer. Fred Johnson, Melvin Bacus, Merrill Bethel, James Johnstone, William Kirby, Donald Fuller, Vern Martin, Jack Marshall. Rex Wilson, Walter Schroff, Lee Garcia.
2-25-04
John Dobroth called me and told me about the Shingle Creek photo. He says the Shingle Creek in the photo comes into Rapid River from the north just below the fish hatchery. The photo also seems to be looking north. John also informed me that his father, Herman Dobroth was a co-owner of the Tamarack mill with Jerry McCatron back in the 1940s. I didn't know that when I wrote about the mill some time back.
I still haven't had anyone identify the white house in the photo from a few weeks ago. It looked familiar to several people, but they couldn't place it. Someone mentioned it looks like the old hospital or some building associated with it, but it's not quite right to be it.
Bob Hagar keeps in touch by e-mail, and commented on the old Council Lumber Company photo. He and his brother, Ted, seem to remember the owner of the mill being a man named Morrison. The only Morrison in my files who had a sawmill was Frank Morrison who had a sawmill on Mill Creek in 1914--the same year as the Council Lumber Co. mill is mentioned in the paper. Bob or Ted also thought maybe their father, Albert Hagar, may have had an interest in the mill or maybe just worked there at one time.
Ted, Bob. and their sister, Lily May, grew up in a house that stood where the Coleman Apartments are now. Their father, Albert "Bert" Hagar, was well known and well liked around Council.
He was an avid sportsman, and from what I gather, an especially avid fisherman. Several of the scenes in Dr. Thurston's home movies show Bert along on fishing expeditions to remote mountain lakes. And old newspapers mention his other fishing trips. The Museum has a martin trap that Bert set-- along with a chunk of the tree that eventually grew out around the trap.
I think I mentioned that Bert Hagar is remembered for operating the Council Creamery. The creamery was built about 1915. Carl Weed was on the board of directors. It stood just on the west side of the railroad tracks, south of the road to Hornet Creek. The Young family, who lives at that location now, told me they have found miscellaneous bottles, etc. from the creamery on that lot.
In the summer of 1919 the creamery closed briefly because of financial problems. Evidently local farmers encouraged it to open again so they could have a market for their milk and cream. By the spring of 1920 the Council Creamery started making ice cream. I don't know how long they did that, but they announced the intention to continue making it every other day for about 8 months out of the year. The Adams County Leader, Feb. 24, 1922, mentioned that W.W. Adair, who had been managing the Council Creamery, had left for Portland, and that Bert Hagar would be temporarily running it. That issue also said that auto drivers must now buy a license and have "the receipt pasted on the windshield."
Nothing significant is mentioned in the Leader about the creamery until 1929 when it said during low cattle prices "a few years back," some cattlemen went into the dairy business, getting "a weekly pay check from their cream." In the same vein, the paper mentioned a year later, "Sixty-five gallons of cream were shipped from Fruitvale station in the past two days."
Bert Hagar's "temporary" job as manager of the creamery in 1922 turned out to be more than that. In 1939 the Leader announced that Bert was resigning from the creamery after 17 years of service.
Six years later (November 1945), Bert went out duck hunting and didn't come in
that 'evening. Many in the community organized a search party and scoured the riverbanks of the Weiser River. I believe it was sometime that night that they found Bert where he had somehow drowned in the river. The way my dad talked about it, the whole community was hit pretty hard by this because Bert was so well liked by everyone.
I'd like to thank Clarence and Marie McFadden for a donation to the Museum in memory of Ethel Stewart. Your kindness and generosity is appreciated.
3-4-99
In looking through my files I ran across something someone gave me several years ago. It was written in 1902 by William James--an employee of Arthur Huntley. Huntley owned a ranch south of Cuprum where the road from Council tees into the Kleinschmidt Grade. Some time back I told the story of how Huntley got rich after grubstaking the men who discovered gold at Thunder Mountain. In 1902, there was a gold rich to Thunder Mountain which left the Seven Devils mining district in a serious slump. The following is an account of one day on the Huntley ranch. James' reference in a couple places to a "camp starting up" I think refers to a town in the mining district getting back on its feet. Since Cuprum was the closest, it may be the town in question.
A.O. Huntley Ranche, Ida.
one day on the farm
June 20th, 1902
Arise 4:30 a.m. Build fire, wrangle horses, milk 3 cows. Breakfast 6:15 start Rider out. Haul load wood. Hoe in garden. Business begins 9:30 Mr. Rosebury [or Rosebery] called, tells his troubles in five minutes, sympathize with him, goes away feeling better. Keep hoeing. 11 O'clock Mr. Sprague called, big proposition, want to buy hay and grain to start livery stable in Cuprum. Try to discourage him, but no go. Finally consent to let him have 500 lb. hay. Agree to work it out. O.K. Goes away happy.
11:30 Sam Morse called. (Keep hoeing) Wants to borrow wagon, tells his troubles in short time, let him have wagon + he leaves in good spirits.
12:05 (Dinner) 1:20 Still hoeing. Mr. Flynn called. Tells about camp starting up + finally gets to business want to buy potatoes, offers 20 ct per hundred for small ones and wants to buy good ones on an old account of A.O.H. [Huntley] which occurred two or three years ago in a case like this: A. agrees to furnish a man on road. B. hires a man for him + pays him. B. goes to A. for money, A. sends him to C. for money. C. would not pay + did not have the money, + now he comes to one for potatoes after 3 years. Well (I keep hoeing) + take the case under advisement + finally conclude to let him have 3 sacks of potatoes at 1.50 per cwt for cash only + could not agree on price of small ones. He leaves under a cloud but will be back after potatoes tomorrow. (keep hoeing) 5:20 P.M. Mr. Daggetz called said camp was starting up, sure made us both feel good, he left stepping high. 6 0'clock supper 6:40 P.M. Sam Morse came after wagon + buys wagon + buys two bits worth of hay. goes again. 7 - o'clock Arthur Brown called wanted to borrow the carriage to go to Council after his mother or mother in law. I drew the line there. Would not loan the carriage for fear some one would come after the house next. Don't know how he felt, but he went away slowly
7:30 take horses out + hobble them 8 - PM milk cows + take care of saddle horse 9:15 arrive in the house + take a look at the folks + go to bed at 9:25
W. James
For this long day's work, James was probably paid the going rate in those days: $1.00
I would like to thank Mary Owens for a donation in memory of Nita Phillips. The family and the Museum appreciate your thoughtfulness.
3-11-99
This week I pulled out the Museum’s Adams County Leader newspapers from 1920. I thought I would just lift a few items.
January 2 issue: “The Cool – Donnelly Co. has had a crew of men at work putting up ice taken from the Weiser river. The ice is something like twenty inches in thickness and says Mr. Donnelly, unusually cold.”
Fred Cool and Dale Donnelly ran a feed store that sat about where the public rest rooms are now–-south of the town square park.
One the same page is a list of stray animals. The list almost fills a whole column from the top to the bottom. The heading on these always read, “Estray Notices.” One item reads: “Estray—Long yearling; red with red-white face; overslant in one ear and underslant in other; branded ‘50’ with half circle beneath on left ribs. W.V. Emery. ”If my poor memory
Serves me, that brand sounds like Steve Shumway’s brand today.
January 9 issue: “Those who attended the dance given at the People’s Theater on New Year’s night by the American Legion seem to be unanimous in the opinion that the event was one of the most enjoyable of the kind ever held here. There were 130 tickets sold and we are told that there were, spectators included, approximately 300 people in the hall. In short, the party came close to being an all-community affair.”
The theater didn’t have a slanted floor at this time, and dances were common there.
On the same page, there is a large ad for Ford automobiles that could be purchased at the Addington Auto Company in Council. Bud and Hugh Addington ran the dealership in what in now the Ace Saloon. Bud built the building in 1916 after the Overland Hotel, which stood there before, burned in the big fire of 1915. The ad said the demand for cars far exceeded the supply, so customers needed to order as soon as possible to get on a first-come, first-served list. One thing I find interesting in the ad is this: “If you by a Ford car now, don’t think you have to ‘store’ it. It is no longer popular to ‘lay-up’ your car for the winter. Buy a Ford car now and use it now.”
Antifreeze had not been invented when early cars came along. People always put their cars into storage for the winter—draining the cooling system and putting them up on blocks to relieve weight from the tires. If the ad is accurate, antifreeze must have come into sue about this time. I doubt anyone around here kept a car going in winter because the roads around here weren’t routinely cleared of snow until about the 1940s.
The January 16 issue listed the students graduating from Council High School: “Ben Dillon, Dorsey Donnelly, Lester Gould, Olive Hallet, Lila Moore, Crystal Weed, Daisy Hancock, Rhoma Hancock, Harry Fuller, Ethel Downs, Grace Fuller, Claud Ham, Martin McCall, Mable Poynor, Opal Selby, Thelma Lampkin.”
In the “Intermediate Room,” Mildred Winkler, Clarence Hallet and Georgia Kesler” are listed, among others. May and Lester Marks are listed as in “First Primary.” May’s last name was later Harrington. Mildred Winkler will be visiting Council this summer—great lady.
The January 23rd issue announced that Bernard Eastman of Payette would be at the courthouse to talk about the National Evergreen Highway Association. Mr. Eastman was going to talk about the “plans and purposes of the great highway of which the state road through Adams County will become a part. To those who may not be familiar with the Evergreen Highway, it may be stated that the plan now well under way, contemplates the linking and routing of the many state and federal roads, constructed or in contemplation, that will go in forming a continuous all-year highway across the United States.”
“Judging from the amount of travel on similar roads already perfected, it is apparent that the number of tourist and other cars that will pass through this county when the route is well established will be almost beyond the comprehension of those who have not given the matter consideration.”
The next issue summarized Eastman’s talk. In part, he said the average tourist car contains four people, and that they each spend an average of four dollars per day on gas, oil, repairs, food, clothing, etc. The paper continued, “He also said that after careful calculations based upon the records of highways of less national importance, it is predicted that 5,000 cars—20,000 people—will pass over the route and through Council next season in case the road work now contracted beyond New Meadows is completed to the point where the highway there will be passable next July.”
Idaho’s section of this highway became known as the North-South Highway, and later as Highway 95. Work done at that time included the old Mesa Hill route that switchbacked down to Middle Fork, and the rerouting of the road north out of Council to its present location instead of on Galena Street. It also included the switchbacks at Whitebird and Lewiston hills. The Leader said, “One of Mr. Eastman’s purposes her was to urge that Council provide a suitable camping ground for tourists. . . “ This was pre-motel days. I know of three tourist camps that were in Council. The first was installed in 1922, about where the old football field is, between the grade school and the high school. It was basically a grassy area where people could camp, and had a kitchen and “waiting room” The next two existed at the same time, during the 1930s. The “Wayside” tourist camp was on the corner where the Starlite Motel is now. It had eight cabins, a store, bathrooms with showers, a service station, and a laundry room. The old store / gas station is still there on the corner. We have a set of “then & now” pictures of that location on display in the Museum, showing what it looked like in the 1930s.
The “Shady Rest” tourist camp was where Crosby’s place is, on the west side of the highway, just north of Fist Avenue. It had cabins, a laundry room, showers, and a store. I think some of the old buildings are still there.
3-18-99
This column featured a map of early Fruitvale and info on the stores over the years. All of it is in Landmarks
3-25-99
A continuation of last week.
4-1-99
This week I went back to the 1920 Adams County Leader newspapers for some tidbits.
In 1920 the area was still very nervous about influenza. In the previous year or two the flu had killed several people her, and nearly killed many others. The January 23 issue told of the quarantine of the homes of frank Hubbard and Randall Knight. It also reported five cases of the flue on Westfork in the Ed Levander household. Levander lived on the place Harvey and Hazel Harrington later had for years.
The papers for that period contained advertisements for the following: B.J. Dillon—Attorney and Counselor at Law; L.L. Burtenshaw—lawyer; Dr. W.E. Fuller, Breeder, New Zealand Rabbits—“Not a hobby, but a business” [He was also the local veterinarian]; Dr. W.M. Brown, physician and surgeon—office adjoining the bank building [The bank was where Buckshot Mary’s is now (until recently the drug store) and Brown’s office is now Elite Repeats]; Dr. Vadney, physician and surgeon—office in rear of the Valley Drug Store—phone 52-W; Dr. Carter, dentist—Addington building; James A. Stinson, Attorney at Law; James Kesler, jeweler—watch repair a specialty.
You may have noticed a few old silos around Fruitvale. They were built when they became popular about 1920. The February 13 issue had an article containing testimonials by local farmer who had built and used them: A.R. McClure, George W. Phipps, G.T. Hamill, Ernest McMahan, John McGinley. The last two gentlemen lived at Fruitvale, and some of their silos are still standing. My dad told me he helped build one of them, and described how someone would walk around inside the silo to pack down the contents as it was filled.
Fur prices were amazing that year. An extra large, number one quality coyote pelt brought $35.00. I guess that’s about what they are bringing today, but in 1920 a dollar went MANY times farther. A small, number two coyote pelt brought $5.00.
You’ve all seen the picture of a man reading a newspaper that is painted on the side of the Library. The painting was copied from a photo of Steve Robertson who lived near Bear. The February 13 issue reported his death at the age of 86 at the home of Robert Young.
The paper said, “Uncle Steve” is “said to have spent approximately forty years in what is now Adams County. His wife died during the summer of 1877 and their three children died within a period of two years from that time. The deceased will be remembered as a representative of a care-free type of the early pioneer, the active years of whose life had been spent in the great outdoors at a time when in this part of the country there was no limit to elbow room—at a time when not game laws prevented him from bringing down a deer and the native trout sought not the protection of fish warden. In the lore of the wilds he was rich; of worldly possessions he had little or none. His old friends tell us that they had never known him to do an act of intentional unkindness—and much is embodied in such tribute. May his soul rest in peace.”
Robertson was to be buried in the Kesler Cemetery.
The February 20 issue announced that H.H. Cossit [former County coroner and local carpenter] had just opened a “tire vulcanizing shop.” Vollie Zink had joined him as partner. They used this “vulcanizing” process to retread tires. The paper said it “is said to be the first machine of the kind brought to the northwest.” That issue also announced the birth of a baby boy to Mr. and Mrs. John R. Manning on February 17. That was a busy day: Mrs. Perry Warnock of Hornet Creek also had a baby girl that day, and Earl Dodge married Ruby Button at Goodrich. A few days later (Feb. 23) Mrs. William Hahn had a baby boy.
The Museum is still looking for old phone books, old farming and ranching artifacts, and photos of the schools at Indian Valley, Orchard, Bacon Creek, Grays Creek, Poverty Flat, Johnson Creek, Round Valley, Alpine, Hillsdale, Granger, Salmon River and Lick Creek. I’ve noticed a couple old school buildings still standing at Indian Valley. I don’t know anything about them, but I’d like to. If anyone cares to fill me in, please do. A photo of the old building(s) as they are now would be nice to have as well, if we can get some history to go with them.
I have a question. Seems like I heard the old steam locomotives used to take on water at the spring across the river from the house that sits about a mile south of Starkey. Going back from now as near as my foggy memory can do it, some of the people who have lived at that location: Drew Ford, Denny Swaer (late 1970s thru mid ‘80s), Gorelys 91960s), Armstrongs (1930s). If anyone knows about trains taking on water here, please give me a call.
4-8-99
In the March 5, 1920 issue of the Adams County Leader: John Roberts Forbis and Grace Audry Branstetter were married Feb. 25 – both of New Meadows. J.B. Lafferty resigned as Superintendent of the Weiser Forest. His successor was Lyle F. Watts. “A dozen or more” small pox cases were reported at Goodrich.
March 26 issue: Boy born to Mrs. W.E. Baker Mar. 19 (Wayne?).
The spring of 1920 sounds like it was a little like this year, only it must have warmed up in march enough for the peach trees to blossom. The April 9 Leader reported that six inches of snow fell in the Orchard district on April 1. The weather had been cold enough that everyone was afraid all the area’s peach trees would not produce. In the same issue it was reported that divorces were granted to Martha Kramer from Pete Kramer and Hazel Childers from Claude Childers.
The April 9 issue also contained the following: “The Addington Auto Company yesterday received a carload of Fordson tractors, and Mr. Addington has been giving demonstrations of the pulling power of the machine. Attached to a road drag, it lugged everything that got in its way, and it was the general opinion of those who watched the demonstration that the tractor is competent to do a marathon race with a bunch of gang plows.”
April 16 issue: Mrs. Sam Woods (Margaret) died April 5. Born 12-1-51. married Samuel Woods in 1867. Came to Indian Valley 1882.
May 28, 1920 issue: “We are in receipt of a card announcing the birth of an eight-pound boy to Dr. and Mrs. R.T. Whiteman of Cambridge on Sunday, May 23. The newcomer’s name is Robert William and we’ll bet a biscuit that he looks just like his dad, even to the little bald spot on his thought dome.” I haven’t seen Bob lately. Does he still have his father’s “thought dome”?
June 18 issue: Harrison Camp died June 12. Born 1838. Came west in 1858 as an employee in the transportation service of the Government and worked as a government teamster “during the period when the whites were establishing supremacy over the Indians.” (Is that politically correct or what?) Married Elizabeth Jane Fife in 1869 in Kansas. Came west again with three children in 1882. Lived a year in eastern Oregon, then came to Council in July of 1883. Homesteaded two miles north of town. (That’s how Camp Creek got its name. ) His wife died in 1913.
Same issue: Boxing champion, Jack Dempsey acquitted of charges of conspiracy to evade military draft.
June 25 issue: Girl born to Mr. and Mrs. Charles Denny on June 23. John H. Shaw of Middlefork married Miss Essie Ball of Cottonwood on June 22. “Born two weeks ago to Frank Del Barr and wife, a daughter; and to Clarence LaFay and wife, a son.”
There’s a social event that was often announced in newspapers of those days, and I don’t quite know what they were: chautauquas. The one held in June of 1920 lasted five days in Council. It had evidently been an annual event, and plans were to continue on that schedule. It seems to have involved musical entertainment provided by a touring group.
The paper said, “Our past two chautauquas were given under contracts signed with the West Coast concern. Several months ago a contract was signed with the Ellison-White Chautauquas for next year and it is expected that by this arrangement there will be improvement in talent, as compared with the quite satisfactory offerings of this year, the latter company being an institution of national reputation.”
If someone out there can tell me about chautauquas, please do. My dictionary says they were “lyceum and amusement” productions. I had to look up lyceum—that’s another frequently used term way back when: an association providing public lectures, concerts, and entertainments.” Were they held outdoors?--in tents?—in the theater?
My mother and my aunt Amy tell me the spring I asked about last week (about a mile below Starkey) was used to water steam locomotives. The spring fed a railroad water tank and also supplied water to the house across the river. Another family who lived there was the Elkins family who preceded the Armstrongs.
4-15-99
A couple of people contacted me about chautauquas. Henrietta Nelson called to say she had been to one as a girl near Flat willow, Montana. She said it was held inside a building that resembled a high school gymnasium. She remembered the musical parts of the program, and said there were other things besides music, but didn’t have a clear memory of what those things were. I would guess that reciting lengthy poems were part of the program, as this was popular at “literaries” around here. People would recite poems or other writings. Speeches, then called “oratories” were very common at any social gathering early in this century. Before radio came along (and before TV of course) any live entertainment was highly valued and well-attended.
This is illustrated by excerpts from George Gould’s diary from 1920. (The death of Harry Camp reported in the paper is also mentioned. Plus he spelled Chautauqua differently.)
Saturday, June 12, 1920: “Harry Camp died today.” Sunday, June 13, 1920: “The folks went to the Chataugua. This was the first day of the program.” Monday, June 14, 1920: “We went to Harry Camp’s funeral and afterward to the Chataugua. We went to the Chataugua tonight. I drove the car by lamp light for the first time. Don’t like it.” Tuesday, June 15, 1920: “I went to the Chataugua with the folks tonight.” Wednesday, June 16, 1920: “Went to Chataugua in afternoon & evening.” Thursday, June 17, 1920:”We all went to the Chataugua tonight but John. It was the last night.”
Evidently the Goulds liked the program. I’d like to thank Roy Gould for emailing me the above excerpts. George Gould kept a daily diary for years. George’s comment about driving at night for the first time is interesting. Cars were just becoming more common about this time, but few people were used to them.
I need some information for the medical exhibit at the Museum if anyone can help me. The main subject I need information on is Dr. Edwards. Mostly I’d like to know when he came to Council. Any other information would be welcome, such as when he served in the State Legislature, etc. I talked to his son, Mark, and he said his dad died in 1972. He’s keeping his eye out for an obituary that he knows he has—somewhere. In the meantime, I know there was a lengthy article in the Record or the Leader a few years ago. Wouldn’t you know it, I didn’t cut it out and save it for some reason. I would really like to have a copy of it if anyone out there can send me one. I’m sure it has a lot of information that we could use for the Museum exhibit—probably even the information on Dr. Edwards.
I got a letter from Jay Thorp some time back. He responded to my mention of the Adams County men who died in WWII. Jay was drafted in 1944 and remembers most of the men who were killed. He said he remembers a bronze plaque that hung in the Ace Saloon for a few years. I guess it had the names of the men on it? Does anyone know about this—maybe where it is now?
While I’m asking for things, I'll say that in a week or two you’re
gonna see a pretty darned good History
Corner. I’ve been given
two photos—each the same train wreck near Fruitvale in 1933. The
most recent one came with an eyewitness account that will curl your
hair. I’m just waiting for permission to put it in the paper.
Meanwhile, I'll plug a project that I’m working on with Don Dopf.
We’re putting together a book on the history of the P&IN
Railroad. I'll tell you more about it later. For now, if anyone has a
photograph of the Midvale depot, we could sure use one. Any other
P&IN photos would be most welcome to—especially wrecks,
facilities and unusual events.
4-22-99
This one was about the train wreck just above Fruitvale. It is all contained in the P&IN book.
April Kampeter gave me an obit for Dr. Edwards. Noted that I’m still looking for a photo of the Midvale RR depot.
The council area and the Museum lost a good friend last week. Paul Phillips followed his wife into eternal rest. We’ll miss his “inspections” at the Museum on work days.
4-29-99
Continuation of last week.
I’d like to thank Cherly Ballard Gratton asnd family for a donation to the museum in memory of Florence and Orley Hart.
History Corner 5-6-99
This week it's back to the newspapers from 1920.
The July 2 issue reported that William R. McClure married Marie C. Freehafer. The bride was the daughter of A.L. Freehafer. This couple would later have a son named James that would become Idaho's U.S. Senator for many years. The McClures lived west of the bridge as you go out of town toward Hornet Creek.
In 1921 Will McClure became Adams County's prosecuting attorney. Two years later (1923) a Salubria native and former University of Idaho classmate of McClure's came to Council and joined McClure's law office. The new-comer was Carl Swanstom, and he had been appointed deputy prosecuting attorney for the County.
The next year, McClure resign as prosecuting attorney and moved his family to Payette, and Swanstrom took over the prosecutor's office. Carl and Lillian Swanstrom were cornerstones of this community for many many years. Carl was a slender man who literally stood head and shoulders above his fellow citizens. I don't know exactly how tall he was, but he sure wasn't hard to pick out in a crowd.
Also in the July 2 issue--Births: to Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Fouste, June 29, a boy--to Mr. and Mrs. Wm. H. Shaw of Cottonwood, June 29, a girl.
July 9 issue--Fred Hancock died July 7. He was born in 1893 at Council. William E. Berry died July 3. Buried at Indian Valley Cemetery. "Gus Sears, carpenter in chief for the P&IN railroad, has completed the building of a neat pavilion at Starkey Hot Springs. The structure is a hundred feet long and fifteen feet wide and is intended for the accommodation of excursionists." This "pavilion" is visible in the right background of the Starkey photo.
Remember a few weeks ago, in George Gould's diary, he said he drove his car for the first time at night. This week his car was hit by a train at a railroad crossing. Luckily, he wasn't in the vehicle when it was hit.
Heavy rain--three cars had to be abandoned between Council and Midvale because of the mud.
Ad for cattle auction to be held July 15 at the George Shaw farm on Middle Fork by Henry
Heimsoth and Roy Shaw. The auctioneer was to be W.H. Welty. [Must be Bill Welty?]
July 16 issue--Died, infant son of Mr. and Mrs. Joe Ducher of Tamarack. Buried in Meadows cemetery. Born, boy to Mr. and Mrs. Joe Finn of Fruitvale, July 15. [I wonder if this should have read "James" Finn?]
Gus Vadney has purchased the Whiteley shoe and harness business. "Under present conditions shoe repairing has developed into a high art."
The Museum will be opening in about three weeks. Come in and see what's new.
Caption for photo:
This composite photo of Starkey was taken during the 1920s. The "pavilion" built in 1920 is visible on the right in the background. It appears to be a open-sided shelter with long rows of seats--apparently for people to wait for the train. If anyone knows more about this, I'd appreciate hearing from you. It was in 1920 that Leonard Griffith and Dr. William Brown bought Starkey. In 1928 it was taken over by Robert and Winifred Lindsay (Brown's daughter and son in law). The Lindsays made Starkey into the place most of us are familiar with.
5-13-99
This column was about a 1957 Council telephone book in the museum collection, listing names and numbers.
May 20, 1999
Back to the 1920 newspapers.
July 23: Seining--using any kind of net or trap--for salmon is illegal. "Salmon may be speared, or caught on snag hooks that are not less than six inches in length."
July 30: Elizabeth David returned from Boise to spend the rest of the summer with her father at Bear.
Clarence Hoffman married Opal Selby on July 25.
"One day last week B.B. Houston and Sam Warren found parts of a human skeleton while on a prospecting trip into the Council mountain country. The find was made at a point about four miles from the top of the east side of the mountain and about 200 yards from the White Licks. Only a scattering of bones were located. Mr. Houston brought a jaw bone, including the teeth, to town with him. From the decomposed condition of the bones it would be impossible to more than guess in regard to the length of time that may have lapsed since the mortal of which it was a part went to his long rest. The worn condition of the teeth indicated that they were of a person well along in years."
"On Monday evening the American Legion of Adams county held a smoker at Council at which the service men of the county were well represented. A chief purpose of the meeting was to lay plans for obtaining funds for the construction of a suitable county Legion building at Council. The boys have obtained an option on a suitable lot where conditions are such that, in their judgment, a commodious building could be erected at a cost not to exceed $4500." A "smoker" was a boxing match where a number of opponents were paired up to compete. The building discussed was built three years later, and became the Legion Hall.
Advertisement: "Mary Hoover, Piano Teacher--Advanced methods in all grades of piano instruction. $1 per lesson. Phone 44 R-4;, Council.
Clarence Hersey and Miss Evelyn Barbour, both of Middle Fork, were married on Monday, July 26 by Judge Weed.
August 13: Mrs. Eva Leslie, teacher at the "little log school house among the tall pines by Crooked river" came down on the auto stage and on home to Nampa. The Indian Creek school, teacher is Miss Gladys Sutton of Cambridge. The school is "on the very eyebrow of the beetling cliff above the Snake river." I'm not sure what school this Indian Creek school was. It almost sounds like the Red Ledge school, but it wasn't established until 1927, and wasn't on Indian Creek.
County commissioners are S.N. York (Chairman), J.H. McGinley and William Branstetter. County clerk is Matilda Moser.
Adams County Teachers:
Orchard--Mrs. Lucy J. Spahr
New Meadows--Principal, Mrs. Clara A. Diggles; assistant, Miss Lena Svendsen
Middle District--Miss Pearl Mitchell
Meadows--Principal, Miss Gladys Pollard; assistant, Mrs. Frances Abshire
Little Salmon--Miss Florence Lewis
Tamarack--Edith Karr
Alpine--Miss Alice Higgins
Council--Miss Grace Gray; Miss Esella Ingram; Miss Mary Zink
Sept 3: "Council's new school building is nearing completion." This must mean the big addition to the brick school that stood about where Economy Roofing is now.
"Mrs. Otto Brauer has leased the Addington rooming house." Mrs. Addington was running it. This was the hotel over the Ace.
I talked to my cousin, Maxine Nichols, about the 1957 phone book. She worked in the phone office at that time, as an operator. An operator was required 24 hours a day. This ended in 1959 when a dial system was installed. After that, the nearest operator was in Payette. You may have noticed the numbers in the old book had an "R" or a "J" toward the end followed by a one digit number (R4, R2, J2, J3, etc.). Maxine told me the letter indicated the direction a certain switch on the switchboard needed to be thrown (to either R or J) and the number following the letter was the number of rings for the party on that line.
History Corner 5-27-99
Before I get to the stuff you read this column for, I need to ask for your help. As you may know, we depend on volunteers to host the Museum all summer while it's open. Last year we had several fine ladies who came in for a three-hour shift once a week. That really helped tremendously. The rest of the week I found volunteers by making phone calls and asking people to fill a shift. With the help of those people who graciously gave there time, we got through the season.
This year, some of the ladies who did a weekly shift last summer will not be able to repeat their generosity. Now spending my evenings calling people and asking them for their time is not one of my favorite activities. Being a typical male, I hate to even ask for directions; you can imagine how hard it is for me to call a bunch of people and ask them for favors. If you could volunteer some time at the Museum, and if you would call me and let me know what you are willing to do, it would sure make life easier for me.
The "job" of hosting the Museum (being a "docent" in Museum lingo) does not take any experience. About all it entails is being there to make sure someone doesn't walk away with anything. Each day, one person does a three-hour morning shift (10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.) and another person does a three-hour afternoon shift (1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.). Our season starts Memorial Day weekend (May 29 this year) and ends Labor Day Weekend (Sept. 5). We are open Tuesday through Sunday, except there is no morning shift on Sundays. We're closed on Mondays. The morning person for that day picks up the key at the Sheriff's office and opens the Museum, and the afternoon person locksup and returns the key.
There are a number of high school students who could get credit for public service time by volunteering at the Museum. This helps with scholarships, etc. Talk about an easy way to get this on your record and make you look good! Parents, take notice. Your child may not read this column or realize what an easy way this is to benefit their future.
If you are willing to help (especially if you can do a once-a-week shift, even for a few weeks) please call me. If I can play on your sympathy or guilt (by telling you how many hours I spend on the Museum and writing this column that you enjoy so much, all without pay) I might even do that if it will persuade you. If you might try one shift just to see what it's like, that would be great. We'll take as much or as little help as you feel you can spare. If you want to do a shift with a friend, that's fine too. My number: is 253-4582. Please call.
Now back to the Adams County Leader issues from 1920. August 20 issue:
"There will be a meeting of the stock-holders of the Eastfork Ditch Company held at Council on Saturday afternoon at two o'clock for the purpose of voting on a proposition to increase the capitol stock of that corporation to $60,000 to provide for the constructing a reservoir at Squaw Flat."
"Postmaster Winkler has asked that we call public attention to the fact that there is an electric light, with switch located just inside the door, available at the postoffice for those who wish to get mail at night and that it is desirable that such light be used in preference to the striking of matches. It is quite usual for patrons to scatter paper upon the postoffice floor, and in the evening when there is no office help on duty the throwing of matches or cigarettes upon the floor is particularly dangerous."
Edward McCallum, of Baker, and Miss Alice Higgins, of Council were married at Baker, August 14.
Meadows: Clyde Merritt died Aug 7 in Boise hospital
Indian Valley: old timer, Than Herington died at his home at Brain, Oregon on August 13 -- age 69.
Aug 27 issue:
Appearing at the People's Theater, something other than the usual movie fare: "Crist & Costa's 'Dancing Kewpie Dolls,' a musical revue with plenty of graceful and beautiful girls, will appear on Sat., Sept. 4. Saturday, Sept. 11--A company of genuine Portuguese Hawaiians in their enchanting musical production: 'In the Garden of Aloha.' Prices for these big double shows will be: adults 75 cents; children, 25 cents, including war tax."
"On Monday night, Sept 6, the American Legion will give a Labor Day dance at the People's Theater. Music will be furnished by the Musical Martins orchestra and supper will be served at the Palm Cafe."
"Last Saturday afternoon local marksmen were furnished entertainment when a grouse perched upon the roof of the Pomona hotel. After the shooting had attracted our attention we counted eight shots that were fired at the feathered beauty. When it had grown tired of vainly waiting to be killed it flew into a tree west of the hotel and Mrs. E.W. Fisher amputated its head with a twenty-two caliber rifle bullet. Being short of cartridges, she turned the trick the first shot." [Can you imagine what a stir that would cause nowadays? I wonder where all the bullets landed.]
Sept. 3 issue:
"Council's new school building is nearing completion...." I think this refers to a big addition being put on the existing school.
Sept. 10 issue:
Arthur H. Nunnallee, of Cambridge, died at the hospital at Wiser on Tuesday and will be buried at the Cambridge Cemetery
Luther Palmer died at the home of his son, Charles Palmer, at the age of 72. He was visiting from out of town.
It was announced that the Indian Valley Fair would be held Sept. 23 thru 25. In those days, the annual County Fair was held at Indian Valley. The program: "sports, including racing and bucking contests. No entrance fee will be charged in any class." Prizes would be awarded for many classes of cattle, including: biggest and best herd, best cow, best heifer, best milk cow (awards for many different breeds). There would also be prizes for hogs and poultry.
Bud Addington demonstrated one of his Ford tractors at the McGinley ranch. In those days, very few local people used tractors; they relied on horses. The editor remarked, "In ground to dry to be successfully worked with horse power the tractor pulled a double disc plow, set to ten-inch depth, at the prescribed rate of two and three-quarters miles an hour without faltering. As far as we understand, the machine would probably have kept on going as long as supplied with gas and oil."
James G. Button of Goodrich died at the Dodge sawmill near Council on Thursday of last week of appendicitis. Formerly ran a sawmill at Goodrich and was sawyer of late at the Dodge mill. Age 52.
Caption for photo:
The bucking contest at the 1920 Indian Valley Fair. The judge's stand is in the background. There appears to be no fence, and don't that ground look hard!
History Corner 6-3-99
By 1920, cars had become fairly common, even in the Council area. Not everyone had one by any means, but many people could afford a Model T Ford. The September 24, 1920 issue of the Adams County Leader said:
"According to Chicago manufacturers of buggies, the horse and buggy, in which our parents took much pride, has become so obsolete that buggies are now being manufactured only on special order. An official of one big manufacturing firms says that he has received but two orders for buggies in the past two years. He also stated that his firm makes them only on special order and that the prices run up to $2,000."
On the front page of the same issue, the Ford Motor Company announced it would reduce prices back to pre-war levels. "The announced price reductions range from fourteen per cent on motor trucks to thirty-one percent on small automobiles."
This issue also reported that "27 of the 43 standard articles going into the American family market basket decreased in price between July 15 and August 15."
J.H. McGinley will be selling 14 Jersey and 2 Holstein Milch Cows at an auction at the Ham Livery Barn in Council on October 2nd.
Oct. 2 issue:
"A dance is announced to be held at Mesa this Friday night. the price of tickets will be $1.00 including war tax." The dance was probably held in the hall over the machine shop. Also advertised, Van Hoesen 7 Seymour were selling Bartlett pears for seven cents per pound at Mesa.
"Because of continuous rain but few if any people from Council attended the Indian Valley fair last week. Like others of the neighborhood, we had decided to take in the county show but we were unable to borrow either a sail or a set of fins." The ground looks pretty dry in last week's History Corner photo. I wonder if we have the correct year on it.
"Excellent pears a 5c a pound, at Fel dhausen's orchard, on Mill Creek, 3 1/2 miles north of town." I've never heard that name.
"REWARD--My saddle horse broke out of corral at Council on Sunday night and I will pay $10 for information as to its whereabouts; it is a bald-faced bay gelding. John M. Den Boer, Council." Must have been a good horse to pay that kind of money.
"The Tamarack school board has made the progressive move of purchasing a teacher's cottage, a neat bungalow at a most convenient distance from the schoolhouse, and expect to furnish it as fast as they are able. This is only the second teacherage in Adams county, the first being built last summer over at Indian Creek district which proved the means of attracting a teacher of good qualifications earlier than had been possible before some years."
"The High school now has an enrollment of 50; the grades, 125."
"It seems almost unnecessary to mention the great improvement this year in Council school building, its enlargement, beautification, and complete re-construction. . . ." The improvement is "a sightly addition to the Southeastern corner of the town, and a fitting neighbor to our beautiful courthouse. The spacious hall and broad stairways are in pleasing contrast to the old narrow, dark passages, and the large door and windows in the east side of the building add, not only to the harmonious lighting of the structure, but the former makes it safe from the charge of being a 'fire trap, and gives every thoughtful parent gratification."
Come in to the Museum and see the nice display Gayle Dixon has put together about schools in Adams County. She has collected all the photos of the schools that she could find, and put the opening and closing dates with them. Some of the dates are unknown, especially closing dates on some. If you know about when the following schools closed, would you please give Gayle or me a call? Gayle's number is 253-4765 and mine is 253-4582. The schools we need closing years for are: Alpine, Cottonwood, Grays Creek, Lower Dale, Orchard, Hillsdale (by C. Ben Ross Reservoir), Little Salmon (near or at Pinehurst), Richland (at Indian Valley), Tamarack, and the White School.
As I write this, we have weekly volunteers to host the Museum on Tuesdays (both shifts),
Wednesday afternoons, Thursday (both shifts), and Friday mornings. (My eternal thanks goes to
those wonderful people.) That leaves Wednesday mornings, Friday afternoons and the weekends.
Weekends will probably be difficult or impossible to find someone to host on a weekly basis, but I'd love to hear from anyone who could do even one shift. Also there will be times when the weekly people won't be able to work their shift, so we need volunteers in waiting.
June 10, 1999
This column told the story of Joe Brown's skull, and then continued with 1920 Leaders, starting with Oct. 8.
History Corner 6-17-99
I would like to thank the generous people who have volunteered to do one shift a week at the Museum: Norah York, Margaret Merk, Jan Hill, Bobbie Matthews, June Davis, Vera Hutman, Chelsea McLaughlin, and Lin Gray. Their help makes things go so much more smoothly! When you see these fine folks, tell them how much you appreciate what they are doing. By the way, some of these people can't do every week all summer, so we will need replacements from time to time. Also, we always need hosts for wekends.
All the items this week come from the Adams County Leader, October 15, 1920:
The American Legion bought the corner lot just west of the Pomona Hotel. It was owned by Mrs. Hancock of New Meadows. The purchase was made as a first step looking to the Legion's
ownership of a building suited to its needs and which will serve as a memorial to those Adams county boys who gave their lives in the service. The Legion members have, aside from paying for the lot, provided $313 to cover the cost of the new concrete walk now being constructed in front of it.
Lieutenant-Governor Moore, candidate for re-election on the Republican ticket, and Hon. Will H. Gibson will speak at a political rally in the People's Theater Friday evening. On Saturday evening the theater will feature Harry Carey in "Bullet Proof" and Harold Lloyd in "Just Neighbors." The following Tuesday, Lila Lee will appear in "Such a Little Pirate," and a two-reel comedy, "Kitchen Lady," will also be shown. On Thursday: "A Woman of Pleasure," a spectacular melodrama of British South Africa, starring Blanche Sweet. Also a two-reel Jiggs comedy. Prices for admission are 35 cents and 15 cents.
Robert M. Harris died at Indian Valley, Oct. 7. Amanda Cox died at Indian Valley Oct. 9. Both of these deaths were from cancer. The two-year-old son of Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Young died of ptomaine poisoning at Indian Valley.
"Mr. and Mrs. Marvin Imler have gone deer hunting."
The annual Council Creamery stockholder's meeting was held Saturday afternoon. "In the absence of Chairman Phipps...W.T. Lamkin served in that capacity. Manager [James] Showers submitted his annual report which showed that the business is in a progressive condition. In truth, the progress made is particularly encouraging. Since Mr. Showers took over the work and ice cream equipment has been installed and paid for, likewise a septic tank....
Dr. William Brown and Leonard Griffith purchased Starkey Hot Springs from Reinhold
Kleinschmidt. "For years the development of Starkey had been retarded because of the disinclination of its owner to make further investment in improvements. With the near completion of the state highway the time is now ripe to put the place in such condition that it may be fully enjoyed not only by the people of the county, but the traveling public well. Our readers will join us in wishing the new owners the best of success."
At Fruitvale: "Isaac McMahan, Isaac Glenn and Floyd Finn have been out this week looking after cattle."
"FOR SALE--Span of work horses, weight 3,000; harness included, $150. Frank Luzon."
"M.W. [Moses] Addington, who went to Missouri about a year ago, is visiting in Council as a guest of his son, S.G. [Bud]. He owns a farm in Missouri, but tells us that he expects to sell and return to this neck o' the woods." Just in case I don't get around to it, I'll flash forward to the Adams County Leader for Aug 26, 1921: Moses Addington was killed in a gunfight in Missouri. He killed one man in the fight, and another that Addington shot in the incident may well die soon. Age 68. Came to Council in 1888 and lived here until he moved to Missouri about 4 years ago. He is survived by sons Moses Jr., John, and S.G. "Bud."
History Corner 6-24-99
I found it! Off and on for the past couple years I've been trying to locate the site of the Long Valley Massacre at Cascade. On the 15th I happened to be up there, and I went looking again.
You probably remember the story of the Massacre. It filled my column for a few weeks in the spring of 1995. Indians stole some horses at Indian Valley. Four local men pursued them, and were ambushed by the Indians near present-day Cascade. Three of the men were killed; the fourth was seriously wounded but survived.
To get to the site, turn west off Highway 55 on the outskirts of Cascade, just on the south side of the bridge across the Payette River. The road you turn onto is named "Lake Way." Follow Lake Way about .65 miles. It will pass by the dam and curve to the right until it is almost going north. You will come to an intersection where one gravel road goes left to a campground, and another road turns right. Turn right and go exactly 1/4 mile (.25). The total distance by road from the highway is .9 mile.
On the left side of the road a big granite rock has "GRAVES" spray-painted on it. About 150 feet up the hill (north) is the site. The inscription carved into the rock is so vague now that only a few letters can be made out. The bronze plaque down to the right of the inscription looks good as new. There is also a flag pole on top of the rock, above the carved inscription.
Since I wrote about this dramatic event four long years ago, and since there have been a number of new subscribers to the Record since then, and since we now have more photos of the massacre site and the people involved, I'm going to retell it.
Not long ago, I wrote about the Nez Perce War of 1877 and how it affected the first Council area settlers. The next summer, the Bannock War broke out. It involved some of the same key players from the previous war--the principal one being William Monday, the one-time Indian Valley Postmaster. I have been spelling his name as "Munday" because many of the early newspapers did so. Obviously the modern spelling of "Monday" has become standard, plus the inscription on the rock at the massacre site has the spelling as "Monday", so I will try to use that spelling consistently.
Even though the Bannock War had reached its climax and the Idaho countryside was relatively calm, the August 22, 1878 issue of the Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman, was filled with accounts of various military units in pursuit of hostile Indians all over the West. Almost as a side note, there was a brief remark among the news items from outlying areas. It said mail carrier, Solan Hall, reported that Indians had stolen three horses from William Monday at Indian Valley on the 17th.
About a day and a half after the routine news of William Monday's stolen horses was printed, the quiet slumber of the troops at the Boise Barracks was disrupted about midnight by Edgar Hall, who was exhausted from an all night ride. He said that a doctor was badly needed. Three Indian Valley men had been killed by Indians, and a fourth victim was lying seriously wounded at Calvin White's cabin at Salmon Meadows.
In those days the valley at New Meadows was known as Salmon Meadows. Calvin White was the patriarch of the first and only family living there. They had only moved to the location, later to be known as the town of "Meadows," that summer. Just before that, they had lived at Indian Valley. To be continued next week.
Caption for photo of man: William Monday was a central figure in the panic at Indian Valley during the Nez Perce War of 1877. The one-time postmaster was a respected leader in that community.
Caption for photo of woman: Mrs. William Monday became a widow in the summer of 1878 as a result of one of the most dramatic events in area history.
History Corner 7-1-99
The story of the Long Valley Massacre has been retold and distorted until the truth about some parts of the tragedy may never be known. There was only one eye witness who survived the massacre, and he left no first hand account.
It is known that on Saturday, August 17, 1878, Indians stole some horses from farmers in Indian Valley. Stories of the number of animals that were taken range wildly from three horses to sixty. Whatever the number, William Monday seems to have been the principal victim of the crime.
One account of a possible contributing factor in the thievery concerns an incident that reportedly occurred earlier that summer. About 70 Indians under Eagle Eye's leadership were said to have been camped at Indian Valley. Tom Healey (also spelled Healy or Hailey) had an Indian wife, and the Indians were "holding pow-wows" in the evenings on a hill near the Healey house. Healey told them, "If you don't stop that, the whites will kill every last one of you." So they stopped, but "kept plotting against the whites." Because of this, a grudge was supposedly initiated against Healey and/or whites in general.
Another, unlikely story says that Monday had often cut down trees on land that Eagle Eye's band claimed. When the Indians complained, Monday is said to have sworn at them.
More than one account says that Monday was working for Solon Hall at the time the horses were stolen, harvesting hay or grain. Monday reportedly left his team tied to a wagon for the night, and they were gone the next morning. Ellis Snow's version sounds the most plausible: Monday owned a reaper drawn by four horses, and was cutting Hall's grain; the horses were stolen after they had been turned loose to graze for the night.
Monday was said to have been friends with certain Indians, and may have hired them to help on his farm. It's doubtful that the horses were stolen because of some personal grudge against Monday.
The Indians were probably among the many fragments of hostile bands that were wandering the Northwest at the time, and they simply took advantage of an opportunity to engage in a time-honored Native American sport: stealing horses from an enemy.
4-6-95 is similar to here down
On the next day after the horses were stolen, Solon and Edgar Hall, and Jake Groseclose followed the tracks left by the Indians for about ten miles into the mountains to the east, then turned back. The next day, Monday the 19th, Jake Groseclose again took up the trail, accompanied by William Monday, Sylvester "Three Fingered" Smith, and Tom Healey.
Of these four men, probably the most colorful character was Sylvester "Three-Fingered" Smith. He was a tall, slender man who received his nickname after an accident. Visiting with a friend, Smith had one foot on the bottom rail of a fence; his hands were folded together, resting over the business end of his muzzle-loading shotgun. His foot slipped off the rail, his knee hit the hammer of the gun, and it went off. When the smoke cleared, one finger on each of Smith's hands was gone, leaving only three to a hand. One imaginative myth of how he lost his fingers says that they were shot off in a gun fight in Silver City.
Born in Virginia in 1829, Sylvester S. Smith had come to Idaho at the dawn of the gold rush in 1861. He staked a placer claim at Florence which turned out to be one of the richest in the area.
Depending on which source one believes, the claim was said to have yielded either three hundred or three thousand dollars per day at its peak. His claim was located near what is now named "Smith Gulch". Along with two partners, Smith also ran a store at Florence. When gold was discovered at Warrens, Smith and his mercantile partners were some of the first to set up camp there.
Smith had evidently married a girl from Oregon while living in that state. It has been said that his wife was an Indian woman. The Smith's first child, the first of four sons, was born in Oregon in 1866. Their second boy, Warren, was born in 1868 in the town after which he was named. Warren Smith was said to be the first white child born at Warren.
By 1872 the Smith family had settled on a homestead along the South Fork of the Salmon River at the mouth of Elk Creek. Their third son, Henry, was born here. A fourth son, Robert, was born to the couple about 1876. During the Nez Perce War of 1877, Three Fingered Smith was involved in bringing guns to the Warren area so that the citizens there could be better armed. The next year found him living at Indian Valley. By this time, he was 49 years old.
To be continued next week.
Photo for this week is of Three Fingered Smith. Sorry it's so poor, but it's the only one I know to exist. Caption: Three Fingered Smith with one of his sons. This is the only photo of Smith that I know of. Too bad it isn't more clear, especially by the time you see it in the newspaper. In the
original, you can see that the ring finger of his left (to your right) hand is missing. It's hard to tell, but it looks to me like the pointing finger of his right hand is missing past the first joint from the palm.
History Corner 7-8-99
The story of the Long Valley Massacre, continued from last week.
As the four Indian Valley men set out after the horse thieves, they asked their neighbor, John Anderson, to go along with them. Anderson had some experience with Indians, having been a military scout at some time in the past. He felt could not go with the expedition because his wife was over eight months pregnant, but he offered the men some words of advice. He warned that the Indians had a two day head start on them, and could not be overtaken if they really wanted to get away. He cautioned them that if the Indians left an obvious trail it meant that they were a large enough war party to overpower any pursuers, and would probably ambush them. Mrs. Anderson recalled Smith making some sarcastic remark about her husband's advice as they rode away, implying he didn't respect it.
The four men apparently made camp somewhere along the route, and continued the next day, Tuesday the 20th. They followed what indeed was an obvious trail made by shod horses over the divide into Long Valley, about 30 miles south of Payette Lake. This was just north of the present town of Cascade and a very short distance northeast of the present dam. At the time, the vicinity was referred to as the "Falls of the Payette River."
About noon they followed the tracks up a small, boulder-studded ridge that ran through the valley. Suddenly a lead slug slammed into Monday's chest. The Indians had waited in ambush, just as Anderson had said they might.
There are several versions of the ambush. One account of the attack says that an Indian called Monday by name just before the first shot was fired, and that this shot killed Monday instantly.
The following is Edgar Hall's account of what happened after Monday was shot, as printed in the Statesman. The story Hall heard was second-hand, as he had not been in contact with Smith before he rode to Boise for help. The printed story was fourth hand, and undoubtedly flawed:
At this moment Healy and Groseclose dismounted, when the latter was shot in the breast, and turning to Smith said, "they have got me." Healy then got behind a rock and asked Smith to stay with him.
Smith however, being a man of experience in such matters, saw that they were completely
outnumbered and at the mercy of the Indians, and not having dismounted from his mule, turned to flee, when he was fired upon by the Indians and shot through the thigh. The next shot took his mule from under him, and being on foot and running for his life, he was again hit by a shot, which broke his arm.
Smith says that after leaving Healy, who was completely surrounded by the Indians, he heard about a dozen shots, and after a short interval, another shot was fired, which makes it certain that poor Healy met his sad fate at the hand of the red fiends.
Aaron F. Parker wrote the only known version of the ambush told by anyone who spoke directly with Three Fingered Smith. Parker was one of the first people to interview Smith, speaking to him the day after the massacre.
According to Parker, Monday and his companions approached the ambush site riding single file. Monday, being in the lead, was the first to be shot, his horse being killed under him. He was
wounded, but started firing after reaching the ground. The others, except Smith, rode quickly forward and dismounted. Parker said that Three Fingers knew from experience that it was better to stay mounted under Indian attack.
As Healey led his horse toward Monday, the animal was struck by a bullet. While distracted by the now panicked horse Healey was hit and fell mortally wounded, not far from Monday who was still firing wildly. (Evidence found at the scene later actually seemed to indicate that Monday was shot in the heart and died instantly.)
Parker said that no Indians were ever visible during this melee. Groseclose was the next to fall, screaming as he fell, "They have got me, Smith!"
To be continued next week.
7-15-99 – Continued with the Long Valley Ambush/Massacre story.
History Corner 7-22-99
The story of the Long Valley Massacre, continued from last week.
At 8:00 AM on Friday, August 23rd, Edgar Hall started his ride to Boise for a doctor. When he reached the present site of Weiser, he encountered Company E, First regiment of Idaho volunteers under the command of Thomas Galloway. Four members of the volunteer militia, Aaron F. Parker, John ("Jack") Smith (Monday's brother-in-law), Steve Durbin, and Ike McKinney set out to try to "recapture the stolen stock for the benefit of the widows, and with the further hopes in mind of capturing or otherwise deposing of the murderers."
Parker related the experiences of the four volunteers from this point. The account is in the third person, even though he wrote it himself:
"Their equipment consisted of horse and saddle; a .50 caliber Springfield rifle; a very limited supply of cartridges; extra saddle blanket; one-half sack of "self-rising" flour; and a few coffee berries and a pinch of tea to chew on and prevent headaches for those who were accustomed to the use of these beverages in peace time."
"In those primitive days all civilian volunteers furnished their own other equipment for light marching order at their own cost. Under such conditions most of the Indian wars of the Pacific northwest have been fought; the volunteer companies being always in the field before troops arrived."
The four men traveled throughout the night without stopping, and covered the 90 miles to Calvin White's in 22 hours. Here they rested and interviewed Three Fingered Smith as to the location and details of the ambush. This would have been August 24, four days since Smith was wounded, and he must have been suffering terribly.
Early the next morning the four set out for the ambush site. None of the men were familiar with that part of the country, but finally reached what they thought was the approximate place just before dark. Parker continues:
"Here they built a camp fire, mixed a batch of "self-rising," toasted on willow twigs, and after a smoke and going through the motions of spreading their blankets, they silently stole away and back-tracked to another camp two miles up the trail they had followed, in the hope of deceiving the Indians if any were around in search of victims. Here they camped for the night, each taking turns of vigilant watchful waiting until daylight when they returned to the scene of the killings, and reconnoitered the topography of the region and inspected the bodies, which lay in positions as outlined by 'Three Fingers'."
"The scene of the massacre and the details connected therewith will remain forever as clear-cut picture never to be effaced from the mind and memory."
"Imagine for yourself a trail lying at the base of a timber-clad mountain, with huge slabs of bare granite standing perpendicularly from which twisted scrub pines and mountain mahogany had grown from the fissures. Beneath the trail the land sloped gently to the broad open valley through which the river sang, with no protection save a few wash boulders protruding a few inches above the soil...."
This last sentence seems odd to me. There are boulders sticking up above the soil considerably more than a few inches all over that hillside; in fact there are "huge slabs of bare granite" all the way down the hill. It looks to me as if the men would have had abundant cover.
To be continued next week
If anyone has tried to call me during the first part of July, I was out of town.
I have a question that I hope someone out there will research for me. Betty Smith donated a
commemorative plate from the Congregational church and I'm trying to find out when it was issued.
At the time, Rev. John Brook was the pastor. Can somebody enlighten me on this so we can add the plate and information to our church exhibit?
Just as an interesting note, someone asked if we had the rug that Mrs. Trumbo had couples stand on when she married them. No, we don't, and I had never heard the story. Apparently she usually had couples stand on a particular rug that was put together with weaving that had no end point in some way, so it kind of symbolized a marriage without end.
History Corner 7-29-99
The story of the Long Valley Massacre, continued from previous weeks.
For reasons unknown, Captain Drum had not yet arrived at the site, even though his unit was much closer and knew about the attack at least a day earlier than the volunteers. Parker's group found 14 empty cartridges scattered around the bodies of the victims; their cartridge belts lay empty beside them. The rifles contained only empty shells. This evidently was all the ammunition the men had with them, as it seemed to Parker and the others that the Indians had not disturbed the bodies at all to steal anything. It appeared that the Indians had left in a hurry immediately after being unable to find Smith.
Parker continues:
"They scouted around and soon discovered and followed the broad trail up the mountain in the soil of the hillside."
"Anticipating that troops would soon be here and bury the dead, they maintained the pursuit for two days and nights, selecting well protected spots for camps and keeping vigilant lookouts for possible attacks. Approaching the summit, the soil of the hillsides gave way to bare granite; the tracks became less recognizable, and a summer thunder storm accompanied by hail and torrential rain wiped out the last vestige of the trail, eliminating all hope of again picking up the hoof prints. The pursuers concluded to abandon the chase and return from whence they came."
"On the evening of the fifth day, they again reached the battlefield and found that the bodies had been buried where they fell, and as a landmark to perpetuate their memory, the troop had inscribed upon one of the slabs behind which the enemy had laid concealed, the names of the victims and the date of the event under crossed rifles. Here they camped for the night in peace, and after raking the still warm ashes of the troopers' camp fires, they found bacon rinds which, after washing, [were] chewed to satisfy their hunger."
The carving that the soldiers inscribed on the rock read, "MONDAY, HEALY AND
GROSECLOSE -- KILLED AUG 20, 1878"
The next morning the four volunteers met two soldiers from Captain Drum's company who were scouting the area south of the troop's main encampment at Payette Lake. Parker and his companions camped that night with the main military group on the lake, then went on to Calvin White's cabin at Meadows. There they found that Dr. McKay had left to return to Boise the day before, leaving the assurance that his patient was recovering so well that he "could not be killed with an axe." The four volunteers returned to Weiser.
It was Drum's unit who had buried Monday, Healy and Gloseclose, and inscribed the memorial on the rock. Captain Drum reported that the bodies of the slain men were about sixty yards from the spot where they had been killed. He said:
"The bodies had been thrown together in a pile by the Indians, but had not been scalped or
mutilated. At the moment of attack Monday had been shot dead by a bullet through the heart and had fallen from his horse, leaving his gun hanging to the horn of the saddle. The gun was found where it had been dropped by Monday's horse when he ran from the scene. Groseclose was fatally shot soon after dismounting and his horse fell into the hands of the Indians, but being a vicious and refractory animal the horse escaped from them and was afterwards found running in the hills some distance from the scene of the murder and was with difficulty caught and brought in. Tom Healy made a fight with the Indians, from behind the rocks where he first took up a position, as three empty cartridges were found at that spot."
Parker reported that at least some of the horses had been killed, saying, "The carcasses of the horses were far apart in the valley."
To be continued next week.
I still haven't heard from anyone about when Reverend John Brooke was the pastor at the
Congregational church.
This has been such a busy summer for the Museum Board that we haven't had any time to landscape the area south of the Museum. It needs to have some dirt hauled in, grass and flowers planted, etc. If anyone is interested in ramroding such a project, please let me know. Of course most of will have to be done next year. It might be a good job for an Eagle Scout project.
Caption for photos.
For the closer one: The inscription on the rocks at the massacre site was probably traced with chalk for this 1929 photo. I'll write about the plaque below it later.
Farther photo: This photo may have been taken in 1929 also. It is from the same angle, but farther away from the rock with the inscription. This is looking approximately north. Notice the flag flying on a pole that is planted on top of the rocks; it's kind of hidden in the little pine tree on the sky line.
History Corner 8-5-99
The story of the Long Valley Massacre, continued from previous weeks.
Three Fingered Smith is reported to have said that there were at least 75 Indians in the group that ambushed his group, but Drum found sign of only fifteen, at the most, and maybe as few as five.
Drum's unit followed the Indians' trail at least eight miles past the ambush site. At "Pearsall's Diggins," they found the bodies of two prospectors who had evidently been killed by the same Indians on the day after the Monday ambush . One man was a Mr. Wilheim from Idaho City. No description was given as to how or where his body was found, but the Statesman printed a grizzly description of the second victim, Daniel Crooks of Mount Idaho:
"Crooks was found some distance from the spot where the two were first attacked, lying in the grass on his back. The grass was beaten down all around him, as if a violent struggle had taken place. He had been shot through the body, and the last shot, which seemed to have been given where he was found, was in the head at close range, tearing completely off the frontal part of the skull and brain. He still held a rope in his hand and was probably running to get his horse. . . ."
On the same day that Monday's party had started in pursuit of the Indians (Aug 19th), another group of men had left Indian Valley to return to their mining site at "Copeland's Diggings," which was somewhere in the general direction the Indians had gone. The four men were, James Crews, S.F. Smith, Perry Clark (the man who named Council Valley) and Hornet Creek pioneer Henry Childs. Drum became concerned that these men may also have been killed by the Indians, so he went to Copeland's Diggings to check on them. There is no indication that the miners had any trouble.
Many years later, Bill Winkler said that Three Fingered Smith knew the identities of at least four of the Indians involved in the Long Valley Massacre. They were supposed to have been Eagle Eye, War Jack(Shoshoni), Chuck (Lemhi Shoshoni), and Booyer (Blackfoot). Winkler said that after spending "some years" in Wyoming Smith traveled about the country, locating and killing Chuck and Booyer. Apparently he couldn't locate War Jack or Eagle Eye.
This is a good story, but there is no evidence to back it up. All during the investigation there was no indication that anyone involved had a clue as to the identities of the Indians. The only recorded guess was made by General Howard at Walla Walla. He believed they were hostile Nez Perce from White Bird's band who had returned from Canada. One would think that if Smith knew who had murdered three of his neighbors he would have immediately informed Captain Drum and anyone else who could bring them to justice. Aaron Parker met with Smith again only five years after the massacre (1883) and interviewed him a second time. Again, Smith evidently said nothing about the identities of the Indians or about his having wreaked revenge on them. If he had, Parker would certainly have included this in his account.
It is no surprise that Eagle Eye, the primary leader of the Weiser band of Shoshoni, was a prime suspect. He was usually blamed for every real or imagined native depredation that occurred within a week's ride. Ironically, there were eye witness reports (which turned out to be false) that Eagle Eye had been killed in a battle with the Umatillas a month before this massacre.
Old time Indian fighter, Ewing Craig "Pinky" Baird, who was an independent Indian scout during this time and was later a Council resident, boasted that he had personally shot and killed Eagle Eye sometime after the Monday massacre. A member of Baird's family had been killed by Indians, and he held a life-long grudge against all members of that race. He is said to have assassinated a number of Indians in the Council area. Baird claimed that he had shot Eagle Eye in the back while the chief was getting a drink from a stream. Either Baird coldly executed an Indian that he thought was Eagle Eye, or he was a bald-faced liar. Eagle Eye died of natural causes years later. Regardless of whether or not Baird actually believed he had killed Eagle Eye, he went so far as to give Bill or Charley Winkler a pair of moccasins that he claimed Eagle Eye was wearing at the time he killed the chief. These moccasins are now in the Council Valley Museum.
To be continued next week.
The Museum will be open through Labor Day Weekend (Sept 5).
Caption for this week's photos.
Photo of older couple and younger man standing behind them:
"Jacob and Elizabeth Groseclose (seated), the parents of Jake Groseclose who was killed in the Long Valley Massacre. Standing behind the parents is Austin, Jake's brother. The Groseclose family moved to Cottonwood Creek, just south of Council shortly after the massacre, then moved on to Lick Creek, near Bear, about 1881."
Photo of ladies:
"The daughters of Jacob and Elizabeth Groseclose (sisters of Jake Groseclose). You want proof that everybody in the Council area is related? Here it is. Please correct me if I get any of this tangled web wrong, and tell me what I can add to it:
1-Lydia. Her second husband was Wm Brauer. Their daughter, Dora, married Lewis Lakey. Their son, Otto Lakey, and his wife, Dorothy, had six children. Nancy and Dennis still live in Council. Otto's sister, Mildred, married George Fuller. Their granddaughter, is Judy Mahon.
Now I'm gonna stretch things a little: Dora-Braur-Lakey's father in law, Lewis Lakey Senior, had a son, Jacob who married Lottie Montgomery, the sister of Mrs. Robert Harrington (Lilly).
2- Sarah Frances She married John *Cliffton. Their children were Dan, Manila, and Percy. Manila married Victor Oling. Their daughter, Ruth, married Arnold Emery. Their daughter, Ann, married Darrell Brown.[*Cliffton was almost always misspelled as “Clifton” in newspapers.]
Another daughter of Manila and Victor Oling was Louise, who married Lawrence "Toots" Rogers. Manila-Cliffton-Oling later married Norbert Arterburn.
3-Charlotte, also called Lottie. She married one of the Linders from Indian Valley. In one version of the massacre story, James Linder is said to have been in the volunteer group that helped bury the victims of the massacre.
4- Rose. She married Arthur Robertson and had eight children. Their son, Isaac "Pug" Robertson was the father of Marlene Lively. After Pug died, his wife, Nellie, married Lew Roberts.
History Corner 8-12-99
This is the last installment of story of the Long Valley Massacre of August, 1878.
After the massacre, Three Fingered Smith eventually recovered from his wounds, but his health was never the same. He continued to live at Indian Valley for a year or two. In 1879, he ran for election to the position of constable, but lost by one vote.
By 1883 Smith was back living on the Salmon River where Aaron Parker met with him and
reviewed the events of the massacre. Smith never lost the gold fever that had lured him to Idaho. In 1889 he made a significant gold discovery in a remote area somewhere near the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.
In the winter of 1889 - 1890, the Smith's youngest son, fourteen-year-old Bobby, volunteered for the hazardous job of carrying mail into a remote location for a man who couldn't make the trip.
Bobby was not seen again until his body was found the following May.
Three Fingered Smith died April 28, 1892 at his Elk Creek ranch at the age of 63. His coffin was made from sluice boxes, as the ailing miner had requested the day before he died. He was wrapped in a buffalo robe, placed in the coffin, and buried on his ranch. In spite of the wealth he had gained at Florence, Smith died very poor. This, his friends said, was mostly a result of his generosity, "which he did not practice alone when he made lots of money, but to the last days of his life." Several geographic features in the Salmon River area are named after this pioneer: Smith Mt., Smith Knob, Smith Gulch, and Smith Saddle.
In the book, "Sheepeater Indian Campaign" Johnny Carrey said Smith's wife, Juanita and their son, Bobby are also buried on the family's Elk Creek ranch. Carrey said, "Henry died in a Boise hospital, Warren passed away at the Hacket Ranch, Sam died in an accident in Garden Valley."
Sam Smith was married to Anna Jeanot, sister of Pete Jeanot who was Janet Fleming's father. (Fleming's upholstery is on Hwy 95 just north of Council.) Janet told me that Sam and Anna had two daughters and three sons. One of the sons, Abner, was tortured to death by the Japanese in a WWII prison camp.
Johnny Carrey continues, "After the Smith family was gone from the ranch, Jimmy Taylor lived there" until 1917. Brad and Margaret Carrey owned it for a year after that, then it was bought by a power company and a power plant was installed by a dredge company in Warren. "When the mines shut down, that was the end of the ranch. It now belongs to an outfitter and guide business."
On August 21, 1929, fifty-one years after the Long Valley Massacre, a memorial service was held at the grave site near Cascade by an organization called the Sons of Idaho. A number of relatives of Jake Groseclose who were living during the time of the massacre attended the service. A bronze plaque honoring the dead men was mounted on a rock at the site.
Well, that's it for this story. I hope you've enjoyed it.
Next time you drive by the Museum, take a look at the new sign on the front.
Captions for photos.
The one with 3 men:
"I don't know the significance of these men shown here at the placement of the plaque at the massacre site by The Sons of Idaho on the 50th Anniversary of the massacre, August 21, 1929.
They are, left to right: Byron Defenbach, Jim Wickersham, Phil Stalker.
Photo of boy, woman, man, two women:
"Another picture taken at the 50th Anniversary ceremony. Standing, left to right are relatives of Jake Groseclose who's remains lie under the ground near this location: Sarah Frances (Groseclose) , Austin or Isaac Groseclose, Rose Groseclose Robertson, Charlotte Groseclose Linder.
Does anyone know who Isaac Groseclose was?"
Photo of stump:
"For some reason, the actual grave site of the men, about 150 feet south of the engraved rocks and plaque, is not marked anymore. Geneva Barry said this stump was one of the original grave markers, and that a cross was carved into it by James Linder. The cross is not visible in this photo, but is in a photo on file at the historical library in Boise.
History Corner 8-19-99
First, in reference to last weeks list of descendants of Jacob and Elizabeth Groseclose, I forgot to include Jeanie Boehm. Rose Groseclose and Arthur Robertson had a daughter, Vivian. Vivian married Bill Boyles. Their daughter, Velna, married Jack Aldrich. Their daughter, Jeanie, married Larry Boehm.
I also realized Isaac Groseclose was another son of Jacob and Elizabeth.
A very late thank you goes to Nancy Lane for some really nice cards she made and donated to our Museum as items to sell. The covers feature interesting old photos from the Museum collection. You may have seen some of her cards for sale around here. They are first rate. The ones at the Museum would be great to send to friends and relatives who live out of the area.
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Lyle Harrington.
Thanks to Bill Daniels I found out the approximate period that John Brooke was the pastor to the Congregational church. I left the note at the Museum, but I think it said late 1950s and early '60s.
Since I don't have anything earth-shaking to write about this week, I'm going to go back to perusing the local newspapers for 1920.
October 22 issue:
Ralph E. Houston died at Boise on Oct. 16. The cause was blood poison brought on by "defective teeth." Services were held in the Cottonwood school house, and burial followed in the Cottonwood cemetery. Age 31.
Ben Dillon spoke at the Republican rally at the People's Theater last Friday evening. Will H. Gibson "discussed the national political situation, giving particular attention to the League of Nations and the tariff question."
Candidates for State Senate are J.F. Lowe and David W. Van Hoesen. Candidates for State Representative are Morgan P. Gifford and L.A. Thompson. Commissioner candidates--1st Dist.: S.N. York and James Hancock--2nd Dist.: F.G. Robinson and J.H. McGinley-- 3rd Dist.: Jonathan McMahan and A.R. Krigbaum. For Adams County prosecuting attorney: Luther L. Burtenshaw and Benjamin J. Dillon. For County Sheriff: Robert Young and Vollie Zink. For County Treasurer: Alice C. McMahan and George A. Winkler. For Probate Judge, Fred H. Michaelson is running unopposed, as is Oriana M. Hubbard for County Superintendent of schools. For Assessor: Wm. Branstetter and Wm. Woodland.
George Washington Phipps of Cottonwood won numerous awards at the State Fair for his Jersey cattle. His three year old cow took first place for butterfat production, in that age group, edging out a wide field of competitors. He took second in butterfat production in the two year old division.
William G. Koontz died at Walla Walla on Monday. He was 60 years old. Survivors mentioned are a brother, Gene, and a son, Oscar.
There will be a Halloween dance at the People's Theater Oct 29.
"Elsewhere in this issue is a notice of dissolution of partnership of Messers. Weed and Winkler of the Council Grocery Co., Mr. Winkler having withdrawn from the firm. His successor will be Charles Weed, who is a brother to Carl and Fred Weed, and who has been in Council during the week. The gentleman recently returned from China where he has for something like twenty years been the active head of one of the modern colleges of that land, he having taken up the work at the close of the Spanish-American war. We understand that it is not his intention to remain in Council."
History Corner 8-26-99
Last weekend a few friends and I backpacked into the old mining communities of Iron
Springs andRankin Mill in the Seven Devils. I plan to write a column on that trip when the pictures come back, but until then I'm returning to the Leader newspapers from 1920.
October 29 issue:
The American Legion is collecting donations with which to build "a memorial in honor of the boys from this county who lost their lives in the war. Instead of erecting a mere monument of cold stone it is planned to build a suitable American Legion building. Since the erection of such buildings has become quite general throughout the United States and their purpose fully known, there is no apparent necessity for discussion as to the good sense of the plan. The boys have contributed heavily out of their own purses, and it strikes us that every person who has a spare dollar can well afford to give something--and if all give in fair proportion to their means the problem will be solved without difficulty. Personally, we would dislike to walk past a soldier memorial in this county and feel that we had not contributed at least some small part of its construction." Come on, folks, let's 'kick through.'"
At the People's Theater October 30: Harry Carey in "Human Stuff." On November 2: Douglas Fairbanks in "Arizona." There will be a "big dance" after the show.
A Mesa Orchards employee was seriously injured while driving a team under the tramway. The cable hit his head, opening a three-inch gash.
Cool and Donnelly (located just east of where Norm's is now, south of the town square park) just got in a shipment of extra large double strength sacks for oats, wheat or potatoes.
Lampkin's store (where Norm's is now) is selling lady's and men's shoes priced from $8.00 to 12.75. Men's sweaters are $2.00 and up. Flannel shirts for $2.50, $3.75 and $5.00.
Adams County Light & Power Co. is selling electric fans at cost.
November 5 issue:
"On Friday evening, Nov. 5, the Orchard Community is expected to meet at the school house for the purpose of organizing a literary society."
Orchard District: "W.H. Hoover finished picking apples last week Wednesday and is now
completing the packing of the same. Messrs. McClymonds, Missman, Hill and Annia have all
finished the picking and are also busy sorting and packing."
"The American Legion requests that we announce that it will give a dance and basket supper at the People's Theater on the evening of Armistice day, Nov.. 11. Everybody invited."
November 12 issue, on front page: "There are many persons who predict that gasoline-driven automobiles will become obsolete when the newly-devised Baker steam car is produced in quantities equal to public demand. Specimens of the chief working parts of the car were on exhibition at the Addington garage during part of the week and attracted much attention. The mechanism of the car presents a completely new plan of auto locomotion, and upon inspection the method appears so sound and free from technical and delicate parts that one wonders why some genius did not think of it long ago. The engine is placed in the rear of the car. The boiler, a coil affair, occupies the place given to the driving apparatus of a gas car. Twenty-seven gallons of water is carried and, it is stated, this quantity is sufficient for 700 miles of travel. After the water has been converted into steam and served its power-making purpose it is returned to the tank through a condenser and is thus used over and over again. Any low-grade fuel oil is used and it is claimed that a gallon of crude oil, hard cider or such, will drive the car twenty to thirty miles. the engine furnishes up to 400 horse power and, it is said, is capable of driving the car at a rate of 200 miles an hour--if any person should be fool enough to want to ride that fast. It can also be driven at a snail's pace. All in all, the 'wagon' looks like a sure winner and the members of the Addington Auto Co., who are agents both for the machine and stock in the manufacturing company, predict that it is destined to put benzene buggies in general in the second-class division."
History Corner 9-2-99
Adams County Leader, November 12, 1920:
"Notice is hereby given that there will be teachers' examinations for all grades at the court house, Council, on Nov. 18, 19 and 20."
At the People's Theater November 22: a return engagement of Shubert's Jazz Orchestra Dance and Show. Dance tickets are $1.50. Spectators and children - 10 cents. Two movies will follow.
"Bring your cream to us. We pay 50c for butterfat. --Council Creamery." (I notice there is a new house going in right where the creamery was. I'll bet they dug up some creamery artifacts when they dug down for the footings.)
"We are rather tardily informed that a baby girl was born to Mr. and Mrs. Adolph Grossen two
weeks ago last Sunday."
"The infant son of Mr. and Mrs. D. F. Richey died last Thursday after several months of illness. The little one had been ailing all summer at Weiser but parents hoped that the change to mountain air would prove beneficial. Mr. Richey is teacher at the Glendale school."
Mr. and Mrs. W.C. Whiteley have moved to Seattle. "Mr. Whiteley is suffering from a severe eye affliction which has caused partial blindness. . . ." They are leaving permanently. (Whiteley and his sons were well-known business men in Council. They established one of the first stores here. Their first store was about where Council Auto is now, southwest of the town square. Their second, larger, store was where Norm's is, south of the square. It later became the Lampkin store,
mentioned in a previous issue. Whiteley Avenue is named after these Whiteleys.)
Calvin W. Johnston, aged 69, died at the home of his brother, Morris Johnston at Upper Dale, on Nov. 9." He was buried at Hornet Creek Cemetery.
Ed Austin sold his ranch on Middle fork to John Shaw. Shaw will have and auction to dispose of his dairy cattle and household items.
November 19 issue:
"The federal government has ruled that persons who purchase hops and malt and, using the kitchen stove as a brewery, therefrom create a lifelike and kickful imitation of old-fashioned 'suds,' will hereafter invite trouble as violations of the federal prohibition laws. In fact, the new ruling as particularly definite in regard to the sale of malts to other than bakers; and as for hops--well, as we gather the facts, it appears that if some person should drink out of a spring that has a grasshopper in it he but invites disaster." (This is so typical of the tongue-in-cheek humor editors used in those days.)
Reverend Iverson will preach at a meeting for men only on Sunday afternoon. "No boy under fifteen years will be admitted."
"Harry Ludwig and family and Mrs. Clyde Stewart and children have recently visited their mother, Mrs. Wm. Bevins at Payette."
"Tom and William Lindsay, said to be residents of Homestead, Oregon, were arrested here on Saturday evening, as they drove up to the Addington garage, (now the Ace) on a charge of 'unlawful transportation and possession of liquor.' Mr. Lindsay was taken to Weiser on Tuesday by Sheriff Young, accompanied by Prosecutor Burtenshaw, and was sentenced to pay a fine of $50 and serve thirty days in jail." The men had two quart bottles of moonshine in their car, and it was overheard that they paid $28 a quart for it. (That was a lot of money in those days.)
The election results include those elected Justice of the Peace in the various precincts. In the Indian Valley precinct, John York lost to R.L. Gilbert, 51 votes to only 4 votes. Mesa precinct: A.J. Spaulding, 9 votes -- H.L. Brooks 6 votes. Goodrich: J.W. Stoneman, 14 -- E.L. Tubbs, 2.
Council: W.E. Fuller (the veterinarian), 2 -- Gus Vadney, 5. Fruitvale: Pete Robertson, 2 – Herbert Glenn, 5. Wildhorse: Arthur Campbell, 1 -- Frank Fanning, 1. (What overwhelming support from the voters, huh? They each had one friend I guess. Frank would become famous in 1935 by being one of the few people to survive having his head sawed into by the main saw at a sawmill.) Bear: A.V. Robertson, 1 -- W.T. Robertson, 3. Summit: W.R. Haines, 4 -- Pete Kramer, 1. (Not only couldn't old Pete get elected that year, but his wife left him too.)
Constables elected: Mesa - H.E. Mills; Goodrich - E.L. Tubbs; Council - Fred Shultz; Fruitvale - Pete Robertson; Tamarack - Pete Filley; New Meadows - O.L. Lutz; Meadows - Bill Steckman; Cuprum - Bill Smith; Wildhorse - W.S. Rucker; Bear - Orson Smith; Summit - Victor Oling; Indian Valley - W.J. Anderson. (I wonder how busy the constable was in some of these little wide spots in the road.)
History Corner 9-9-99
Recently I mentioned that a few of us hiked into Rankin Mill. I thought I would do a few columns about the hike and the history of that area.
The road to Black Lake was open unusually late this year, but by the time we went up (August 21) it had been open for a couple weeks at least. We made a quick stop at Placer Basin, then drove up to Smith Mountain Lookout. If you want to give your flat-land friends and relatives a thrill, drive right up to the lookout sometime. The road is about as wide as your tire tracks, and the down-hill side is about a thousand feet of real estate that is about as steep as it gets without swallows building nests on it. Turning around at the top gave my heart a little exercise. You know second it takes to get your foot off the brake and onto the gas pedal as you let out the clutch? It seems like a long time when you're poised like a bobsled at the top of the run and all you can see is sky on three sides.
On up past Smith Mountain, the road suddenly drops into Deep Creek at a spot known as "High Dive". It's not too disconcerting nowadays, but it makes the trip more interesting. Before it was improved, it was one of those spots where all you could see was sky in front of the hood for a second,and didn't know for sure just how far you were going to drop or how sharp the turn that immediately follows the drop would be.
The road to Black Lake is notoriously bad; It always has been. As you drive it, you think how
difficult it must have been to build this road with horses and hand labor in 1900. Even in modern times with giant crawler tractors with ripper teeth, this kind of construction, across steep mountains and through almost solid rock in many places, is a challenge. Except for minimal maintenance, not much has been done to improve this road since the time it was first constructed.
Most of the stories of the nail-biting trips over the Black Lake road have faded into obscurity, but
one or two have been preserved. The Adams County Leader reported this tale in 1930:
"Alta Ingram made a trip with his six-wheel truck to Black Lake in the Seven Devils district this
week for Griffith of Starkey and Van Hoesen of Mesa. He went to bring out some big pipe and
other heavy material [from the old mill]."
"There are high, narrow grades, steep and rocky and the turns are so short the truck has to double back to get around. On one of the highest, steepest, rocky grades the big truck got stuck with its monster load and the rear was so heavy the front would not stay on the ground at critical times but insisted on rearing up and swinging toward the down hill side. Alta was inside with the doors of the cab locked by big shafting loaded on the sides. It was a hair-raising situation, but somehow he came out of it. Mrs. Ingram walked over that part of the way. Griffith and Van Hoesen carried boulders to throw behind the wheels when the truck would stop. They did that to help the brakes keep the truck from making a hasty retreat down the grade. Alta says it was all quite interesting."
About a mile from Black lake, a side road turns north and down the hill. Black Lake creek has decided it likes the road bed here more than its original course for a short distance, so now it feels like you're driving down a river on that road. This road only goes about 200 yards before it ends at another branch of the creek. It was here, between the two branches of Black Lake Creek that Salzer - Ford Company built their gold processing mill in 1901. The mill draped down the side of a sheer rock face just above where the road now ends.
A mile-long tramway was built to carry gold ore to the mill from the "Summit" mine, high above the lake. The community of "Black Lake" had a post office and store and a few year 'round residents. The operations faced numerous obstacles, which led to the abandonment of the property here about 1914. In some unexplained way, the Ford's and Salzer's Idaho Gold Coin Mining and Milling Company ceased to exist. As a result, there was no legal owner willing to take responsibility for all the equipment at the lake. It was simply left in place, as if it would resume production on a moments notice.
It has been estimated that a total of only about about $125,000 in gold was taken out of the mines at Black Lake by the Salzer and Ford partnership. This would have done little more than pay for just one of the mills they built. (The first one burned down.) Winifred Lindsay, on the other hand, said that the company ended without debt.
By 1919, geologists, Livingston and Laney noted that most of the supplies and equipment at Black Lake had already "been stolen or wantonly destroyed."
My father, Dick Fisk, remembers seeing the mill in the 1930s. He said there were hundreds of feet of new rope, cable and eight-inch pipe still there. There were scores of tin cans full of food, but with the labels rotted off, stacked in store rooms. People from all around the area (like Griffith and Van Hoesen) came in and helped themselves to what they could haul out. During World War II, the mill was burned to salvage much needed scrap iron for the war effort.
Continued next week.
Caption for photo of Black Lake Mill:
The Black Lake mill. The cliff on which it was built looks very big here, but it is only about 30 feet high. The tramway ended at the upper end of the complex where the ore was dumped. The ore was processed as it moved down through the mill. The mill was very typical of the design used in those days, including the use of large wooden vats containing cyanide to leach the gold out of the ore.
History Corner 9-16-99
Aside from me, the people along on our hike were Hannes Kury, Michael Richardson, my son Blaine, and my nephew Nathan Lacy. We reached the end of the road, below the old Black Lake mill site at about 11:00 AM and started hiking.
This was the first time I'd every gone on an actual backpacking trip. I've always had horses to do the dirty work. I still have a couple horses, but wanted to see if backpacking was simpler. It is, in some ways, but it's hard work.
The trail, which was originally a road, slants gently down to the east for a few hundred yards, but quickly begins a long climb as it twists around the long, convoluted point of a ridge and heads north. About three miles later, the trail reaches a saddle overlooking a large basin formed by Paradise Creek, a tributary of Rapid River that runs east.
We stood the ridgetop in awe of the view for a few minutes. South of us, Smith mountain stood out against the sky, as it does from almost any viewpoint. To the west, the upper end of the Paradise Creek basin is formed by a dramatic row of solid rock mountains pushed up from the depths of the earth about 5.3 to 1.6 million years ago. "Right after" that (give or take only a few million years), during a period up until about 10,000 years ago, the climate here became wetter and cooler. There were about four ice ages in this period, in which glaciers scooped out most of Idaho's mountain lakes. At least 25 lakes in the Seven Devils area were formed by glaciers.
We pushed on, down a steep set of switchbacks that wound through the effects of a fire that came through here about 1994. The entire basin is filled with dead trees--standing like black and white ghosts--symbols of death and destruction against the green regeneration of life at their feet. As one peers through the depths of this forest of mostly stark white sticks, it's almost like looking through a picket fence--or rows of gravestones--on a green lawn. Before the fire, it would have been difficult to make out the terrain, but now every crease and hump of the basin lays bare to examination.
The trail levels out when it reaches the meadows at Paradise Flat. A sign there says its 4.7 miles to the Black Lake road. It took us three hours to hike it.
In 1932 a man named Phiffer built a cabin and barn on Paradise Flat and supposedly planted a small orchard. He stayed here while prospecting in the area, and planned to file for ownership of the property, but never did. Later the Forest service used the Phiffer cabin and barn as an administration site. When we were there, no sign of a cabin was left, and I couldn't see any fruit trees. It's hard to imagine growing fruit up there. [this is wrong, the homestead was at the mouth of Pardise Creek, far down in elevation.]
We turned up the creek to the west and tried to follow what was left of a road to the site of Iron Springs. One of the first signs that we had reached the place was an ore car sitting on a small flat, with no tailings pile or mine tunnel within sight. A few tool remnants, broken bottle parts and
miscellaneous junk lay scattered here and there as we kept looking.
We finally found the flat where the town of Iron Springs was located. There are no standing buildings remaining there, but you can tell where some of them were. I had a drawing made by someone for the Forest Service, but it didn't seem to correspond to what we found very well.
In 1902 an Ohio man named D.C. Nevin garnered financial support from investors, created the "Iron Springs Company Limited," and began to develop the area along Paradise Creek.
According to several sources the operators of the mining company were little more than Eastern swindlers who only mined the pockets of their investors. The Iron Springs Company started developing their claims and establishing a town site named "Iron Springs" in the summer of 1903, under the management of Charles F. Macey. First a large sawmill and planer were brought in to make lumber for buildings. By that fall, quite a community was forming. It had a store, hotel, seven homes, and a number of other structures housing mining machinery. The store probably contained the Iron Springs post office, which was established on September 10.
Transportation bedeviled all of the Seven Devils mining camps, but Iron Springs was even more remote than most. By November the road from Council was snowed in, and people at Rankin mill (more on that location later) were having supplies brought in by pack trains from Grangeville. Macey had a survey made for a road down Rapid River that would connect with the road between Meadows and Pollock. His reasoning was that the route would be relatively clear of snow all the way to Grangeville in the winter. A few miles of road along Rapid River already existed, and additional construction was started in 1904, but the road was never completed.
More on Iron Springs, etc. next week.
The Museum is now closed for the season, except by appointment. I haven't had time to thank all thevolunteers who gave so generously of their time over the summer, but I will. It would have been impossible to keep the Museum open without them.
History Corner 9-23-99
The "camp" at Iron Springs was strung out along Paradise Creek for about a mile and a quarter, with the mill at the upper end and Paradise Flat at the lower. Paradise Flat was more or less separate from the town of Iron Springs proper, with a distance of about a quarter mile between the two.
There were less than a half-dozen buildings at Paradise Flat, and it was rumored to have been the red light district of Iron Springs. One has to take that with a big grain of salt, first because people tend to highlight brothels whether they actually existed or not. Second, the Seven Devils Mining District in general was not a very rowdy place. Maybe because the place was so isolated and the season was so incredibly short, the men seemed to be pretty serious about getting the work done. The one exception to this sober industriousness in the District may have been consumption of alcohol, but apparently not in Iron Springs.
Liquor was outlawed within Iron Springs, and no work was allowed on Sundays unless there was an emergency or an accident. Reverend J. Edie Stewart (who some say was a crook) pastored the local church. The town had no official cemetery, but there is at least one grave on a small knoll overlooking Paradise Flat. Although a few old timers once knew the location of the grave, there is no record as to exactly where it is, or who is buried there.
In the early spring of 1904 a water-powered generator was installed in Paradise Creek that supplied electricity to the community of Iron Springs. A mine employee said that, "At night, with all three sections of the camp strung out for a mile and lit up, it made a pretty sight back in the heart of this isolated mountain place." We found a few wire insulators and part of what looked like a light switch in the remains of one or two of the buildings.
By 1904 the town had a telephone or two, probably with long distance service as far as Council.
Along the trail between the Black Lake road and Iron Springs we saw one or two insulators still fastened to the trees where the phone wire had been hung. Actually they were not insulators but the threaded, wooden bases that ceramic or glass insulators would have screwed onto.
At the end of 1904 the Iron Springs Consolidated Mining Co. LTD was formed. The company included The Iron Springs Co. Limited, The Pactolian Mining Co. Limited, The Holbrook Mining Co. Limited, a controlling interest in the Iron Mountain Mining and Reduction Co. Limited and numerous other properties located on Rapid River and Bear Creek. The corporation also owned oil and gas fields in Ohio, Pennsylvania and Wyoming.
The next year (1905), the company bought the claims of Hugh Kern (also spelled Curren). Kern was said to have been the first prospector to investigate the Rapid River area. His claims were south of Iron Springs, near Curren Mountain, which is named after him. One story says that Kern sparked the first interest the Rapid River area. He is said to have packed a fifty pound candle box full of gold ore to the Cornucopia mine in Oregon to have it milled. Just that one box yielded $2,500.
The Iron Springs Company also bought the Rankin Mill properties, to the north, in 1905. In the fall of that year, a fifty ton capacity cyanide mill, similar to the one at Black Lake, was brought to Iron Springs. It was installed above the town at the "Iron Chief", the company's principle mine.
More next week.
I would like to thank Ralph & Mary Stephens and Signa & John Hutchison for donations to the Museum in memory of Lyle Harrington. The Hutchisons also made a donation in memory of Ruth Cole. Thank you very much. It sure seems like an fitting way to remember people who are so much a part of local history.
I'm still getting things tied up from this year's Museum season. I need to get thank you letters out to our volunteers who did such a great job. We had a total of 643 visitors, as near as I can tell by the guest book. We had 10 days when nobody came in. Overall, the average was 7.2 visitors per day. On the 3rd of July we had 38 visitors and 88 people toured the place on the 4th.
If anyone has an industrious steak this fall, the Museum needs basalt rocks (lava rocks) to face the cement ramp outside. They should be small enough to lift by hand, and about six to ten inches thick. If they have lichen or moss growing on them, that's wonderful--that's what we want on them eventually. If you are inclined, you can leave them down by the old Museum door someplace. Or, if you have rocks that would work well, I'd appreciate a call as to their location and availability. This is going to be a big job. I don't know when we'll get to it. Of course any volunteer muscle and / or brain power would be very appreciated when the time comes.
Caption for photos:
These photos were taken at Iron Springs from about the same place--one about 1900 and the other just over a month ago during our hike. The mountains in the background are the only things that haven't changed. Both are looking west. We looked for a long time, trying to find the rock in the foreground of the old photo. It seemed like it would be a simple job, but we couldn't find it.
All that remains of the buildings are a few boards and scattered debris.
History Corner 9-30-99
J. Barton Webb came to work at Iron Springs in 1905. Years later, when interviewed by an Idaho Statesman reporter, Webb had this to say about Iron Springs:
"Typical of many towns in those days it was laid out in three sections which ran uphill. The first contained a large general store and post office. There were also a few houses close by this main building."
"On the next level, and quite high up, was the assay office, saw mill, and a large barn. Here also was the hotel, a two story structure which had a lobby and dining room which would seat about 60 or 70 people, and the kitchen which housed two huge wood ranges. Adjacent to the hotel was a large storehouse."
"The higher level of the town was where the mine was located. A large two-story building housed the hoist for the 3,000 foot shaft, and of course the engine and the boiler. Electricity was generated here for the whole camp and mine. At one side stood the blacksmith and tool shop."
"[That summer of 1905] it was necessary to shovel 10 feet of the snow out of the pass that led to
Iron Springs via Black Lake. The job was necessary as six stagecoaches carrying stockholders from the East had to get to the mine by the Fourth of July. The holiday was celebrated by substituting dynamite, supplied by the company, for the firecrackers."
"Mail was delivered twice a week to Iron Springs and daily except Sundays elsewhere. Meat for the mining camp was supplied by the Rhodes Cattle Company who operated a slaughter house west of Pollock."
The twice a week mail service Webb mentioned was provided by Pete Kramer's stage line. Pollock at that time was the principle town in the area of the Salmon and Little Salmon Rivers, and was much bigger than Riggins. Before a road was built to Black Lake, Pollock was the main supply point for Iron Springs, Rankin Mill, Black Lake, and Wine Camp. Around 1900, and for many years afterwards, Pollock was located at its original site at the mouth of Rapid River, north of the present site of Pollock.
I mentioned Wine Camp because it was listed with the information about Pollock being its supply point, but I don't know anything about the place. If anyone out there can fill me in, I would really appreciate it.
It's interesting to note that to reach Iron Springs, Webb traveled by team and wagon "up Rapid River to the end of the road some 15 miles west of Pollock." From here, it was a long day's walk to Iron Springs. When he arrived on May 2nd, there was two feet of snow on the ground.
According to one source, in addition to the establishments already mentioned, there was also a livery stable and a saloon at Iron Springs. At its peak, there were about thirty homes. Because of the heavy snow in that area, many of the houses had covered walkways leading to the outhouses and woodsheds.
The town was established enough by 1906 to have a Justice of the Peace and a constable. But behind the scenes, the Iron Springs Mining Company had gone bankrupt. Over the next year, the community went down hill rapidly, and by 1908 the camp was deserted.
Because the Iron Springs company was linked to so many of the operations in the Seven Devils, their failure deeply effected both the economy and the general mood of the entire area very negatively.
There was a Forest Service Ranger Station at Iron Springs as early as 1912. In 1932 a man named Phiffer built a cabin and barn on Paradise Flat and planted a small orchard. He stayed here while prospecting in the area, and planned to file for ownership of the property, but never did. Later the Forest service used the Phiffer cabin and barn as an administration site.
We didn't notice any sign of fruit trees at Paradise Flat. I can't imagine them growing at that elevation. [WRONG!!! The Ranger Station as at the MOUTH of Pardise Creek—much lower in elevation!]
Continued next week.
Caption for photo:
The mill at Iron Springs. We didn't find its location on our hike. There aren't many clues in the photo to indicate just where it sat. To the right of the left building is a huge pile of firewood.
Like many of the mines in the Seven Devils district, the Iron Springs mining operation lost money for virtually everyone involved with it. Whether it was simply an elaborate scam, as many claimed, is not clear; but in its several years of operation it is said that not one shipment of ore ever left Iron Springs.
History Corner 10-7-99
After looking around Iron Springs and Paradise Flat, our group debated whether we had the energy to go on to Rankin Mill that day. We decided it might be too far, but we would go at least part way.
The trail out of Pardise Flat to the north is not very plain and we immediately lost track of it. I found a place where someone long ago had laid down small logs to form a "corduroy road" over a wet spot, but there was no trail in evidence there. After we floundered up a steep hill through acres of down timber, Nathan finally climbed way up the hill and found the trail. We had probably crossed it but hadn't recognized it. It certainly had no resemblance to a road. I assume the trail doesn't follow the old road on that hillside.
We hiked about a mile before we found a semi-bare ridge with water nearby. We spent the night there. The next morning we got started about 8:00 AM, leaving our backpacks at camp. It felt like our feet had springs without that extra weight.
Only about a half mile or so from camp, we climbed over a small ridge and out of the burned area. Suddenly everything was green. Nathan commented, "Maybe now we'll start seeing some game." He had hardly finished speaking when I looked down into a basin about a hundred yards away and saw a seven point bull elk looking at us. He didn't stick around long, but seconds later we saw other elk going through the trees, and heard them calling to each other. In a small meadow ahead of us, again about 100 yards away, several spike bulls and a "rag horn" or two paraded out into the open and stared at us intently--torn between fear and curiousity. One had been in a wallow, and was covered with mud from head to toe. They stood and looked at us for a minute or two, and then disappeared into the timber. We saw a total of seven elk--all bulls. This was only about a week before the rut was due to start and bow season would open, so those guys probably didn't hang around together much longer.
About a mile from camp we came to Holbrook Saddle. A sign there said Rankin Mill was 4 miles away. It was all downhill, but the trail had not been maintained in years. There was down timber everywhere, like a giant game of "pick-up sticks." It was exhausting work.
The trail simply follows the West Fork of Rapid River, almost in a straight line down to the Northwest until the creek connects with the larger river. At several places along the way we found telephone line lying on the ground beside the trail. At one point, it was still fastened to a standing tree where it had been attached almost 100 years ago.
At about 11:00 AM, and about 3 hours from camp, the trail crossed the creek and suddenly we were at "Rand," a community associated with Rankin Mill. Here we found the half-rotted remains of four or five cabins and two log out-houses. On down the trail a quarter mile or so was the old Rankin Mill site, which had an abundance of interesting things to see.
The story of Rankin Mill parallels that of Iron Springs. Both camps were being developed at about the same time, and eventually had the same owners.
Not long after the Ford brothers built the road to Black Lake in 1900, H.D. Rankin appeared on the scene. Rankin, a chemist from Pittsburg, Pennsilvania, had invented a machine that could make nitric acid by combining the molecules of air and water by means of an electrical charge. Nitric acid was used in a leeching process to extract gold from gold bearing ore, and Rankin's main objective would seem not to have been to make his fortune by merely mining gold. He was an ambitious business man, and the principle stockholder in the Rankin Chemical Reduction Company based in Chicago, which reportedly had assetts worth about $10 million. If he could find a place to prove that his nitric acid making device would be a practical part of gold mining operations, he could revolutionize the industry. Then, as became a familiar theme in the Seven Devils, he could find his pot of gold in the pockets of investors in his company stock rather than in the ground.
Rankin agreed to buy several mines on the West Fork of Rapid River, about 6 miles north of Iron Springs, from the Potter brothers, Tom, George, and Jim; and Jim Ross. The Star, Jackley and Champion mines were the principle claims. When the Iron Springs Compnay built a road into its claims in 1902 Rankin built a road from his holdings to connect with it.
Rankin's operation in the Seven Devils was called the Rankin General Milling Company. At a cost of $50,000, he built an ore mill, a nitric acid "factory" and a hydroelectric plant to power them and provide lighting. Rankin was evidently in such a hurry to get his operation going that he had some of the equipment brought into this remote location in the dead of winter. The Cambridge newspaper for Jan 9, 1903 reported that the Rankin Mill machinery had made it as far as Black Lake. The paper said the job had taken fifty horses to get it through snow up to fifty feet deep.
Continued next week.
History Corner 10-14-99
Before I get back to the story of Rankin Mill, I got some more info on Iron Springs. Bob Davis tells me there were some buildings left there before the fire went through there in the early '90s. What must have been the house of the man who tried to homestead at Paradise Flat stood a couple hundred yards east of where the trail hits the flat. The roof was caved in, but some of the walls were more or less upright.
Bob said a mine shaft is a quarter mile or more on up the creek from the flat where the buildings were at Iron Springs. It's all caved in, but still forms quite a crater. This is probably where the buildings with all the wood stacked next to them were located. There is what remains of a tunnel farther up the basin, and a big tailings pile. The tunnel is not open, and water runs out of where the opening was. The water is rust-colored because of its high iron content, and has formed terraces where iron deposits from the water have built up.
Now back to Rankin Mill.
About a quarter mile up stream from Rankin's mill, a small community sprang up where about 55 Rankin employees lived. The little town was named "Rand", evidently after a man by that name. A post office under that name was established in the fall of 1903. Ruth Lake (about 2 miles south of Rankin Mill) was named after Mr. Rand's daughter, Ruth Rand, who was the first child born in the town. A Forest Service sign once identified the site as "Old Town", but it was not known by that name during its active existence. Not much is known about the town, except that it also had a hotel and a blacksmith shop. The community received its mail by way of Pollock, and supplies often came by pack train from Grangeville.
The first cabin ruins we came to were at the old site of Rand. Like most old log structures, they were rotting from the bottom up, from the dampness of the ground. One thing that I'd never seen before that these cabins had was stone chimneys. At least part of the chimneys were stone. In one cabin the old stove pipe still stuck through the wall into the pile of stones on the outside of the log wall. There were at least two small, log structures that someone from the Forest Service identified as outhouses.
In September of 1903, area newspapers reported, "These facts have been made evident by a short test run made at the Rankin mill on Rapid river Monday evening, when, in the absence of a lot of necessary machinery, 50 pounds of nitric acid, the main reducing agent, sufficient to reduce 2 ½ tons of ore, was manufactured from the air we breathe, in one hour and fifteen minutes, and the fact was also demonstrated that ore can be reduced at a cost of less than two mills per pound. The success of the Rankin process will make it possible for every mine of any value to be worked at a profit. The mine owner can do the work himself if necessary and will not need more than a week's grub stake to start in with."
The following January, the Weiser Signal claimed that Rankin had produced 500 pounds of Nitric acid in only thirty minutes. As so often was the case in the Seven Devils, much of the acclaim about the success of Rankin's process was exaggeration or outright falsehood. Much of the hyperbole was no doubt supplied to the newspapers by Rankin himself. For one thing, the equipment needed was not simple or cheap. Just the ditch and flume to bring water power to the machinery at Rankin's mill was over a mile long and must have cost more than "a week's grub stake."
Only a month after the Signal's fantastic claims about how much nitric acid Rankin was producing, it reported that the power the electric plant could generate was insufficient to run all of his equipment. Rankin had enough power for his acid factory and lighting, but not enough for the ore mill. This, however, may have only been what Rankin told the paper in trying to save face and the faith of investors in his invention.
It is probable that Rankin didn't have enough voltage to make nitric acid all along. Nitric acid (HNO/3) is composed of hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen. Hydrogen makes up 11.1% of water, and is easily combined with oxygen, which composes 21% of earth's atmosphere. Nitrogen, on the other hand, is much harder to extract from the air. Even though it makes up 78% of our atmosphere, it takes a very powerful surge of electricity, such as a lightening bolt, to link together the oxygen and nitrogen as Rankin claimed to have done.
If anyone out there knows more about if or how nitrogen can be manmade, or if anyone has contrary information, please let me know!
My sincere thanks to Lyle and Barbara Sall for a nice truck load of top soil for the space south of the Museum! We really needed it. I hope we can get some landscaping done there by next summer.
Now we need someone to spread the dirt out with a tractor.
History Corner 10-21-99
The problems with his nitric acid mill were not the only clouds in H.D. Rankin's sky. He still hadn't paid for the claims he had taken over. By early 1904, the Potter brothers were tired of waiting to be paid. They locked up the Star mine which was only about 150 yards above the mill, stood at the mine entrance with rifles, and would not let Rankin's employees remove any ore. (In the Feb 6, 1904 issue of the Weiser Signal, Jim Potter said this story was false.) The confrontation wound up in court, and the Potters and their partner, Jim Ross, won the case. Apparently this was too much for Rankin.
In the summer of 1904, the post office closed and everything was abandoned where it sat. It is said that Rankin walked out of Rapid River with nothing but the clothes on his back. But Rankin was not totally defeated. It was later reported that he had a large nitric acid making plant in Joliet, Illinois, and was planning one at Salt Lake City.
In 1905, the Iron Springs Company bought out the Rankin Mill properties. The ore mill was converted into a more traditional cyanide plant.
When the Iron Springs company went under, the Rankin camp was again abandoned. The wagon road to Rankin Mill soon deteriorated, as there was no reason to maintain it. Because the area was so remote the buildings and equipment at Rankin's diggings were left mostly undisturbed. As late as the early 1950s several of the buildings were still standing.
In researching Rankin Mill, I had read in a paper written in 1984, that an or car still sat on the rails running out of the Star mine. I envisioned something quite different than what we found. There was an ore car, and there were rails coming out of a collapsed tunnel, but the car was lying on its side and brush was growing up through everything so thickly that it was hard to see much.
Let me try to describe the Rankin mill area as it is today. First, the trail (old road) comes down a narrow, densely forested canyon. Just after the trail crosses from the east side of the creek to the west side, there is a flat, still densely wooded, where the remains of the community of Rand can be found. There is an opening in the trees at the north edge of Rand, and a trail branches off to the southwest, up another branch of Rapid River. This trail was once a wagon road to a mining claim.
The trial tops out near Carbonate Hill, south of Horse Heaven. The trail continuing down Rapid River goes north through thick trees and brush, with the creek down a steep drop to the right and a hill rising up on the left. About a quarter mile past Rand, what must be the Star mine tunnel (along with the ore car) sits right at the edge of the trail on the left side. The tracks once went right across the trail to a tailings pile that slopes down to the creek.
About 150 yards past the tunnel, we came to a flat that must have been man-made. This was the site of Rankin's Mill. From the old photo, you can see that the flat used to be open. Now it is covered with small fir trees. The first artifact we came to was the remains of an old wagon. The front wheels, the tongue and some of the frame were fairly intact. Next came two flattened buildings, side by side.
I don't know what they were for. It seems remarkable that so much is left of them after almost 100 years. Lying about this area were pipes--about three inches in diameter-- running here and there. I saw at least one shutoff valve, and a couple sections of pipe made of thick rubberized canvas.
Just a stone's throw past the first two buildings are the remains of the mill itself. The same source in which I read about the ore car said that the site of the blacksmith shop, remains of the hearth and the metal frame of the bellows were still in evidence. Remains of the blacksmith shop are there, but if I hadn't had a sketch of the layout of the camp I wouldn't have known what it was. I didn't see any bellows frame or anything I was sure was a hearth. Up the hill in the superintendent's quarters there was a wood cook stove. One wall of this building was still more or less upright.
What's left of the mill is, like all the other buildings, just a flat pile of boards. The pile is lying up and down a steep hillside and covers and area about 30 yards square. There are a number of interesting items among the ruins. There are a couple of iron machines that I couldn't identify, various pipes and hoses, and the neck of a very large, green, glass jug.
Sitting in a row, from one side of the mill to the other are the remains of the cyanide tanks that were used to leach gold out of the ore. All that is left of the wooden tanks are piles of round bands that overlap at their threaded ends where they go through a device where nuts were tightened to constrict them around the tanks. They were not unlike a barrel with the metal bands to hold the side boards together. This is the same way the siphons in the Mesa flume were constructed. The tanks at Rankin's mill were about ten feet across and topped with a lid of wooden lattice for some reason.
Just above the mill are several iron pipes about three inches in diameter, several lengths of ore car rail, and some cable. All of these had never been used and were lying in piles as if someone had meant to install them soon.
On the hillside above the mill is an ore crib that seems to sit in a collapsed tunnel entrance. I'm not sure about the story there.
You have to be there to appreciate the remoteness of Rankin Mill. It seems incongruous to see this amount of heavy machinery and so many buildings here. It's remoteness is the very reason there is so much left there; it was simply too remote to be worthwhile for anyone to haul things out.
After we looked around the place and took pictures it was time to face reality; we were a long way from home. At 11:22 we hit the trail. I think it was something like 1600 vertical feet back up to Holbrook Saddle, then back down to our camp for a quick lunch, and on down to Paradise Flat. I'm not sure what all the elevations are now, but it's enough to say that we were climbing or descending more than a thousand feet each time we hiked from one drainage to the next. The abrupt climb out of Paradise Flat was a killer. By this time our out-of-shape muscles were tired and our feet were sore. It always seems farther back to the pickup than it was going in.
We reached the pickup at about 6:30. It felt soooo good to sit down in those padded, reclining seats. Two hours later we were home, with "hot and cold running electricity" as a friend of mine once called it.
That's the end of the account of our adventure. I hope you enjoyed it.
Captions for photos:
#1-- Looking north at the view one would have seen arriving at Rankin Mill in the early 1900s. This is the little flat I mentioned. The old wagon frame is sitting right in front of where the camera must have been to take this picture. The flat is now overgrown with small fir tress, except for where the buildings lie. There are two buildings here, although it's hard to make them out; one is directly beyond the other. They were about the same size and shape and stood side by side. The mill can be seen in the background on the left.
#2-- Rankin's mill. Again, looking north. Like other mills of its day, ore was dumped into the upper part and was processed as it came down from one level to another.
#3--This machine, measuring about four feet across, lies in the middle of the mill ruins. It looks like some kind of grinder, with flywheels on both sides. It must have been a job hauling it in here with a wagon over horrible roads.
10-28-99
Caption for map: I had a request to include a map of the area I've been writing about in the last few columns, so here it is. For those of you who aren't familiar with the area, Cuprum, at the lower left, is about 50 miles (by road) northwest of Council. One doesn't need to go through
Cuprum to get to Black Lake; it's shorter through the community of Bear, down to the right of Cuprum and off the map.
Imagine growing up hearing stories about the small Idaho town where your father was
raised. Imagine that 40 years later you get a chance to visit that town and you find a street
named after your father, another street with your last name, other streets named after close
relatives, an organized effort to preserve a building associated with your family, and the house where your father grew up being saved as a historic landmark. That's exactly what happened to someone I met recently.
On October 5 I got a call from Morris Krigbaum in New Meadows. He said that
Harold Heigho, Edgar Heigho's grandson, was in town. The Historical Society up there was
having a brunch with him at the old Heigho mansion that morning, and the invitation was
extended to me so I went up ton see if I could glean a few scraps of history.
Edgar M. Heigho (pronounced Hi-ho) was the best known and liked of any official of
the Pacific and Idaho Northern Railroad which ran between Weiser and New Meadows.
Heigho was born in Essex, England in 1867, and he came to the U.S. as a seven year old boy in 1874. According to his grandson, Harold, the name Heigho originally comes from Italy. He said three Heigho brothers left England at the same time. Edgar and George came to the US and the other brother went to Australia. Harold didn't know what precipitated their simultaneous
departure from England.
By age 11 Edgar was supporting himself as an office boy at the Detroit Free Press. He
got his first railroad job at age 15, and later worked as a surveyor. According to Harold,
sometime in the late 1800s Edgar fought in the Indian Wars in Arizona. He was also involved in labor union riots in Chicago and was shot in the leg--a wound which bothered him the rest of his life.
At some point Edgar married Nora Gwin, and they homesteaded in Jackson Hole,
Wyoming. The winters there were too severe, and they eventually gave up the homestead. To make ends meet, they didn't slaughter any of their cattle for their own use, but ate wild game instead. After that, Edgar wouldn't allow wild game on his table because they had had to live on it during such hard times.
Edgar began working for the Oregon Short Line Railroad in Salt Lake City in 1899. The
Heigho's first child, a son named Cedric, was born there in 1901. Edgar was employed by the P.& I.N. at Weiser in 1903 as the company's auditor, but so impressed his superiors that he
became Vice President and General Manager the next year. In 1904 twin daughters, Katherine and Virginia, were born to the Heighos. Edgar resigned from the P&IN in 1909, but was asked to come back to the company as president in 1910.
Heigho became well known throughout Idaho because of his activities in Republican
politics. He was appointed to the staff of Governor Gooding, and became a colonel in the Idaho National Guard while on the staff of Governor Brady in 1909. From then on he was known as
"Colonel" Heigho.
Heigho named several P.& I.N. locomotives after the female members of his family, and
had their names painted on the sides of the tenders. Engine 102 was dubbed "Virginia", 103 was "Katherine", 104 was "Nora", and 105 was named "Margaret" after his aunt.
Colonel Heigho was involved in many aspects of life in this area. He was also president
of the Central Idaho Telegraph and Telephone Company, vice-president and director of the
Weiser National Bank, director of the Meadows Valley Bank, and was involved with the
Washington County Land and Development Company.
Heigho left his most indelible legacy as president of the Coeur d'Or Development
Company which owned and developed the New Meadows townsite. He was very instrumental
in designing the layout of the town, especially in the placement and design of its principle brick buildings. Several streets bear the names of Heigho family members: Nora, Cedric, Virginia and Katherine.
A 53-room, brick hotel called the "Hotel Heigho" cost $56,000 to build in 1911. It was
a landmark in New Meadows, described as one of the finest hotels in Idaho, until it burned
down in 1929. I'm told it was located just south of where the highways intersect now in New Meadows, and it faced west toward the depot. Heigho's luxurious former home in the northeast part of town, also built in 1911, is now the "Heartland Inn." It sits on the east side of Highway 95, just north of the above-mentioned intersection.
Harold had never been to New Meadows before, and didn't really know what would be left of the legacy of his grandparents. He stopped at the information center at the 45th parallel and was pleasantly surprised to see information about he "historic Heigho mansion" in New
Meadows. He checked into the Inn, and word spread that he was in town. Before he knew it, a brunch was scheduled for the next morning, featuring him as the guest of honor. Half a dozen members of the Adams County Historical Society, whose chief project is restoration of the old railroad depot in New Meadows, attended. Harold was overwhelmed with how well-known his family's story was, the street names, the depot, etc.
I'll continue with this story next week. In the meantime, I'd like to remind you that Don
Dopf and I are writing a book about the history of the P&IN railroad and would appreciate any photos or good stories you might have about this line.
11-4-99 – Heigho continued.
According the family lore, Edgar Heigho went to Henry Colt (of the Colt Firearms Company) for financial backing to build the P&IN. Shortly after obtaining Colt's backing, Heigho became president of the P&IN. The story sounds unlikely because construction started on the P&IN before Heigho even came to Idaho. I suppose it is possible that Colt was involved in financing the final stretch to New Meadows. This would not, however coincide with Heigho's becoming president of the company. Regardless of the accuracy of the story, there is a Colt Street in new Meadows.
One of the most bizarre incidents involving Heigho occurred August 4, 1910. He became involved in a fist fight that resulted in a fatality. Ironically, the person who died was not one of the combatants. A woman who witnessed the battle became so distrought that she died of a heart attack. Harold Heigho remembers his father, Cedric, talking about that fight. He thought Edgar had knocked the man through a restaurant window from the outside. The lady who had the heart attack was sitting at a table inside, near where the man landed. Harold thought his grandfather faced possible murder charges for the death of the woman. Evidently no charges were filed.
[Note made later: Heigho was arrested and charged with manslaughter because his actions had directly led to her death. The Idaho Supreme Court was asked to rule as to whether Heigho could actually be tried for manslaughter, but they decided it should be up to a jury. Evidently the case never went to trial.]
The P&IN underwent sever financial problems in the 1910s, and the strain took a heavy toll on Edgar Heigho. In 1917 he was stricken by the first of a series of devastating strokes.12
He later wrote: "In November 1917, while at work in my office on a plan for the reorganization of the railway, I suffered a severe stroke of paralysis which for two months all but destroyed my sight, made my right arm and leg useless and seriously affected my vocal organs. . . ."13
Heigho soon resumed work against his doctor's orders. In September 1918 he suffered an almost complete physical breakdown and resigned as general manager, but remained president. In 1919 he gave up that position due to his health. In a melancholy farewell published in the Adams County Leader he said, "It is needless to say that it is with deep grief and infinite regret that I disassociate myself from what has been almost literally my life work, abandon my home and hearth in one of the loveliest valleys on earth, and leave the locality in which my children were born and where we had hoped to spend our days surrounded by a prosperous commonwealth, happy in having achieved the maximum of possible development, in which I might feel that I had a part."14 Colonel Heigho died seven years later, in 1926.
Cedric Heigho told stories of growing up in New Meadows. He remembered Indians camping in the fields behind the Heigho house where he would play with the Indian children. Cedric joined the Marine Corps in 1918. His father didn't want him to make a career in the Marines, and used his influential connections t9 make it impossible for him to reenlist when his enlistment was up. Cedric resented this bitterly and broke off all contact with his father. Since he couldn't reenlist in the Marines, he joined the Army. Hist Army career included service during WWII and Korea. Cedric had two children: Harold, born 1950, and a daughter, Nora. Harold now lives in Carmichael, California, which is basically a suburb of Sacramento.
Katherine and Virginia both married prominent men from the East. Virginia married Ted Yntema (I'm not certain of the spelling), an economics professor at Northwestern University who later became the vice president of General Motors. Katherine married Mel Chambers, a senior partner in a Manhattan law firm.
Nora Heigho (Edgar's wife) was a very strong-willed woman, and Harold said there was no doubt in his mind who ran the household. She was educated in the eastern U.S. And had come West seeking adventure. After Edgar's death, she left new Meadows. In her later years, after WWII, she lived in Mel and Katherine's “farm” in Connecticut. Harold wasn't sure if she died there, but seemed to think so. She died in 1967.
Harold thought the family might not have owned the home in new Meadows; it may have belonged to the P&IN, or more likely the Coeur d'Or Development Company.
11-11-99 – General ramblings about history
11-19-99 – Continued from last week
11-25- 1999 – Continuation.
History Corner 12-2-99
Rita Blevins sent me more information about charges brought against Edgar Heigho when a woman died after witnessing a fight between Heigho and another man.
The information is from the records of the Idaho Supreme Court, Volume 18, pages 566 - 577. The date given is October 1, 1910. The following is a quote from the record as to the events leading to a charge of manslaughter against Colonel Heigho.
"The facts disclosed by the evidence are in substance as follows: On the 4th day of August, 1910, at Weiser, Washington County, the petitioner, Edward M. Heigho, hearing that one J.W. Barton had made remarks derogatory to the petitioner's character, called one of his employees, Frank Miller, and requested him to accompany petitioner to the residence of Barton. Heigho and Miller went to Barton's residence about 7:00 o'clock in the evening, ascended the front porch, and Heigho rang he doorbell. Mr. Sylvia Reigleman, the mother-in-law of Barton, was living at the Barton residence, and was in a bedroom at the front of the house, and immediately off from adjoining the reception room or hallway, at the time the doorbell rang, Barton responded to the call, and, as he passed through the front room and was about to open the front door, Mrs. Reigleman, who was then near him, exclaimed, "he has a gun." Barton stepped out of the door and found Heigho standing on the front porch with a gun, commonly called a revolver or pistol, hanging in a holster or scabbard which was strapped about his body. Miller stood by the side of Heigho. Heigho asked Barton some questions as to the statements Barton had been making about him, and upon Barton asserting that he had not told anything that was not true or not common talk in the town, Heigho struck him in the face with his fist, and Barton staggered back, and fell into the wire netting on the screendoor. Barton did not rise for a few seconds, and in the meanwhile his wife came and assisted him to arise. Heigho and Miller backed off the porch and stood in front of the doorway. Barton advanced on Heigho and struck him a couple of blows, whereupon they clinched, and the wife interfered and separated them, and ordered Heigho and Miller off the premises. Mrs. Reigleman was at this time at the door crying, and had been heard to say a time or two, "He will kill you," or "He has a gun." Barton and wife immediately mounted the porch where Mrs. Reigleman was on her knees, resting against and over
the banister, apparently unable to rise. She remarked to Barton that she was dying, and again
repeated something about "him having a gun." She began spitting a bloody froth and rattling in the chest. A physician was called, and was unable to give her any relief, and she died inside of about 30 minutes from the time of the appearance of Heigho on the front porch. The physician who attended her made a post-mortem examination, and testified that she had an aneurysm of the ascending aorta, and this had ruptured into the superior vena cava and caused her death. He said that the excitement was one of three principal caused that will produce such a result. Heigho was therefore arrested and the charge of manslaughter in causing the death of Mrs. Reigleman by terror and fright while he was engaged in the commission of an unlawful act not amounting to a felony."
In a letter to me, Rita said, "The Barton mentioned was my cousin, John Wesley "Wes" Barton who started his banking career in Weiser, going on to become State Bank Examiner, and later as the president of a bank in Minneapolis, MN. The Barton home was on West Court Street here, and is in the Register of Historical Homes."
Rita also explained that there were two banks in Weiser at that time. One was the Weiser National Bank, where Heigho served on the board of directors. The other was the First National Bank, where Ed Barton (another of Rita's cousins) was president and where Wes Barton worked. Rita says, "Whether there was rivalry that caused the fight I do not know, and sadly there is no way I can find the answer as all concerned are gone, and there are no younger ones who know."
With excerpts from the Supreme Court record, and some help from Judge Peart (which included a photocopy of the ten-page account of the hearing) I was able to sort out the basic legalities of the case. First, the process of getting the case before the Supreme Court was not a long drawn out one, like some cases that take years to make it to that level.
The prosecuting attorneys--.L. Richards, Prosecuting Attorney, (evidently for Washington County), and B.S. Varian, and Hawley, Pucket and Hawley for the State--applied for a Writ of Habeas Corpus from the Idaho Supreme Court. This, in essence, asked that the Court find that there was sufficient legal grounds to prosecute Heigho for manslaughter.
Part of the evidence considered was the law defining manslaughter. Part of the definition under Idaho law reads, ". . . a prosecution for manslaughter may be had where death of a human being has been caused or accomplished through fright, fear, terror, or nervous shock produced by the accused while in the commission of an unlawful act, even though the accused made no hostile demonstration and directed no overt act at the person of the deceased. It would seem that in some instances force or violence may be applied to the mind or nervous system as effectually as to the body."
Heigho was represented by Harris (probably Frank Harris of Weiser) and Smith and N.M. Ruick. Their basic argument was that Heigho was not committing an "unlawful act" when the death occurred, and therefore could not be prosecuted for manslaughter.
Several precedent-setting cases were quoted, but none fit the exact circumstances of the Heigho case. The Court decided that it would not issue an opinion on the case and ruled that a jury should determine whether or not Heigho could be legally tried for manslaughter. Heigho was remanded to the custody of the Washington County sheriff.
Exactly what happened after that I don't know. Records of a trial might be found in Washington County records. In any case, it doesn't seem that Heigho was convicted of any serious crime. It would have been front page news in all the local newspapers, and I've never seen anything about it. Also, Heigho continued as the President and general manager of the P&IN Railroad.
History Corner 12-9-99
After a few weeks of finding other interesting things to write about, I'm returning to the old Adams County Leaders. Before I get started on the last of the 1920 issues, I'm happy to report that Shirley Rogers has given the Museum all the old back issues of the Leader that she had in the office. They are all (or nearly all) on microfilm, so there wasn't any danger of losing the whole legacy, but we're so glad to have the privilege of preserving them. The unfortunate reality of old newspapers is that newspapers were (and still are) printed on an inexpensive paper that has a fair amount of acid in it, so it eats itself up over time. There is no practical way to keep old newspapers intact forever.
The other day, I was sorting through the Leaders from the 1980s. That was just yesterday, and yet even in that short time, so much has changed for some of us. The sawmill was providing rumblings, clanging, banging and shrill whistles as a background to life in Council. Added to this was the low rumble of a diesel engine idling on the tracks, or occasionally its air horn piercing the air. The Pomona Hotel was not what it used to be, but even as a feed store, this unique historic building continued to be a source of local pride. Our children were younger, our parents were younger—we were all younger. Friends and relatives were with us that are with us no more. For the most part, we took all these things for granted. The book of life turns a single page, and the way things were becomes only a fond memory.
I left off at the November 19, 1920 issue of the Leader.
"A second dray line has been established in Council, with Earl Fuller as proprietor." I'm not
absolutely sure, but Earl Fuller might be W.E. Fuller who was the local veterinarian, appointed deputy state veterinarian in this area in 1915. In 1919 Fuller was deputy sheriff, and resigned as justice of the peace and county brand inspector because state law wouldn't allow him to hold those positions and serve as deputy sheriff at the same time.
"On Tuesday evening Messers. Bert Hagar and Clyde Rush returned from a successful deer hunting trip."
"After having spent a few days in Council, Mr. and Mrs. John McGinley have returned to Boise where they will remain during the winter."
"Because of improvement in the butter market the Council Creamery has increased the price for butterfat to fifty-four cents."
Some of you will appreciate the significance of this little note in the "Short Notes of the Week"
Column: "Mr. and Mrs. Alcorn arrived here this week from Montana and have become permanent residents of Council, Mr. Alcorn having purchased the Council Pharmacy from his brother-in-law, L. Griffith." [For a short time, Mr. Griffith was partners with Dr. Wm. Brown in owning Starkey Hot Springs. His brother-in-law, Alva Alcorn bought Griffith's the drug store--the brick building still prominent today on the corner of Illinois Avenue and Galena Street. Charles Winkler married Alcorn's daughter, Esther, and became the pharmacist at the store for many years. When Alva Alcorn died in 1944, Charlie took over the entire operation. Charlie and his drug store became a Landmarks for several generations of people here. The old drug store (which was in business until about 1970) now houses Bear Country Books and the Hearland Inn. Charles Winkler, of course, was very influential in preserving the collection that has now become the Council Valley Museum.
"Mr. and Mrs. J.E. Mickleson and family moved to Nyssa last week Monday, where they have winter quarters. They and others connected with the Deseret Sheep Co. began moving the flocks several weeks ago. Aaron Anderson, Chas. Poynor and Roy Shaw are helping them through." I've heard people talk about the Deseret Ranch near Council. I suppose the old Deseret Cabin at the head of East Fork had something to do with that outfit.
November 26 issue:
"The infant of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Jackson died and was buried Thursday in the Indian Valley cemetery."
"The Gray's Creek school started again this Monday morning, after a five-weeks vacation on account of smallpox."
"Dr. I.S. Carter and Miss Mary Hoover were married at Shoshone, Idaho, on Nov. 18."
Will Hanson and Frank Peck have bought the livery and dray business of C.L. Ham and Sons.
Fred Cool is the county chairman of the Red Cross.
"We are asked to state that the Council Valley Club will give a smoker [boxing matches] at the I.O.O.F. Hall next Monday evening, to which all men of the community are invited. It is expected that at least one out -of-town speaker will be present. Refreshments will be served and it is hoped that the gathering, which will be of a community get-together character, will be particularly pleasant."
Have you seen the big Mesa apple box label on the Museum yet? It really adds to the appearance of the building! A great big thank you goes to Larry Russell and all the kids who helped with it. I understand that Economy Roofing donated some part of the materials used for it too, so thanks Ken and Marion!
History Corner 12-16-99
Adams County Leader, December 3, 1920
Indian Valley. "The cook- and bunkhouses belonging to Alvin Anderson at his saw-mill was destroyed by fire Saturday evening. They had left the mill about three o'clock in the afternoon to return to their home four miles away, and at six the fire was discovered, but too late to save anything. Five beds and all the kitchen equipment was destroyed."
"Last year the coyote's hide was worth up to twenty dollars, and he was therefore a much desired animal. Today that hide, if particularly large and of good quality, will bring six or seven dollars. Extra large beaver skins sold last year by the state at up to fifty dollars are said to be now worth but ten or twelve." I wonder how much those dollar amounts would be in today's money.
"Speaking of mud; we have all the qualifications for a spring break-up. the roads have neither top nor bottom." You have to remember that roads were not paved or cleared of snow in those days. Some County roads had a gravel surface, but many did not. In the spring, there was a difficult period when people had to choose between vehicles with runners or those with wheels. Neither worked very well sometimes. Having "neither top nor bottom" is a perfect description of a road too muddy to support a vehicle on its surface, and with goo so deep it seems to have no bottom.
"Mrs. *Oreana M. Hubbard, county superintendent, has been making official visitation of the [Meadows] Valley's schools. Her itinerary included district No. 83 in the Little Salmon canyon where Adams and Idaho counties border." Have you seen the nice exhibit that Gayle Dixon made at the Museum? It shows the location of every Adams County school that existed that we know of.
[*Correct spelling is Oriana.]
New Meadows news: "The newly organized lodges, Modern Woodmen of America and Royal Neighbors staged a very successful dance and auction box supper Thanksgiving evening. Each organization realized a nice sum for its treasury department." This is such a typical news item of that time and earlier. Social organizations were very popular; there must have been a dozen of them in this area. Before TV, or even radio, people socialized more, and in a more organized way.
Births: To Mr. and Mrs. Floy [Floyd?] Shaw, Tamarack, a girl, born Nov. 18. To Mr. and Mrs. Ora Bush, Council, a boy, born Nov. 29.
December 10 issue:
"Effective last Saturday, Boise, Nampa, Caldwell and practically the entire Boise valley adopted mountain time. The move was made in defiance of a recent ruling of the Interstate Commerce Commission and means that the clocks have been turned ahead one hour from Pacific, or standard time. It will be recalled that this change was adopted in Council some time ago, but did not meet with the general favor of our farmers. Whether this district will fall in line with the plan adopted by the state's capital city remains to be determined."
The Surgeon General released final statistics on casualties of WWI. "A total of 34,249 U.S. soldiers were killed, and 224,089 wounded. "The proportion of killed to wounded is about the same as in the civil war although mortality from gunshot wounds in the world war was only 8.26 per cent as compared with 13.6 per cent in the civil war. The report said this indicated that improved surgical and sanitary methods in the recent war had saved the lives of 5.34 per cent of all American soldiers wounded." "Of every 1000 men sent to France 110 were admitted to hospital as the result of battle casualties. Nearly seven men out of every 1000 died as the result of wounds." A total of 13,696 men died from wounds. Most of the remaining casualties were from disease, including the deadly influenza epidemic that killed millions around the world. About 70% of the wounded were returned to duty. A horrifying percentage of men--4400 soldiers--lost one or more extremities. 11% of the wounded lost both legs at the thigh, 1% lost both legs at the knee, 9% lost both legs below the knee, and 1% lost both feet. If I remember right, the First World War was the first time Americans began to realize war was not as romantic as they had always tried to pretend.
Indian Valley: Curt Smith committed suicide by shooting himself on Sunday afternoon.
Mark Winkler Jr. married Lillian Williams.
John W. Hoover married Ida B. Cox on Dec. 6 at Weiser.
Bona Whiteley got his arm broken in two places near the shoulder as a result of a kick from a horse. "Mr. Whiteley went into the barn Saturday evening and was reaching for something on the wall when a pet horse reached for him."
"Call for bids--Up to and including Dec. 27, 1921, I will receive open bids for putting up 100 tons of ice, more or less, in the creamery icehouse. James L. Showers, Manager, Council Creamery." I wonder what 100 tons of ice looks like in one pile.
Time is running out if you want to get a tax write-off by donating to the Museum. Send them to the Council Valley Museum, Box 252, Council, ID 83612. We'll send you a receipt.
History Corner 12- 23-99
This will be another unique departure from the normal column because I'm going to write about a personal recollection from not that long ago.
Many of you readers have milked cows before, and many of you haven't. I would guess that most of you don't do it anymore, if you ever did, but milking cows by hand (not with a machine) was a very common job "in the old days." I thought I would write an account of my experiences with milking because there are undoubtedly universal constants to the chore, no matter when or where it was done.
When I was a kid, we had two cows for awhile, but most of the time we only had one. The job of milking had to be done every morning and every night, seven days a week, 365 days a year, except for a brief respite just before a cow calved ("freshened") each year or so. (You probably only got that break if you only had one cow.) The chore of milking often fell to one of us kids, usually my older brother, Clint, or me. It was a job I disliked in the summer, and hated in winter.
During warm weather the routine could go pretty smoothly. The first job was to find the cow, usually in a nearby pasture. Some cows we had would come to the barn when called. A cow's bag gets uncomfortably full and needs to be emptied by milking time, so they are usually cooperative in coming to the barn, or are even waiting there for you.
The barn that we had was an old, small house that we dragged down from where the pond is along the Ridge Road. I helped build the stanchions: vertical boards with a latch that held the cow's head so she couldn't go anywhere while being milked. After locking the cow into the stanchion, we always gave her a gallon bucket full of ground barley. This was partly to supplement her diet, and partly to keep her mind off of being milked.
The next job was cleaning the barn floor. Most times there was either already some manure on the floor or the cow deposited some as she came in. Sometimes it seemed like she intentionally waited until she came in the door to relieve herself of great quantities of green ooze. In the winter, the cow sometimes stayed inside the barn all night, so by morning it was an incredible mess. The cleaning process consisted of "shoveling" out the manure with a manure fork, which is a six or eight-tined pitchfork. We always kept a layer of straw on the floor, so we just scooped under the manure, picked it up with the straw under it, and pitched it into a pile outside. After that part of the job was completed, a new layer of fresh straw was spread on the floor. Sometimes--especially at night--after the fresh straw was put down, the barn had such a cozy feel it almost seemed like it would make a comfortable place to sleep.
We always put some warm water in the milk bucket before we went out to milk. At the barn there was a gallon coffee can and a rag sitting on a shelf. We poured the water into it and used the rag to wash off the cows faucets and bag. Sometimes this washing was quick and easy, but in winter it could be miserable. In cold weather the cow often stayed in the barn and snuggled down onto a nice warm pile of manure for the night. Obviously the result was a horrible mess. Even after the best cleaning effort, if the mess was on your side of the cow's back leg, it was right in your face the whole time you were milking.
Another source of unpleasantness was the cow's tail. It could be loaded with all manner of filth--primarily manure--and it could instantly strike anything within three feet without notice. I usually tied her tail or stuck it inside the hobbles so she couldn't hit me with it. Once when I neglected to do this, she hit me square in my open mouth with a tail coated with manure. I think I kept spitting for about an hour.
Next to the cow's tail, and an even worse problem, was her hind feet. If her faucets were tender or if she was just in a cantankerous mood, she would kick at the bucket. This was the reason we put hobbles on her hind feet if there was any indication the cow was going to kick. Sometimes a cow planted a dirty hoof right down into the bucket and the milk. That meant a trip back to the house to wash the bucket and start over.
Once I started milking, the worst part of the job was over. The first tinny sounds of the streams of milk hitting the bottom of the bucket slowly changed to a muffled "frumm frumm frumm" as the milk got deeper, and a layer of foam formed on the surface. Fairly often a little speck of dirt, grass, etc. would fall onto the foam as I was milking. That was no problem, as it could easily be scooped off of the foam with a finger.
While I was milking, if the cow suddenly humped up in the middle and stuck out her tail, I knew she was about to urinate. The only thing to do was to grab the bucket and get as far away as possible. If you can imagine a fire hose turned full blast onto a wooden floor, you get an approximate picture.
Given the unsanitary conditions, it seems fortunate we didn't get sick, considering all the raw milk we drank. Maybe we built up resistance to the germs in it.
One of the perks of milking cows was that a firm grip was developed by the hours of squeezing. Some cows are easy to get milk out of, and others could be real work. Some had faucets so short that you could only get a grip with two or three fingers. Todd Nelson had an old Holstein cow named "Boss" that I used to milk for him whenever I couldn't get out of it. She had great big faucets, but it took all the strength I had to get milk squeezed out of them.
There were always cats hanging around the milk barn. They would wait impatiently as I milked. The second I finished and started to stand up, you would have thought I suddenly became the best friend those cats ever had in their lives as they would start meowing and begging for milk. We usually had an old frying pan by the door that we poured a pint or so of milk into it for them. Sometimes I would squirt milk at the cats while I was milking. Some of them got good at catching it, and would stand there and gulp it down as the stream shot into their mouths.
If the cow had a young calf, it was usually kept away from her so it wouldn't drink too much milk. To feed the calf its allotment of milk, we put that milk in a "calf bucket" which had a nipple coming out of the side for the calf to suck. If you look up "eager" in the dictionary, there is a picture of a calf coming to a bucket of milk. They will run over, or through, anything between them and it, and then gulp that milk down like it is their last breath of air. They never get enough, and will follow a just-emptied bucket to the ends of the earth.
After feeding the cats and the calf their share of the milk, I would unlock the cow from the stanchion and take the milk to the house. There was usually about 1 1/2 to two gallons of milk. We poured it though a strainer--usually a dishcloth, but in later days a paper milk filter--into gallon jars. The jars were immediately put into a refrigerator. As it cooled, the cream would rise to the top and form a layer about 1 1/2" or more thick. Some cows have a higher percentage of cream in their milk than others. We always removed the cream with a ladle before using the milk. We made butter from the cream in a glass, gallon butter churn. It was us kids' job to turn the crank until butter formed. It seemed like it took forever. In more recent years I used a blender.
I hope this gave you fond memories, or gave you an insight into an old-fashioned "art," or both.
Have a great Christmas everyone!
History Corner 12-30-99
Adams County Leader, Dec. 17, 1920:
Guert Gilmer, age 48, died at his home on Hornet Creek, Dec. 13 of mouth cancer. He left a wife and seven children.
Notice to creditors of W.G. Koontz, deceased. Dated Nov. 27
Boy born to Mr. and Mrs. Lester Milligan of Tamarack on Dec. 10
J.F. Hollenbeck, "formerly an old-time resident of these parts," died at Pollock on Dec. 5
Adams County Leader, Fri Dec 24, 1920:
Big front page story. "One of the most unfortunate disasters within the history of the county occurred last Saturday night when the Mesa packing plant and storage house was destroyed by fire which resulted in the death of Charles P. Seymour, of the firm of Van Hoesen & Seymour, proprietors of the big orchard property."
"The fire was discovered as it broke through the roof of the warehouse soon after nine o'clock. Mr. Seymour, accompanied by R.A. Mulvihill, the latter an employee of the firm, was seen to enter the building. It is now known that the purpose of the men was to put in operation a fire extinguisher. When they failed to return, their fellows, protected with wet sacks over their heads, formed a chain and entered the rapidly-burning structure. When about twenty feet from the door they stumbled upon the prostrate form of Mr. Mulvihill and dragged him to safety. He had followed a pipe line that had led to the door, but had succumbed before he could reach safety. Although nearly unconscious, he mentioned the name, 'Seymour,' thus making known that the latter was in the building. Further efforts to save the unfortunate man were of no avail."
"When the walls gave way Mr. Seymour's charred remains fell free from the building and rested just outside. It is believed that after an unsuccessful effort to put the fire extinguisher in operation he attempted to escape through another door than that through which he had entered but, being overcome by the smoke and flames, stumbled across a fruit conveyor from which he did not arise."
Seymour was 48 years old. He came to Mesa two years ago with Van Hoesens. "The warehouse and packing plant was one of the most modern in the west and contained upwards of fifty carloads of apples."
The J.H. McGinleys moved out to their Fruitvale ranch.
Girl born to Mr. and Mrs. John R. Teems of Middlefork, on Dec. 20.
"Dr. and Mrs. Carter returned to Council last week and have taken up quarters over the Lampkin store to which place the Doctor has also moved his dental office."
"Orchard school closed temporarily on Tuesday morning on account of the illness of their teacher, Mrs. Spahr."
Adams County Leader, Dec 31, 1920:
S.G. Addington has recently been advertising Baker Steamer autos and promoting the company's stock. The cars and trucks run on any oil type fuel, which is cheaper than gas. Water is condensed after becoming steam, and reused. Said to be fewer moving parts than a gas engine, and last longer with fewer repairs. 20 to 30 miles per gallon... they will be the wave of the future.
Happy new year everybody!!
6 January 2000
Adams County Leader, January 7, 1921: John Kootlas, a Greek section foreman for the P&IN, was found guilty of robbery. It all started last summer: "Fannie Montgomery, who lives at Tamarck, went to Goodrich to obtain a sewing machine left in the possession of Mr. Kootlas; also a watch belonging to her daughter; that with a revolver she forced Kootlas to sign an order for the watch which, he claimed, had been sent to a jeweler for repairs; that in the evening she started to walk to Council; that Kootlas waylaid her and, striking her upon the head with a club, took the paper he had signed and some two hundred dollars in bills; that, after she was able to walk, Mrs. Montgomery came on to Council and the matter was reported to the sheriff."
"On Friday morning Deputy Sheriff Fuller, accompanied by a revenue officer, started on a sight-seeing trip into the hills south of Indian Valley." This was because someone had reported an illegal moonshine still there. "They arrested Edward Ridenour at his home about seven miles south of Indian Valley. Dr. Fuller informs us that on his place they found two sixty-gallon barrels of 'moonshine' mash, many containers and enough other equipment to, in his opinion, established conviction. We are told that Mr. Ridenour explained to the officers that his reason for having the mash available was that he intended to feed it to a pig; and that when the officers asked to see the pig he admitted that he owned no such property, but contemplated purchasing one. Ridenour is stated to be a single man about thirty-five years of age."
"At a farm about a mile from the Ridenour place the officers arrested J.W. Isley, after they had located equipment somewhat similar to that found in Ridenour's possession. We are told that Mr. Isley frankly admitted making the 'moonshine,' but claimed that he was doing so merely to satisfy his personal thirst. He is about thirty-five and unmarried." "On Saturday Deputy Fuller arrested Ray McKinzie at Weiser on a charge of making and selling 'moonshine.' McKenzie has confessed to having distributed liquor at the time of the Christmas dance held at Council. It is said that on Christmas night McKinzie sold a number of pint bottles of kill-me-quick at five dollars each."
"One of our county officers informs us that up to this time the outgoing county administration has brought about prosecution and conviction of thirteen cases of illicit manufacture of sale of liquor. Eight of these cases were turned over to the federal government and five were state cases. Since it is being repeatedly demonstrated that the 'boot-legger' inevitably comes to grief, it would seem that a person who tries to beat the 'moonshine' game is as foolish as he is criminal."
The following story from Indian Valley should make us all appreciate modern cars and highways: "Mr. Pratt went to Cambridge Wednesday to meet his son and daughter-in-law, Lawrence and bride, who were returning from Joseph, Ore., where they had recently been married. As they were returning home and attempting to cross Gray's Creek at Alpine the water ran into the sleighbox and washed out the trunks, suitcases, etc., and a lot of supplies. Mrs. Pratt narrowly escaped with her life. Fortunately, after the water had subsided they found everything, although somewhat damaged."
Actually, by this time, a number of local people owned cars, but wheeled vehicles of any kind were not used in winter. In winter, cars were put into storage, jacked up on blocks and their radiators drained.
Indian Valley: "Thomas Andrews, son of Mr. and Mrs. Alvin Andrews, and Mrs. Pauline Higgins, of Rush Creek, were married in Council on Tuesday." [I wonder if that should have read "Miss" Pauline Higgins.] Showing at the People's Theater on Jan. 11: Wm. S. Hart in "The Breed of Men."
"Dr. Brown reports the birth of a girl to Mr. and Mrs. Herschell Robertson of Bear, on January. Mrs. Robertson and baby are at the Cossitt home in Council." Actually I changed the spelling of the name in this quote. The paper printed, "Robinson" instead of "Robertson." It also left out the date, just as I quoted.
History Corner 1-13-00
Adams County Leader, January 14, 1921
The Kootlas case (see last week) will be appealed to the Idaho Supreme Court. He was sentenced to a term of five to twenty years in the State Penitentiary. "Because the Supreme court is far behind with its work it is not improbable that Mr. Kootlas will be a guest of the county for a considerable time."
New County Commissioners were sworn in: Sherman York, Jonathan McMahan, and Mr. Robinson. [Robertson?] "Every single person whose net income for 1920 was $1,000 and every married person whose net income was $2,000 or more is required to file a [tax] return under oath with the collector of internal revenue for the district in which he lives on or before March 15, 1921."
At this time, Federal income tax was a pretty new thing. I think it started in about 1914.
Indian Valley: "Mrs. Thomas Murphy passed away at eight o'clock Sunday morning, after many months of suffering from cancer of the stomach, . . ." She was the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Elisha Woods.
"On January 8th relatives from Council and Fruitvale gathered at the home of Mr. and Ms. William T. Harp, at Fruitvale, the occasion being their fiftieth wedding anniversary. The visit was a complete surprise, for Mrs. Harp was busy making soap and Mr. Harp was hauling hay. William T. Harp and Millie Jane Hall were married Jan. 8, 1871 near Berryville, Carrol County, Arkansas by James Harp, the groom's father. They crossed the plains by mule team in 1880, arriving in Indian Valley on July 3rd, 1880. Settled in Council in 1892, and have made this Valley their home ever since. Mr. Harp who is now 73 and Mrs. Harp 72. . . ."
"Ten days ago there was no local ice suitable for harvest, but since the late imitation of a cold snap the ice on Leek's pond is ten or more inches thick. Chester Selby, Lee Zink and Clarence Hoffman have the contract for putting up ice for the Council Meat Market, and are busy on the job." For those of you who may not know, Leek's pond is just southeast of town. It was formed when the railroad grade was built across that little swale. Can anyone tell me where the name Leek came from. Did someone by that name own the land there?
Adams County Leader, January 21, 1921:
Indian Valley--"Miss Margaret Leichliter and Mr. Al. Van Sant were married on January 8 at the home of the bride's aunt, Ms. Clyde Patrick, at Seattle."
Preliminary report on agriculture in Adams County, given out by the Director of the Census: 484 farms, of which 479 are operated by white farmers and five by colored farmers. In 1919, some 8,540 acres were planted to wheat (99,781 bushels); 1.207 acres in oats (25,047 bushels); 315 acres in barley (4,577 bushels); 21,561 acres in hay (26,179 tons). No figures were given on fruit.
At the People's Theater on Jan. 25--John Barrymore in "A Test of Honor."
Advertisement on back page for the Adams County Light & Power Co.--"While there has been no market reduction in electrical appliances, we will give twenty per cent discount on all appliances and fixtures purchased during the months of January and February. This is your opportunity to save money if you intend buying at some future date." The power company had a generator on Rush Creek near Cambridge, and had supplied Council with electricity since 1915. As you can see, they also sold electrical appliances.
The Museum recently acquired some photos of a dance that was held at the Legion Hall in the early 1940s. I understand dances were held there a lot during the summers during that time. We would like to identify some of the people in them. The pictures are at the library, so come in a take a look.
If you recognize anyone, write it on the back of the photo.
1-20-00
Wrote about getting the issues of the Leader for the museum from Shirley Rogers. Asked for IDs for Thurston video people.
History Corner 1-27-00
Some time ago, Florence Brown gave me a letter that was sent to her in 1991 from Mary Allison. I put it in my "to do" pile and it has been there ever since. It has some interesting information in it about the founding of Mesa Orchards that I thought you might enjoy. Mary's father, J.J. Allison, along with George Weise and Oberlin M. Carter (often referred to as "Captain Carter"), organized the Weiser Valley Land & Water Company which purchased several thousand acres from the homesteaders and started the Mesa Orchards.
My father, John J. Allison was superintendent of schools in Boise 1896 - 1898. He then went back to Chicago, attended the University of Chicago for a year and was principal of a night school near Hull House that year. From 1899 to 1907 he was superintendent of the Juliet schools. With a group of Juliet men he was interested in a rubber and cattle plantation near Tierra Blanca, Mexico. He and my mother went there after their marriage in 1903. That is where he got the name "Mesa." He had liked the West and bought some land at Darby, Montana planning to start an orchard. In 1907 he resigned his school position and went out to Darby. My mother and I (born in 1905) followed. However the sagebrush tick was bad there, the serum had not yet been found in the Hamilton lab, so when he had a chance to sell the land he did so quickly. We got to Spokane by Christmas 1907. I remember being on a little steamer crossing Lake Coeur d'Alene.
My parents then went to Payette or Weiser, I do not know which, for a short time then to Council. The ranch Father had there was four miles from Council, but I do not know what direction. In town my parents knew a Mr. and Mrs. Stover. He was pastor of the church but I believe made a living buying and selling horses. Someone has told me that he belonged to a local family. We saw the Stovers again in Salem, Oregon where Mr. Stover had one of the outlying churches--Congregational perhaps. This was about 1928. While in Council I had whooping cough. My father got it too and we
were taken to Dr. Brown. I also ran and put my hands on the living room stove to keep from falling, burning them badly. Again I was taken to Dr. Brown in the wagon as I don't think we had a buggy. I had my third birthday at that ranch and remember the cake and a thimble mother put in it very well.
That fall of 1908 Mother was in great pain so my parents went back to Joliet. Mother was very ill, went to specialists in Chicago and had a difficult operation. She was given what was then a new kind of anesthetic and was nearly paralized by it. Worse because she was pregnant. In the spring of 1909 we went back to Idaho but bought a house in Boise. My father went back and forth to Council on the P&IN train. By this time the Mesa seems to have been started.
I do not know whether is was in 1908 while my parents were on the Council ranch or early in 1909 that the reservoir site for the Mesa was located and decided on by my father. This is what I have been hoping to find out from some source or other. I know that A. L. Freehafer, who was an
attorney in Council went with him looking. Once they left their team and wagon and went farther into the forest. They got lost and could not find the team and wagon. Some way they got a fire started and took turns sleeping and keeping it going overnight as they were not dressed to keep warm at night. Mr. Freehafer was a State Senator at that time. Apparently he went along as a friend or possibly helped get possession of the land and water rights.
Sometime after August 1910 one of my father's cousins came rushing out from Chicago and began paying the expenses of people to come from there to buy shares in the orchards. At the expense of the orchards, no less! Mother never quite saw how he got into it but he was a rascal and very clever. He had graduated at West Point as an engineer and had been sent to versee the deepening of the Savannah, Georgia harbor. He did not obey the specifications from the U.S. Congress and had to serve at Leavenworth prison.
He should never have had an appointment to West Point anyway. In those days the cadets were mounted. One day his commanding officer said to him, "Carter (his name was Oberlin Carter) rein up you horse." His reply was, "I can't, Sir. My little finger is off at the first joint." He should never have gotten past the physical examination at the beginning. Among the people Oberlin brought out from Chicago was his brother, Stanton who was a successful dentist there. After Oberlin got all his money away from him Stanton opened a dentist's office in Council.
When I was in first grade, Stanton and Minnie stayed with us a while in Boise while Minnie went to a doctor. Not too long after that Minnie died and we learned later that it was cancer. Sometime later Stanton married a young woman there in Council whose name I think was Mary Hoover. They had a son who as he grew up was quite well-known as a young pianist. Do you know what became of him?
Matters at the Mesa became too complicated so my father sold out. With him went several of the civil engineers as W.A. Alexander (later he and my half-sister Marguerite), Z.N. Vaughn, a Macy family and so on. I do not know what year--1911 possibly.
Anyway, we moved to Caldwell in February 1913. Sincerely, Mary C. Allison
History Corner 2-3-00
Most of my column this week will be a letter I received from Chuck Wolfkiel in Horseshoe Bend. He is one of those people who has a dream and is working hard to bring it to reality. It is more or less and open letter to everyone in the Central Idaho area:
I'd like to update you on happenings with the Scenic Payette River Historical Society (SPRHS). Our first tasks are to expand membership, raise funds and begin to restore the NP 1st class railroad passenger car recently acquired from Givens Hot Springs. Ultimately we want to build and operated a living heritage museum.
To attract new members and to get donations to fund our projects, the SPRHS has gathered together some of our Long Time Residents to share remembrances of historical events and of their everyday lives in Boise County, way back when. The first story telling and sharing of our heritage sessions will be held at the Horseshoe Bend High School - music room, at 2 PM on Sunday February 20, 2000. There is no charge for admission, but a freewill offering will be accepted.
Our story tellers (historians) will share their memories of different events in their lives here in Boise County, relating to several of the following topics:
Native Americans in the area
Trappers and Miners
Early Trails and Roads
Pioneers and Early Settlers
Early Homesteads and Ranches
The coming of the Railroad
Logging and Mining in the area
Schools & Post Offices
Holidays and pastimes
The Payette River, then and now
and much more.
Since all of these events couldn't begin to be covered at one session, we will have story telling sessions every other month. Our program plan is to have an hour of story telling, followed by refreshments (homemade pies, cakes, cookies, coffee and punch, etc.) and then a time for others to ask questions and/or to reminisce.
We had three (of our many to draw from) story tellers at our committee planning meeting tonight so they could get a feel of what was planned and expected. Well they got started telling of events as examples, and we ended up with a full fledged story telling session at our committee meeting. Needless to say we were mesmerized with their impromptu recollections, so we know others will find it worth their time and effort to attend.
I hope you can find time in your schedule to plan a trip to take in our first program, and I don't think you'll be disappointed for your time spent here. As I have mentioned to Dale Fisk, we share a lot of common heritage with the areas of Cambridge, Indian Valley, Council, New Meadows, and other places, of the miners, the pioneer families, the railroaders, the loggers, the sheepmen and cattlemen.
I'd like to see us build on each others successes. My ultimate dream is to someday to see the PIN railroad rebuilt from Weiser to Rubicon, and the INP railroad rebuilt from Cascade to McCall, with a link built between the two and tourist passenger train service operating around the loop. I believe this can become a reality if we can develop our respective areas to capitalize on the current and future boom in tourism and on the revival of railroad nostalgia, which is coming on strong.
Thanks, Chuck Wolfkiel, SPRHS
Speaking of historical railroads, Don Dopf and I have fired up the boilers again on our book about the P&IN, and we could use some input. First, I'm working on a chapter about wrecks on the line.
Janet Fleming told me about a time when her step father, engineer Ted Babb, was running a train that derailed and went off into the river sometime before 1945. Ted's hair turned white almost overnight because of this wreck. It was right after this that Charlie Weston became Ted's fireman and Frank Nichols became the conductor.
Does anyone know where or when this wreck happened? Any information would be appreciated. In talking to some former UP employees in Nampa, they told me about a wreck that resulted in Ted Babb being suspended for 7 months. This was supposed to be one that happened below the old Bodmer place past Glendale. Does anybody know about this one? Could it be the same one?
Also, I haven't run across any history about Pine Ridge. Can anyone tell me when or how it got started? The only info I have is that the road to Lost Lake originally left the highway at Tamarack. Oh! I have to add one more thing. Last week Dave Feil donated a 1922 dentist's setup to the Museum! It's a stand with most of the hoses and fittings for water, suction and air; and the infamous cable-operated DRILL. Actually the last section of the drill mechanism was missing, but I found a piece in Dr. Gerber's stuff that fit like a glove and completed all but one missing part that would link it to her chuck that holds the burrs. Some of you, like me, remember that old, slow drill and how it would vibrate your whole head as she ground away without anything to deaden the pain. Ahh, fond memories of childhood.
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Stella Moritz. Thanks for your continuing support and thoughtfulness, Bob.
I have received only one call about the unidentified people in the photos in the January 20 issue.
Photo A has been identified as Frank "Knobby" Bower. He lived at Council and Bear, and had a sawmill on Bear Creek around 1949 or '50. He was identified by his daughter, Shirley Pecora.
History Corner 2-10-00
Last week I asked about a train wreck that occurred before 1945, involving engineer, Ted Babb. No sooner had I sent the column off to the paper than I found a reference to that wreck. My thanks to Janet Fleming for the initial information and getting me started in the right direction. Ted Babb was her step father.
The wreck was quite a bit earlier than 1945, so most people around today wouldn't have a personal memory of it: It was 7:25 on Monday morning, February 6, 1922. Engineer Ted Babb was at the throttle of the P&IN's Steam Locomotive No. 104. Fireman Jerry Benson was relaxing behind him, looking out the left window. They had just passed the mouth of Crane Creek and were approaching milepost 13.
Engine 104 weighed 78 tons when it was empty, but it had just left Weiser fully loaded with 4000 gallons (16 tons) of water and 9 tons of coal. All 103 tons of engine and tender were pushing a pilot snow plow and pulling several cars at about 25 to 30 miles per hour.
Up ahead on the track lay a dense mass of snow, ice and rocks that had slid off the steep, rocky hillside on the left. The frozen mound was about 50 feet long and five feet deep at its center. The left rail was deeply buried, but the right was hardly covered. The icy Weiser River wound its way south just below the tracks to the right.
Ted Babb saw the slide when he was about 100 yards from it. No rocks or ice were visible under the deceptive covering of loose snow. He remarked to Benson that he thought the plow would push it aside without any problems, and increased the speed a small amount. The plow dived into the mass and started through it. About half way into the slide, Babb felt something that must have shot a rush of fear through his veins. The massive engine lifted up off the rails and slipped toward the river!
Babb threw both brake switches as he yelled to Benson to jump.
Conductor A.L. Wiley felt his caboose jerk, jumped up, and looked out the window. From the steam in the air up by the engine he thought maybe a hose had broken. Any break in the line on the Westinghouse air brake system would automatically engage the brakes on all the cars. Then he saw the locomotive lying in the river.
After the engine's wheels left the track, it had continued to roll along the ties beside the rails until it was completely through the snow slide. A second or two later, all 103 tons of the locomotive started a slow roll into the river. Babb slipped from his seat at the left side of the cab and fell to the floor under the fire box door and the flame shield. Stuck in this position, Babb was not thrown about and escaped injury as the engine rolled over.
The air brakes had stopped all the cars before they could follow the engine into the river. Only the baggage car derailed when it hit the demolished track, but it tore loose from the engine and remained on the road bed. Conductor Wiley and several passengers ran forward to help Babb crawl out and pull Benson's limp body from the cab.
Benson was put on a stretcher and carried to the baggage car. Efforts were made to revive him, but he never showed any signs of life. It was later revealed that his chest had been crushed. The 37 year old fireman left a wife and four children.
Engine 104 was pulled from the river by an Oregon Short Line wrecker brought up from Nampa. The locomotive was only superficially damaged; the smoke stack, running boards, and other surface parts that stuck out were either badly bent, broken or torn off.
Ted Babb's hair turned white almost overnight after this wreck. Sometime after this, Charlie Weston became Babb's fireman and Frank Nichols became conductor.
Don Dopf and I are looking for more railroad stories for our book on the history of the P&IN, so if you have any give us a call.
History Corner 2-17-00
For now, I'm going back to the 1921 Adams County Leader. January 28 issue:
Frank G. Whitney, age 72, died last Sunday morning at the home of his nephew, Roy E. Cameron, who lives south of Council.
"These are good days for logging. Louis Hayter has employed Alva Ingram to help him deliver logs to Morrison's sawmill. Andy Gerulf has 'Slim' Fry helping him deliver logs to the same place. Oliver Anderson has for some time been, and still is, delivering a fine lot of logs to Olaw Pierson's mill where the latter will convert them into lumber as soon as the spring season opens. The heavy and continuous rains played havoc with many of the canyon roads this winter causing extra work and much inconvenience."
"Louis Prout is sawing logs into stovewood lengths, with his Ottaw saw, for Mr. McClure." First, what in the world is an "Ottaw" saw? Next, the McClure mentioned would be William McClure, former US Senator, Jim McClure's father.
"Wm. Camp is sawing wood on the Hoover homestead, using his Wade saw. Harry Lakey is helping at the same place." So what is a "Wade" saw? Editors made tongue-in-cheek jokes pretty often in those days, so maybe these saw references are such?
Indian Valley: "Mr. and Mrs. Earl Byers have a bouncing baby boy at their home, born January 20; weight eight and three-quarters pounds."
Indian Valley: Married December 20, 1920: Fred Tennoll and Ellen Carlton.
"Married--at Cambridge on Saturday, January 22, Mr. Jess Green and Mrs. Jessie Griner Ensley."
"A pleasant evening was spent at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Canaan on Wednesday evening of last week when a party was given in honor of Mr. Canaan's sixty-sixth birthday. Nearly 100 guests were present and the evening was spent at social games and dancing. Refreshments were served and it was not until the early hours of the morning that the 'Hornet Creek Orchestra' planed 'Home Sweet Home.' "
Notice from the Council Village Board, A.L. Hagar, Clerk: "Patrons of the local water system are notified that the reserve water in the local reservoir has been depleted to the danger point and that extra care must be used to prevent wastage in order that there shall be sufficient reserve water in case of fire. Presumably the storage supply has been reduced during the cold weather as a result of faucets being left open to prevent freezing of pipes. In the public interest it has become necessary that this must be done with extreme care against wastage, if it is done at all. Unless this notice serves its purpose it will be necessary that the meters, which have been dispensed with during winter, be put into action as a matter of public safety."
Feb. 4 issue:
"As the outcome of a disturbance at the Middlefork schoolhouse on Friday night a goodly number of the residents of that district were in Council on Monday and Tuesday, in attendance upon a trial in the Probate court. The defendant was Henry Teem, a young farmer of the Middlefork neighborhood, who was charged with assault with a deadly weapon."
"The offense being a felony, which carries a penitentiary sentence, the trial was in the nature of a preliminary hearing. From listening to the evidence we gathered that on Friday night there was some argument at the school-house and that John Shaw was struck upon the head in such a manner that he was knocked to the ground and remained unconscious for a considerable time. Examination by Dr. Brown, as related on the witness stand, showed two wounds upon the head, one of which was severe and the other slight. Witnesses testified that they saw Henry Teem reach into his pocket and then strike a downward blow. Since Mr. Shaw is the taller man and, according to testimony, was standing erect at the time he was struck, it is obvious that the chief wound could not have been created by a blow from the naked fist. On the other hand, none of the witnesses gave testimony indicating the character of the weapon, if any, that was used. The fact that a bob-sled was standing near where Mr. Shaw fell was entered as an element in the case and may or may not have had foundation in fact." Teem plead guilty and was fined $100.
Albert Furguson, of Goodrich, died on Tuesday of last week at the home of a sister, Mrs. Hopper, at Portland. He was buried there.
To be continued.
The Museum received a letter from Italy last week. For some reason it was written in French—and French is Greek to me. So, if there is anyone out there who would volunteer to translate this letter, I would appreciate it. I can send and receive attachments in my e-mail now, so if that's a possibility, my address is .
History Corner 2-24-00
The item in the newspaper should have been inconspicuously tucked in among other news items from Cambridge. But it wasn't. It was headline news at the top of the front page of the Weiser American for January 26, 1922.
It should have read something like this: "Harriet Tuttle was the guest of honor at a party celebrating her 14th birthday Sunday evening at the home of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Tuttle. A good time was had by all."
It almost turned out that way. In fact there was just such a party. In attendance were Harriet, her father, Charles (age 60); her brothers, Edward (28), Bryan (26), and Randall (20); and her sister, Hazel (26). Also present were a cousin, Neva Tuttle, and a friend, Miss Bessie Clare.
It would have been a small, barely noticed bit in the social news, except for one thing: by the time the newspaper came out on Thursday, all but three of the guests at the party were dead.
There was a killer at the dinner party--an uninvited "guest." The killer's name was "botulinus," a spore-forming bacteria that had survived the canning process in the green beans that the group ate for dinner. The only survivors were the picky eaters who didn't eat their vegetables: brother Russell and cousin Neva apparently didn't even tasted them. Besse Clare only took a tiny bite.
After the family started showing signs of illness, the two Cambridge doctors, Whiteman and Wilkerson, were called. They stayed with the family constantly, but by late Monday the first victim, Hazel, who was a Cambridge school teacher, died.
When it was realized how serious the cases were, Dr. Conant was called in from Weiser. They sent telegrams to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota, asking for information. Nothing they tried seemed to do any good. Bryan and Edward died within two hours of each other on Wednesday afternoon. The father, Charles, died on Wednesday night. Randall died early Thursday morning.
It wasn't noted when Harriet died. Ironically, it was Harriet who had canned the beans.
The paper said, "Every known means of relief was tried but without avail unless it may be that the protective measures saved the two who are yet alive and seemingly unaffected."
The paper continued: "The Tuttles were all well known in Cambridge and had quite a part in the community life and the little town is plunged in grief over the tragedy."
"The poisoning which caused these deaths is the same as that which developed in a number of cases in canned ripe olives a couple of years ago and which caused several deaths and widespread concern over the country.
Thousands of cans of olives were destroyed and many people refrained from eating the pack of that year. While the effects of the fungus poisoning may be slow to act, the progress is rapid after the first symptoms are noted and unless relief is immediate the results are fatal, and even the most prompt relief is often ineffectual."
Last week's questions about the saws were answered by Tom Mahon and Dick Parker. The Wade company (the same one that makes irrigation equipment now) was a major manufacturer of drag saws. Ottawa was another name brand associated with drag saws. So, some people called a drag saw a Wade or Ottawa saw. Thanks Tom and Dick. (I haven't heard from Harry.)
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Arnold Emery. I would also like to thank Pat Bethel for a donation.
History Corner 3-1-00
Just after I submitted my column to the paper last week I got some more information from Sandra and Norman Hansen (I thank you very much!) about Ottawa saws. The saws were made by the Ottawa Manufacturing Company of Ottowa, Kansas. Why the name of the company and the name of the town are spelled differently I don't know.
The company made small engines, ranging from a twin cylinder 7 horsepower to one with 2
horsepower. The 7 horsepower was made for stationary use. Their main product seems to have
been "log saws," including what are commonly known as "drag saws." Dick Parker said they used to be called "tree climbers" too. I'll bet they were called other names when they wouldn't start.
I guess I should begin by relating my minuscule knowledge of drag saws. A drag saw was made up of a small gas or kerosene engine (huge by today's chainsaw standards) mounted on a wood frame. The wood frame consisted (at least mostly) of two, light, horizontal beams which had handles on one end and were mounted on two metal wheels at the other. The engine ran a wheel with a pitman-type arrangement that pushed and pulled a saw blade that extended parallel to the handles. The saw blade looked just like a one-man cross-cut saw. I believe the handle end of the wood beams had "dogs" that were driven into a log to hold the saw in place while the saw reciprocated back and forth, sawing the log in two.
The Ottawa Company made log saws for a longer time than any other company. It isn't clear when they started manufacturing them, but certainly by 1919. I don't know when they quit. Their drag saws came in 2, 4, and 5 horsepower models. Each model was very similar except for their size and weight. The 4 horse power model had a maximum speed of 350 saw strokes per minute, and retailed for $112.50.
Ottawa saws could used to fall trees by using a tree felling attachment. The attachment-- which had its own saw blade, or maybe used the one off the drag saw--was clamped to the tree, and was
powered by a shaft from the side of the drag saw. The instruction manual recommended that wedges be used behind the blade to keep the blade from pinching. When the cut was almost completed, the blade was removed and felling was finished by using wedges. They must have made the undercut with and ax or crosscut saw.
The company also made a device with a 20 inch circular saw mounted on a wood frame and wheels very similar to the drag saw setup. Logs were placed on a table beneath the blade which was pulled down through the log. Given the size of the saw blade and the fact that logs had to be lifted up onto the table, log size was limited to about 6 to 8 inches in diameter, but they were much faster than a drag saw.
They also made a larger versions of the circular saw setup, mounted on four wheels and designed to be pulled by horses. The company said these saws were capable of sawing 40 to 75 cords of wood per 10-hour day, depending on the condition of the blade and the type of wood being cut. Wouldn't you love to have that job.
I got a call Saturday night from Fred Thompson, an old Council area boy, who now lives in Bishop, California. He said his family had a drag saw with a metal frame instead of wood. He seemed unfamiliar with drag saws with wheels under them; evidently at least some didn't have them. Their saw ran on a gas and oil mixture and was water cooled. A water jacket went around the cylinders and there was a water tank that got hot enough to start steaming. He said when the steam started coming up was when the saw ran the best. Fred also told me that Mongomery Ward sold drag saws. He reminded me that, on the Thurston video that the Museum sells, there is footage of Dr. Thurston and other Council men cutting firewood with a drag saw. I would like to thank John and Colleen Spauling for a generous donation to the Museum in memory of Arnold Emery and Thelma Friend.
I have a couple of questions. First, in 1943 the Boise Payette Lumber Company was getting ready to build a railroad spur, for Shay logging, up Beaver Creek from the P&IN line at Woodland. Does anyone know if the line was actually built? If so, how far did it run? There seem to be remains of an old grade along the creek in places. The bonus questions are: 1) if the spur was built, when was it taken out?-- and 2) when was the present road built?
Next, sometime after 1940 a railroad employee (brakeman) was killed on the spur that ran up to the highway just north of the sawmill. All I know is he was knocked under the engine by a log that hit the stirrup he was standing on. Charlie "Tubby" Fuller was the engineer. I would like any information, especially what the man's name was and when this happened.
Phone: 253-4582 e-mail: dalefisk@juno.com
History Corner 3-9-00
First, the caption in one of the photos last week should have told you that it was of a tree-falling attachment for an Ottawa drag saw, not that it was a "tree climber."
This week I grabbed a couple of photos from the Museum's collection that struck me as interesting. One is of the first Mormon church in the Council area. It was built at Fruitvale.
Beginning just after 1930, members of the Fruitvale branch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints held services in private homes for a year or two. In 1932 Elder J.L. Sandidge
began holding services in the Legion Hall in Council. In 1934 construction of a log church was
started just south of Jonathan Avenue in Fruitvale (2263 Jonathan Ave). It was wired for electricity, as Fruitvale was expected to be connected to a power line before long. The building formally opened on Sept. 11, 1937.
Cyril Burt sent this photo and wrote down some of the details of the building process. He said in 1934 church members went up in the mountains to cut logs for a meeting house. Stephen Bounds volunteered to haul the logs. His son, Al Bounds drove the truck bringing the logs to the building site in Fruitvale. Mary Burt Hulse donated the land to build it on.
Involved in the construction were: Mary (May) Hulse, Stephen Bounds, Al Bounds, Clarence Ivie (the branch president), Charles Burt, Bill Burt, Fred Burt, Harold Burt, Eugene Burt, Cyril Burt (who was too young to be much help), Parley Feek, Nels Hansen, Lamont Hansen [Willliam LaMonte Hansen 1909 b - 1970], and others.
Clarence Ivie was hired by the L.D.S. Church to oversee the project. They laid up the logs and put the roof on in the fall of 1934, and were able to work inside during the winter months. The project was completed and the building dedicated in 1935.
After the current LDS church in Council was built in the 1960s, the old log building was used for a garage and storage. Pete and Chris Friend converted the old church into a home in the 1970s. They tore down the building about 1992.
You may recognize one of the other photos as the Fruitvale store. This is the way I remember it looking as I grew up, except across the false front was printed, "Fruitvale Mercantile." As near as I can tell, the original part of the building was built in 1912 by O.C. Selman. It went through a series of owners and / or managers: Albert Robertson, Henry Reams, Jim Ward, Everett Ryals, Oliver Robertson, Ernest McMahan, and Robert and Josephine Caseman.
Josephine Caseman's brother, Sterling McGinley, and his wife, Alma, took over the store in 1946, and ran it until they retired in 1964. All of the other small stores in Council's outlying areas (Mesa, Cuprum, etc.) had closed by then. The Fruitvale store was the last holdout; the last vestige of a bygone era. The McGinley's daughter Anna Kamerdula and her husband, Henry, kept the store running until it closed in the 1970s. The post office continued to operate with Anna as postmaster until she retired on December 27, 1996.
The other photo is of the Council Sale Yard, established by "Col. Bill Welty" in 1947. The Adams County Leader said, "He will hold his first sale in the Union Pacific stock yards and if it appears to be profitable and there is sufficient cattle offered, he will secure ground and erect a sales yard." Welty started holding auctions every Monday that year and continued until, well I would guess the late 1960s.(?)
In August of 1947, 150 cattle, 30 sheep, 20 hogs were sold here. The top beef price: $23.80 per hundred for a steer of Jim Fisk's (my grandfather). This building is still standing.
Doesn't ANYBODY know if a Shay railroad line was ever built up Beaver Creek?
History Corner 3-16-00
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Mildred "Jimi" Wilmarth. Bob says that most of the time he knew her best she was married to Art Sundh. Jimi is best remembered in Council as the grade school principal. She was married to my Uncle Hub during that time (1962-1970) and lived in the house I live in now.
This week I'm featuring some memories written by Alvin Shaw about the community at Mesa from about 1929 to 1939 or '40. The rest of the column is from him, and I thank him for his contribution. Any comments I may have are added inside brackets:
I have a short story about Mesa, Idaho also known as Mesa Orchards.
I was born in LaGrande, Oregon but my parents moved back to the Council Valley and settled in the Mesa Orchards. The Mesa company had its own little town; there was a grocery store, some dry goods, post office and the company offices in the same building.
Across the highway (highway 95) were three bigger homes that housed the owners and manager.
Next door to these houses and down the lane aways was Clyde rush's house. Clyde was one of the bosses and he owned a 40 acres tract by his home. I do no know if he bought it from the Mesa Co. or not. They had two children: Bob was the boy and I think the girl was Mary. [I don't know how many daughters he had, but one is Louise Van Houten who lives in Morgan Hill, California.]
A long time has passed and I apologize if the girl's name is wrong. Also, in the big homes one of the families was the Daggetts. They had four children: Nancy, Vernon, Bob and Lynda Mae.
Across the highway on the corner lived the Gentry family: Sam & Reba and children, Ruth & Paul. One down the road from the Rushes around the corner and up the hill lived the Happy Evans family. The children were Evelyn & Max. Next to them lived Perry and Alice Kilborn and children, Ronald, Yvonne, Vernice and Pearl. Next them lived Albert and Audrey Kilborn and children, Norman and ?.
Down across the old pond and through a tract of orchard lived the Franklins. The two children I remember were John and Agnes. Up the road to the east lived the two Gray families: Charley, Opal and children, Bob and Glenna. Bill Gray and family. (I do not remember Bill's wife's name and his children's names.) Across the highway to the east lived the Kecklers: Gus and (wife's name I do not recall). The children were Louis, Donald and Marie. Then on up the same road farther east lived the Bill Browns. The children were John, Aleck, Ruth, Bob and I believe Marie.
Back into town I will try and remember some families. There was the Bellmore family; children, Ruth, Jean, and Dolly. The Jacobs family: mother, Cleta, and daughter Lavelle. The Ballard family: children, Florence, Kenneth, Harold and John. Red Rice family (I don't know if he had any children.)
The Shaw family: John and Lula (my folks)--children: Alvin, Geraldine, Fernecia. The Morris families, Harlan and Hazel and children. Buhl and wife and children--I don't recall their names. Now I will try and name some of the single men that lived and worked there. First I had two uncles, Ted and Chet Shaw, then there was Harold and Cecil Houston; the McFaddens, Floyd, Clarence, Raymond and Royal and their dad. "Soup" Bentley, Clarence, Dillon,
Marvin "Ching" Kilborn, Arnold Shaw. There were quite few more but I don't recall their names off hand (sorry).
My dad, John, walked the flume at times and checked for leaks. He packed a roll of cotton rope soaked in creosote that he pushed in leaks to stop them. Then he would go back to irrigating the orchards until harvest then he worked in the cellars and packing house. My mother and most of the ladies worked in the packing house. The street that ran north and south behind the office and store had eight bungalows on it. The street that ran east and west along the office and store had the cookhouse and bunkhouse and some single family houses on it for about two blocks to a street that ran north and south. This street had no name but was called "Tim Can Alley."
I always said the further up this street you went the tougher they got, and I lived in the last house. I was the skinniest and smallest kid in town. Down under the hill from Johnny Denboars house sat the company horse barns where they kept the horses in corrals. They used these horses to pull wagons and slips to get the fruit to roads where the fruit was loaded on open cab Model T Ford trucks and hauled to the large cellars where the fruit was stored and eventually processed for shipment to markets.
I know I left out a lot of people. I'm sorry, but time and memory has got to me. Across the highway from the store were three big dirt and timbered cellars where they stored the fruit. Behind the cellars was a packing house where they packed the fruit and got it ready to ship to the markets. Behind the packing house sat an apple drying house. I believe they shipped out dried apples some too.
They had a big cable tram that ran from the packing house to the railroad where they had a storage and shipping building. When I was about seven or eight years old, two of my uncles and some other men put me in one of the gondolas, between the baskets of apples, at the packing house and off to the railroad siding I went. Was not bad going down, but coming back to the packing house the gondola was empty. Quite a ride for a young boy. I could not have fallen out as I had such a grip on the strapping on the floor of the gondola. The railroad came out of the canyon up from Goodrich and Cambridge and met the highway again.
I forgot about the two most important buildings in town. The school (where I got my left leg broken sleigh riding down the hill behind the school) that sat across the highway (95) from the store and the theater that was upstairs over the company shop. This room also served as a dance hall on Saturday nights sometimes if they had music.
I forgot to mention one other thing. How they irrigated this orchard. The built a large flume made out of wood. They got some of the wood from a sawmill set up down on the middle fork of the Weiser river. They built Lost Lake reservoir to hold water so they cold let water out to add to the Weiser River when they took water out of the Middle Fork of the Weiser River to run into the flume that ran to the Mesa Orchards. They built a small diversion dam to divert the water. You can still see some traces of the dam and the flume that ran along the south side of the canyon n the Middle Fork.
History Corners for 3-23-00 missing
This column contained photos of a dance at the Legion Hall, August 1947, and observations about changes in the hall since the pictures were taken.
History Corner 3-30-00
Adams County Leader, June 17, 1921--
Roy Bethel was arrested Sunday by Deputy Game Warden Boor, and fined $25 for
fishing without a license. "From the statement of Mr. Bethel we gather that, while he had
violated the law, he had taken no fish. Instead, he had but baited his hook and cast it into the water when he caught the game warden."
"Everett Ryals, of Fruitvale, who recently underwent amputation of a leg, was in Council on the first of the week. For some time there was little hope that his life could be saved,
but he now seems to be well on the road to recovery."
"Soren Hansen has purchased a new Overland car from Mr. Twite. Sorren was for years a stage driver by profession, and the boys tell us that, when operating his new car the first time, he came to a sharp curve in the road and the car ran off the highway into a pasture while he yelled: 'Haw, you son-of-a-gun. Don't you know enough to stay in the road?' After trying the
machine for a mile or two he took it back to the garage and ordered that it be fitted with reins and a set of breeching."
June 24--
Some pointers on the fishing laws: "The amount of trout taken in any one day must not
exceed fifteen pounds and one fish. It is also unlawful to have in possession more than thirty
pounds, either fresh salted or dried, at any one time. In computing the number of pounds of
game fish which any person may catch or have in his possession the fish are to be weighed
dressed, with their heads on. If the heads have been removed the limit for any one day's catch
is twelve pounds. It is also unlawful to catch more than fifty trout in any one day or have in
possession more than a hundred at any one time."
Indian Valley-- Mrs. Margaret McPherson Schafer died in Boise, June 18, age 23.
New Meadows-- "A marriage license was issued on June 13 to Frank E. Hullett andMarjorie R. Suter, both of Nampa. Miss Suter was at one time a resident of Meadows."
Mesa has 1150 acres of apples, 100 acres of peaches and 50 acres of pears. 800acres of this
orchard, plus 2500 acres of alfalfa and grain, are owned by Mr. D.W. Van
Hoesen, whose individual investment here amounts to $650,000. "The tramway is equipped
with its own telephone system, and will handle four packed boxes of apples a minute all day
long."
"W.T. Haines has moved his harness and shoe shop from the Oddfellow building to the
Whiteley frame building east of the town square."
Dr. Brown reports the birth of a girl to Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Russell on June 20.
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Neale
Butterfield.
History Corner 4-6-00 More quotes from the Leader.
Adams County Leader, July 1, 1921
"James R. Wilson, age 88 years, died at the home of his son, S.P. Wilson, at
Tamarack, on June 23 and the funeral was held from the Methodist church in Council on June
25...." His wife, Jane, died on March 14.
"Mrs. Matilda Snow, a highly respected pioneer lady of the county, died at her home in
Indian Valley on Saturday, June 25, and the funeral was held on the following day, burial being
made in the Indian Valley cemetery." Wife of Bernard Snow.
"The recent establishment of a daily auto stage route from Weiser to Payette Lake can
but have a detrimental effect upon the passenger business of the P.& I.N. Railway. That the
men who have established the auto route are within their rights goes without saying, but it does
appear that the new industry places our local railroad in an unfortunate condition that may ,
eventually, have material bearing upon the development of the county. The taxes paid by the
railroad company are an important asset to the county, and a considerable part of this tax is
used in building and maintaining the highway that makes it possible for auto stages to compete
with its passenger service. Hence, the railroad must pay its own upkeep and then assist in
providing a road for its competitors." "What we are attempting to do is to call to mind that the
chief reason why freight and passenger rates of our local railroad are unusually high is lack of
patronage."
The P.& I. N. had been in bad financial shape since its beginning, and the increase in
auto use in the 1920s foreshadowed even harder times ahead. As mentioned, the rates on the
line were usually higher than on other lines. In spite of this, the line seldom operated in the black
until the logging industry boomed here in the 1940s.
"John Hancock has been appointed as deputy game warden for this county and is on
the job. John has purchased a Ford from the Addington Auto Company, and if business proves
good may put on a trailer with which to bring law violators into camp."
Advertisement: "Bargains in Electric Ranges. For comfort in warm weather they can't
be beaten. Prices lowered. Adams County Light & Power Co." Power lines had just reached
Council six years before. Many outlying areas would not have power for another 20 years or
more.
Show and dance at the People's Theater on July 4th--Cecil B. DeMille's "Male and
Female." "This is one of the Famous Players Specials and the biggest and best picture ever
shown in Council.. There will be no advances in prices." "The Idaho Four will furnish music for
the dance and the great picture show."
An experienced driver says that people should not drive over 20 miles per hour on
unfamiliar roads.
"On Wednesday Sheriff Zink and Prosecutor Dillon officially visited the northern part of
the county with the result that a nice little still was gathered in at the abode of James Addington,
some two miles from New Meadows. "
"The officers had a hunch that Mr. Addington was commercially engaged in the
production of 'mountain dew and a visit to his place verified the suspicion. Wm. Steckman on
guard and then proceeded to search the house. He found a well equipped still that was in
operation at the time. There was something like a barrel of mash in use."
"Upon returning to New Meadows Sheriff Zink located Addington and placed him
under arrest. A partly-filled quart bottle of 'moonshine' was found in his hip pocket. He was
brought to Council and on Thursday morning entered a plea of guilty to a charge of having
intoxicating liquor in his possession and was held to answer to the District Court. He will be
taken to Weiser where he will receive sentence."
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Frank
Clay.
History Corner 4-13-00
I've run across an old map that shows some places that I don't recognize. This map
seems to be from about 1930. The places in question are along the P.& I.N. Railroad between Weiser and New Meadows. The mileage given is the approximate distance from Weiser: Tri State--mile 3; Farmdale--mile 7.5; Barton--22; Dixie--mile 37; Southard--81; and Pine--88.5.
Dixie, just south of Cambridge, is a place I have heard of but don't know much about.
What I would like to know is what was at these places. They may not have been stops. I've
seen one railroad map with "Mill Creek" on it, but I'm pretty sure there was no stop or railroad facility where the tracks crossed Mill Creek. So, if you have any information about any of these places, please give me a call.
The conclusion that I've come to on the Beaver Creek spur that the Boise Payette Co.
was planning to build in the 1940s is that some grade was built, but the tracks were never laid. Here's a tongue-in-cheek item I didn't have room for last week from the July 1, 1921 Adams County Leader:
"Recently a pet bear at Starkey Hot Springs broke away, and since gaining its freedom
is reported to have been seen several times; and, it is said, has attracted other bears to keep it
company. For the benefit of strangers who may not be familiar with bear characteristics we will
mention that at this time of year they are not likely to be vicious. We suggest that if the Starkey
bear meets you in the woods and shows an inclination to play, it might be well to put down the
fish basket and wrestle with it for a few minutes just for fun. Otherwise it may become indignant
and quarrelsome. Recently we spent a night on the Westfork and we noted that there are more
bears than usual at this time of year. At one place we counted twenty-six, if we remember
correctly, and they were so tame that we found it necessary to kick some of 'em out of the trail
in order to travel comfortably. They showed no inclination to be troublesome, however, except
that during the night one old brindle bruin picked up W.E. Fisher and carried him nearly a
quarter of a mile. The noise awakened us and we followed the bear, and after considerable
argument convinced it that "Fish" was not at all fit to eat, anyway. Seemingly the brute
understood us because, after stopping to listen to our discourse, it soon dropped him and went
to nibbling wild onions to take the taste out of its mouth."
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Henry
Brown. Thanks again Bob.
4-20-00
Adams County Leader, July 8, 1921:
Married: Wm. Earl Winks and Miss Gladys Leola Craddock, both of Cambridge, at
Council on July 5.
Jack Dempsey retained the world championship boxing match on July 2. "The gate
receipts for the big 'show' were $1,600,000 and the battle was witnessed by 90,000 persons some of whom paid up to $5000 for ringside seats. It is figured that Dempsey received
$29,000 per minute for the ten miners required to subdue his opponent, Carpentier."
Jim Winkler will soon open a grocery store in the Oddfellow Building.
Neal Poynor is forest ranger at the Iron Springs station above Bear.
"From a private letter from Sardies, B.C., we learn of the sudden death of James
Lawler on June 28. Mr. Lawler was an old-time resident of Council and at one time owned 160 acres of land in what is now the Council Orchards."
"James Addington, of Meadows district, who was last week arrested by Sheriff Zink
on a charge of having liquor in his possession illegally, is now in the county bastille under a sixty day sentence with a hundred dollar fine attached."
"Bring your own baskets and pick your own sour cherries at fifteen cents a gallon a
J.W. Hoover's, 'phone 44 R 5."
"Miss Winifred Brown returned on the latter part of the week from Montana where she
had been teaching school." She would later become Mrs. Robert Lindsay, and teach school in Council as well as run Starkey Hot Springs.
"All in all the people of this neighborhood had a satisfactory Fourth. Some went for a quiet day in the wilds; a few from hereabouts went to Cuprum, but the center of activity was Starkey where several hundred disported themselves throughout the day. In the evening there was a feature show at the People's Theater which drew a packed house and was, according to those present, one of the most elaborate productions ever shown here. After the show there was a dance, with the Idaho Four Furnishing music. The evening's chautauqua program,
together with this show and dance, furnished a variety of entertainment satisfactory to the large crown that was in town. At the time we went to roost there were more cars and people in Council than at any time we can recall, and all seemed to be enjoying themselves."
"Mr. and Mrs. W.H. Anderson, Oliver Anderson and Fred Brown journeyed up West
Fork Sunday evening and spent the Fourth salmon fishing. They caught three large salmon.
From all reports salmon are about as scarce as hen's teeth this year."
Adams County Leader, July 15, 1921:
Highway construction from the foot of Mesa hill to Council is to begin soon. This would be part of the North-South Highway project. (Now Highway 95.) It was during this time that the old, winding highway off the north side of Mesa Hill was built. Until then, people were still using the route that George Moser had started with a plow in 1878. The remains of his old road can still be seen. It went more straight north than the present highway, and crossed the river a couple hundred yards east of the present bridge. You can still see the hold bridge abutments from the new highway.
"On Sunday Wm. Steckman, deputy Sheriff at New Meadows, brought Frank Hiatt of
that town to Council on a charge of abandoning his wife and two small children. It appears that when Mrs. Hiatt with her little children, went to New Meadows last week in the hope of persuading her husband to do his part in supporting the family she was given a rather cold reception. Later, the husband turned up missing. Mrs. Hiatt complained to the authorities and
Mr. Steckman located Hiatt some thirty miles from New Meadows and in company with an
other woman with whom he had been associating."
"Mrs. Hiatt is a young woman of wholesome appearance. She had the look of a kindly,
tired and worry-worn little mother. Her youngest child was about six months old and the oldest probably six years." ". . . the court being satisfied that another woman was at least temporarily, of more interest to him [Hiatt] than his wife and babies, he was sentenced to ninety days in jail and a fine of $200--the equivalent of about six months in jail--in order that his transient ardor might have an opportunity to cool and in the hope that he may, through time for reflection, develop a better understanding of his duties as a husband and father."
History Corner 4-27-00
For years the Museum has had a scrap book full of old ordinances that were
established by the village of Council. It was brought to my attention that its contents might make
an interesting History Corner.
The first ordinances were passed in 1903, after the town was officially incorporated.
The first Chairman of the Village board of trustees was H.M. Jorgens. The clerk was L.L.
Burtenshaw.
Ordinance No. 1--Appointing a night watchman, to be paid $25 per month.
No. 2--Fixed the amount of the bond of the clerk and treasurer.
No. 3--Regulating the building of flues and chimneys in town, "and to prevent the
extending of iron stovepipes through the roofs of any building or the sides thereof, and to
prescribe the penalty for violation of this ordinance."
No. 4--Every resident of Council between the ages of 21 and 55 years required to
perform two day's labor upon the roads and streets in town or else or pay $4.00.
No. 5--Described how ordinances were to be passed and put into effect.
No. 6--Provided "for the peace and quiet of the Village, to prevent and punish
drunkenness, to prevent loud and unusual noise, . . ."
No. 7--Prohibited "the depositing of noxious or offensive substances" in town. It
became illegal to "deposit any manure, or other deleterious, decaying noxious or offensive
matter. . . upon any street alley thoroughfare lot or other place" in town.
No. 8--Prevented the obstruction of streets or alleys.
No. 9--Outlined how fines were to be collected.
No. 10--Gave the night watchman or policeman within the village authority to arrest
anyone violating village ordinances.
No. 12--No firing guns in town.
No. 13--All sidewalks along Moser and Illinois Avenues shall be seven feet wide and,
"constructed of lumber not less than two inches thick by six inches in width, which the said floor
thereof shall be securely nailed to stringers, the said stringers shall be not less than two inches
thick by eight inches wide, and there shall be at least four such stringers supporting the floor of
said sidewalk." All other sidewalks must be no less than four feet wide and one inch thick with
three 2"X6" stringers. Anyone can build a sidewalk of brick, stone or cement, if it conforms to
the above measurements.
No. 14--Outlawed vagrants who might loiter around town. A vagrant was anyone
hanging around town for ten days without visible means of support, who doesn't look for a job,
"or shall lie around and sleep in any outbuilding, street, alley . . . or who shall loaf around any
saloon . . . and sleep in the chairs, or upon the tables . . . or shall live around any house of
prostitution . . . ."
No. 15--No "willfully or maliciously" disturbing church services or other meetings.
No. 16--No "dance halls, music halls, or other place where women are employed, in or
about the place, or kept in any room, building or other place connected therewith" allowed
within town.
No. 17--Unlawful to allow pigs to "run at large" in town. Same for horses, cattle, sheep
or other stock--except between November 15 and March 12. In 1911 this ordinance was
amended to leave out the part about it being OK to let stock run around town from November
to March.
No. 21--Traveling shows, theatrical troupes and public entertainments where an
admission fee is charged, must have a license.
No. 22--Door to door salesmen must obtain a license.
No. 23--Prohibited "certain persons under the age of eighteen years" to be on the
streets past 8:00 PM between November 1 and April 1. The rest of the year they could stay
out until 9:00 PM. All this unless accompanied by a parent or guardian, or doing something
important.
More next week.
History Corner 5-4-00
More of the early ordinances passed by the Village of Council:
No. 24--No driving teams, wagons or livestock across sidewalks.
No. 25--Every business in town must buy a license from the village. This one was
repealed in 1913.
No. 26-- Granted the Rocky Mountain Bell Telephone Company the right to place
poles, wires, etc. in town.
No. 27 (passed in1905)--No gambling in town. Especially not faro, monte, stud poker,
roulette, lasquenet, rouget noir, rondo, draw poker, Klondike, twenty-one, or keno. (By 1905,
P.W. Johnson, brother of Seven Devils Johnson, was the chairman of the village board.
Burtenshaw was still the clerk.)
No. 28 (passed in 1905)--Every dog owner in town must pay a tax. On male dogs it
was $3.00. On each "female dog, slut or bitch" it was $10.00.
No. 29 (1906)-- Illegal for anyone under 18 to buy or possess tobacco in any form.
No. 30 (1906)-- No reckless or careless riding or driving in town.
No. 31 (1908)--Boys under 18 can't enter "any soft drink or temperance saloon" or
play cards therein, or loiter around such an establishment.
No. 33 (1909)-- Building permits required to erect structures in town.
No. 34 (1909)-- All sidewalks to be constructed of cement, brick, stone or
"asphaltum."
No. 35 (1911)-- Unlawful to "construct any vault used under a water closet or any
place where anything of a decaying nature is thrown. . . . such vault be at least five feet in depth,
two and one-half feet wide and five feet long."
No. 37-- No domestic fowl to run a large in town.
No. 38--Requiring licenses for dray and transfer lines operated in town.
By 1912, J.D. Neale was the village clerk, and A.L. Freehafer was the board
Chairman. By 1915, George M. Winkler was Chairman.
No. 42 (1915)--Granting the Adams County Light & Power Company the right to
install electrical lines and poles, etc. in town. The rates charged were 15 cents for the first 20
kilowatt hours, 10 cents for the next 20, 9 cents for the 3rd 20 hours, 8 cents for the next 40
kilowatt hours and 6 cents for the next 100 hours. The maximum bill for any month was set at
$1.00. The agreement was to be in effect until 1943. Just days before this ordinance was
signed, most of downtown Council went up in flames. It has always been my understanding that
some law or ordinance was passed after the fire that required new structures in the business
section to be built of brick, stone or cement; but I see no such ordinance is this scrap book.
No. 43 (1915)--Allowing the issue $20,000 worth of municipal bonds for construction
of a village water system. This was to include fire hydrants and a 200 cubic yard, cement
reservoir.
Many of the ordinances (44 through 60) were routine, rather boring ones concerning
taxes, regulation and charges for water, etc.
No. 61 (1919)--No barbed wire fences in town along sidewalks or public streets.
No. 67 (1920)--The old Whiteley store and the house west of it, known as the Fariello
residence, and the outbuildings associated with that residence, "declared to be a public
nuisance, offensive to the sight and dangerous to the safety and health of the inhabitants of the
said Village of Council, and a menace to the good order and well being of the inhabitants of
said Village." Buildings to be removed and grounds to be cleaned up within 60 days. [The old
Whiteley store was just west of the town square, about where Council Auto is today. The
Whiteleys had moved to a new store in 1914. The new store stood where Norm's is today,
south of the square. It was a two-story brick building, later (1919) owned and operated by
W.T. Lampkin.]
No. 70 (1920)--No motor vehicle to be driven in town with the "cutout" open. I guess
I'm too young to know what a "cutout" is. Can anyone tell me? This ordinance also said cars
were to be parked parallel to the street, " and not over 18 inches from the curb, and non shall
be parked closer than six feet apart." I've noticed in some photos from what looks like the
1940s that cars are parked at an angle instead of parallel. When N0. 70 was passed, W.E.
Fuller (veterinarian) was chairman of the Village Board, and A.L. Hagar was the clerk.
No. 74 (1923)--In order to reduce fire danger and promote health and safety, the
following buildings must be torn down and removed within ten days:
"The old icehouse on the James Mitchell lot, between the Drugstore and Brown pool
hall, and belonging to James Mitchell; The shack on the east side of lots belonging to Fields &
Fuller, between the livery stable and Council Hardware Co.'s warehouse. The old house
known as the F.E. Brown or Pell house, situated diagonally across the street from the rear end
of the Council Opera house [theater]. The old shack lately occupied by Bert Hoffman, between
the Congregational Church and the old Matt Elliott house. The old building known as the
Gillespie Building, situated nearly opposite of the Pomona Hotel and owned by W.S. Williams."
By this time, Bud Addington was Chairman of the Board.
The last ordinance in this book is No. 76, passed in 1925, concerning the removal of
many sidewalks, probably wooden, around town that were deemed to be unsafe. Several
pages detail the lot numbers and residents there.
History Corner 5-11-00
I got a couple of calls about "cutouts." I'm surprised that I had never heard of them.
They were an opening in the exhaust pipe that was located before the muffler. I gather that a
cable-type linkage (similar to a choke cable) went from the dash area to a door over the cutout
opening so it could be opened and closed. Opening the cutout decreased the backpressure in
the exhaust system, thereby decreasing the load on the engine and making it run with more
power and efficiency. The drawback was that the effect was also very loud.
Ted Moritz said he had a Model T pickup with an "exhaust whistle" on the cutout. It
emitted a very loud whistle as the exhaust blew across a set of pipes. As a young man, he used
to open it in town in the middle of the night. Youth is wasted on the young.
Well, it's about that time of year again. I'll be calling people to ask for help with minding
the Museum. We open on Memorial Day weekend--May 27. Some people get nervous,
thinking they need to sign up for a weekly commitment, but we can really use people who can
do a three-hour shift even very occasionally. The Museum will be open through Labor Day
weekend (Sept. 4). Of course it helps tremendously to have people who can do a weekly shift;
they are real life-savers!
If you've been following the progress of the stone work on the Museum, we are making
slow but steady progress. My back just about recovers from the past week's efforts when it's
time to start hoisting rocks again. Kathy Norton and Gayle Dixon have become expert mortar
mixers and rock fitters. I don't suppose they're very eager to hire out for other such projects,
but you couldn't ask for harder workers. If you would like to help, or if you would just like to
see the world-class expertise of rank amateur stonemasons in action, stop by. We're trying to
work every Wednesday from about 9:00 AM to about 4:00 PM.
Because we've been so busy weight-lifting lately, we're behind on a few projects inside
the Museum. We haven't forgotten the WWII photos people have brought in, but we haven't
had time to get them into the photo display either. A lot of people seem to appreciate the
photos of WWII veterans in the display we have. Some wonder why we don't have a photo of
so-and-so. It's because we haven't been given one. We only have what people bring us, so if
you notice we don't have a photo of someone who should be in the display, bring us a photo.
Even though we are slow, we will get it in.
I got some photos from Lela Garoutte via Eydie at the Signal American newspaper in
Weiser awhile back. I thought I would throw it in here, as it shows the diagonal parking that
prevailed in Council for a short time. I would appreciate hearing from anyone with information
about just when and why this parking arrangement came about.
The photo seems to be taken during the 1940s, judging from the cars. The white
building at the far left may have been a bowling alley at this time. It became the Idaho First
National Bank in 1951. The bank moved to it's current location in 1971.
The next building (dark) is the Merit Store (now Shavers). The next, tall white, false-
front building is the Odd Fellows Hall, built in 1905. The small structure next to it was actually a
part of the same building.
The next building is now Buckshot Mary's, previously the Rexall Drug. It was originally
built as the First Bank of Council and had a steel vault in it that is now in the building next door.
At the time of this photo it may well have housed the "Bank of Adams County," which moved
into it in 1939. Just previous to this, it had been used by the Howell Co. as a furniture display
room.
The next building is now Elite Repeats. At the time of this photo, at least half of the
building was a bakery, as the sign (probably not readable in this newspaper reproduction) says.
The vault doors from the Adams County Bank was moved to this building and is still there. At
one time, Elaine said she would give these wonderful old doors to the Museum. I never had the
time or know-how to get them out, but if Elaine would still part with them, and if anyone out
there has the time and skill we would love to have those old steel vault doors that still have
"Adams County Bank" painted on them.
The next building says, "Dean's Variety Store." I've never heard of it.
The next building was Vern Newcomb's store where he sold electrical appliances, etc.
Vern had his first store in Council in the east part of the Cool & Donnelly store (south of the
town square) in 1931. He moved into the building in this photo in 1936. It was previously Billy
Brown's pool hall, and according to the Leader editor, the building was an "eyesore" before
Newcomb moved in and fixed it up.
The next building has no sign on it in this photo, and I don't know offhand what it was
at this time. Most of the brick buildings between Buckshot Mary's and Bear Country Books
(old drug store) were built in 1915, after the big fire that burned all of their predecessors. I
assume they were made of local brick. I know at least the Rainwater building (now Sam's TV)
was, as the paper reported the bricks for it were made by Dixon & Faubion, who set up a
brick plant near the Weiser River west of town that year.
History Corner 5-18-00
Fire has been a factor throughout history. It certainly has played a role in Council's
past. The photo accompanying my column this week is of the fire that destroyed the Pomona
Hotel building in April of 1985. It stood on the southeast corner of Moser and Main, where the
Senior Center is now.
The original idea for the Pomona was that of the Washington County Land and
Development Co., which was established in 1909 for the purpose of developing the Council
Valley. The Company was headed by Earl W. Bowman and C.W. Holmes. These gentlemen,
not by coincident, operated a real estate business in Council. Local people contributed $2500
to the project, which was reported to have cost at total of $20,000.
The lot where the Pomona was built was originally occupied by Steve Richardson's
store. Richardson was much better known as a sawmill man. By 1908 Fred Cool ran a feed
store there. Cool's lot was purchased for the Hotel site early in 1910, and Cool planned to
move his business to near the railroad. He actually bought a lot about where the public
rest rooms are and built a feed store on it. He later went into partnership with Dale Donnelly
there.
The Pomona Hotel was a "Mission" style building, which was very unusual for this area.
Construction started in July of 1910. On the first floor, it initially contained a lobby with a
fireplace, a parlor, billiard room, and dining room. It had 19 guest rooms and two bathrooms
on the second floor. The tower at one corner was 44 feet tall.
The hotel opened in the fall of 1911. Its first operator was a Mr. Becker of North
Dakota, who was said to be an "experienced hotel man." In 1915 the hotel was taken over by
Frank Long, who had just previously run the Hotel Heigho in New Meadows. He planned to
install steam heat and "gasoline lights." Later that year, the Leader mentioned H.R. Struthers as
being a "former proprietor of Hotel Pomona." It also mentioned that meals were available at the
hotel cafe. At various times over the years, rooms in the lower floor of the hotel were leased to
businesses, such as the Carr and Freehafer law office.
In 1923, rates at the hotel for a single person were 50 cents to $1.00. If the room had
a bathroom, it was $1.25 to $1.50.
The early 1920s were hard years for the hotel. By 1925 it was taken by the County for
back taxes. It was unoccupied for a while during this period. That summer, there was a fire in
Council that destroyed several homes and businesses near the Pomona. The roof of the hotel
caught fire, but was extinguished.
In December of 1925 the hotel was opened by "Mr. and Mrs. Fred Shultz who have
been operating the Addington hotel . . . ." The next year, the hotel was leased to Fred Shultz.
Adams County Leader editor, William Lemon, bought the building from the County in 1927 for
$1,500. In 1928 the hotel was closed for renovation. It is said that some of its more ornate
structural features were removed at this time. When the remodeling was done, the name was
changed to the "Council Hotel," and Lemon moved the Leader office into the southwest corner
of the first floor.
In 1930, Lemon sold the hotel to Mr. and Mrs. S. J. Stephans who had formerly
operated the Cuprum Hotel. Martha Stephans was the former wife of Pete Kramer, the stage
operator. (The Kramers had divorced in 1920.)
In 1939 the hotel got a new metal roof. I don't have much of the story of the hotel after
this time. I remember the Judd family running it when I was a kid (late 1950s and early 60s). At
the time it burned it was a feed store.
Eleanor Hoover was in town last weekend. She visited the Museum and enjoyed the
fruit exhibit showing where she used to live and the orchards owned by her father (John
Hoover) and grandfather (Bill).
The graduates of Council High from 1949 and 1950 are having a reunion this
September in Council. They are trying to locate Dale Bower and Donna Chaney Woods. If
anyone knows how to contact them, please let me know.
The Museum opens May 27!
Adams County Leader, July 15, 1921:
Married: Ira N. Moulton and Miss Faith Lucile Allenbough, both of Weiser, at Council
on July 11.
"W.H. Hoover received the first carload of apple boxes Friday. Boxes are now
costing 16 1/2 cents as compared with 28 cents last year."
"Messers. Poynor, Lappin, Anderson, Hamilton and Scholl have been harvesting their
cherries during the past week. The crop is rather light, but prices are satisfactory."
George W. Phipps has resigned as chairman of the Board of Directors of the Council
Creamery.
Adams County Leader, July 22, 1921:
"Charles Warner came up from Weiser a few days ago to take charge of the Palm Cafe
for a week or so while Con Walston enjoys a needed vacation." I've never heard of the Palm
Cafe.
Married: Robert Zink and Ethel May Fuller, at the home of the brides parents, Mr. and
Mrs. C.C. Fuller, in Council on July 20. The groom is the son of Mrs. Harriet Zink.
"Lawson Hill is having a hay and horse barn built on the Wymoth orchard ranch. Mr.
Kaufman and Frank Cossitt are assisting with carpenter work." Anybody know where this barn
was or is, and if it's still standing? It must be in the "Orchard district," near where Hill lived.
Adams County Leader, July 29, 1921:
The Elmquist & Peterson sawmill on Pole Creek was forced to stop operations
because they couldn't pay their employees. "A crew of from thirty to forty men have been
employed at and about the mill, and many of these workmen were in town on Tuesday,
accompanied by Attorney Donart, of Weiser, to look after their interests. Elmquist and
Peterson have approximately a half million feet of logs near the mill, ready to be made into
lumber, and it is hoped that the matter will soon be adjusted so that they will be enabled to
continue operations."
"It is expected that the contract for state highway work between Fruitvale and Council
will be let soon. The work will start at Fruitvale and move this way. " This was the "North-
South Highway," which later became Highway 95. At this time, the main road went over Fort
Hall Hill, somewhat as it does now. The new highway would follow the present route of the
Fruitvale-Glendale road. At this time (1921), the road to Fruitvale went along the hillsides east
of the present road, and came into Fruitvale from the east on Rome Beauty Avenue.
"On the first of the week, while Commissioner Robinson was making a trip to Bear with
his auto truck, a tourist car struck his machine, badly demolishing it. We are indirectly informed
that at the time of the collision Mr. Robinson's truck was standing still, but not having
interviewed him we are uncertain that this statement is correct." I think the editor meant to say
"Robertson," not "Robinson."
"Wm. Marks on Wednesday commenced grading for the new switch on the P.& I.N.
R.R. which is under construction to benefit the Council Valley Orchards."
Married: Robert Caseman and Miss Josephine McGinley, at Weiser, on Sunday [July
24th]. "The groom came to this county last year and conducts the farm on Westfork that was
formerly owned by Charles Ham. The bride is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J.H. McGinley of
Fruitvale."
History Corner 6-1-00
This week I dragged out some photos that Cyril Burt sent me.
Click here to see photos
Since people are starting to fish for salmon, the first photo shows one of the ways local people used to harvest these fish.
The first photo shows the Burt brothers of Fruitvale--(left to right) Bill, Claude, Harold and Fred--in 1925. They are holding the tools of the trade: gigs and the gas lantern. A two- pound coffee can with one side cut out was put over the two-mantle lantern so that the light
would only reflected in one direction. At night, the boys scared the salmon out of the deeper holes into the riffles, then speared them with the gigs. This was legal at the time. Why they did this at night, I'm not sure. Cyril said some of their gigs (spears) were converted three-tine pitchforks.
The Burts were a big part of the population at Fruitvale for awhile. The patriarch and matriarch of the family, Charles and Eunice Burt, came to Fruitvale from Caldwell in 1924. Their children were Fred, William (Bill or Will), Charles, Harry, Claude, Harold, and Mary
(May). May married Arthur Hulse. May and Arthur's daughters were Eunice (Finn) and Edna (Rice). Eunice Burt died at Fruitvale in 1933. Charles (Senior) died at Fruitvale in 1940. Several of the "kids" lived at Fruitvale as adults, along with their families. Today there isn't a single Burt living at Fruitvale.
Caption of second photo: Some of the Burt boys and their dad. Left to right--Fred, William, Charles Senior, Harry, Claude and Harold. The old railroad section house is in the background. This is where Arthur and May Hulse lived when he ws the Fruitvale section
foreman. Arhtur was killed in a motor car (speeder) accident in 1925. I have a favor to ask of the merchants in town. As people from out of town stop in your stores, please ask them if they have visited our Museum. If they haven't, tell them where it is. It
will give you a chance for friendly interaction with your customers, plus it will be good for them, good for the Museum and good for the town.
History Corner 6-8-00
More photos this week. All these were sent to me by Bob Hagar.
The first is in keeping with last week's fishing photo. It shows (left to right) I.M. Durrell
(editor of the Adams County Leader), L.J. Rainwater (downtown store owner who died of
pneumonia in 1918, and whose son was a Nobel Prize winning physicist), and F.H. Morrison
(who I think ran a sawmill on Mill Creek). They seem to have caught quite a mess of salmon.
the location is unidentified, but there is a railroad track behind them. I'll bet Albert Hagar took
the picture.
The one of the house is one I would like information about. The caption on the back
says, "The southwest corner of the Miller home." I assume it was in Council. Does anyone
know where it was or is?
The next photo is of the bridge across the Payette River, just as it comes out of Payette
Lake. Date: Sept. 1, 1918. This location was called "Lardo," long before the town of McCall
was established. The Museum has a photo of a bridge that preceded this one, made of logs.
This one seems to have a steel frame.
The Museum is open every day but Monday. We have several ladies who are helping
on a weekly basis. We always need people for weekends and fill in. I might be calling you.
History Corner 6- 15-00
I pulled one of my favorite photos out this week. It shows a pack outfit loaded with
provisions for their sheep camps. The date is approximately 1905. The location is at what is
now the intersection of Moser Avenue and Highway 95 (Michigan St.), looking northeast.
Starting at the far left, the first building is the Winkler Brothers blacksmith shop. In
1912, a dentist named Dr. Gillespie bought the property and replaced the shop with a drug
store.
The next building, the big white house, may not have been Mrs. Arrington's boarding
house/hotel yet, but it became such in about 1909. She had left that location by 1925 when a
fire burned this, and several other nearby buildings. The house belonged to James Herron when
it burned. During this fire, the roof of the Pomona Hotel caught fire, but was extinguished.
The next building--dark, with a false front--is the Lowe and Jones store. James Lowe
owned this store in partnership with John Peters in 1900, then Peters sold his share to James
Jones in 1902. Jim Lowe-a former Weiser principal of schools--was married to Carrie Lowe,
who was a teacher, and then Adams County school superintendent from 1922 to 1942.
James J. Jones was married to Olive Biggerstaff. They bought the Bill Hartley ranch
(about 4 miles north of Council), and lived there during the time the store was in operation. The
Joneses sold to George Gould, and Lester Gould lived there for many years before selling to
Steve and Elsie Shumway. That's only four owners (five if you count both Goulds) in over a
hundred years.
The old Lowe and Jones store burned in 1928. I think it was empty at the time.
The white building with the false front was the William Fifer jewelry store. It also
housed other businesses in addition to Fifer's. In 1910 part of the building became the Council
State Bank. In 1912, part of it became a barber shop. It was in operation into the 1920s.
In 1915, James Stinson and P.A. McCallum (attorneys) formed partnership and are
moved into the Fifer building. The paper mentioned that their office would be located where
probate judge and sheriff had been. I think this building burned in the 1928 fire that got the
Lowe and Jones building. At the time, Keckler's barber shop was still in the building.
Things are going well at the Museum, thanks to our wonderful volunteers!
History Corner 6-22-00
I have Bob Hagar to thank for this week's column. When he was in Minnesota last
year, he drove around with a 91 year old friend named Duane Johnson, looking for old
windmills that Duane had worked on and installed when he was young. They didn't find any still
standing, but Duane provided some information about windmills.
Judging from photos from about 1910, there used to be a lot of windmills in Council.
The only one Bob remembers in one along the highway in the neighborhood of Cottonwood
Creek and the Mesa railroad siding.
Here's what Duane had to say:
I will attempt to answer some windmill questions. First I think I may have said this before, but windmills don't dig wells. In Minnesota we asked that the well water be tested before we would set up a windmill. Like any structure the foundation must be solid and heavy enough to support the whole structure. The first thing is measuring out holes for the 3 or 4 legs. These must be very accurate about 6 foot deep and big enough so that a big rock can be pounded into sand and crushed rock. These legs have a heavy cross pieces at the bottom. The legs are lowered into holes and the first section of the tower is bolted to each leg then the first cross piece is bolted between each of the legs. The holes are then filled making sure that cross pieces are both level and square - this is the big job. After the tower is completed, the head is installed, the wheel assembled, and then the tail vane is installed. There is a brake on the wheel and an in and out shifting arm. A wire is then attached to this arm and strung thru rings down one of the legs to the ground. Then a wood handle is attached to the wire. When the control handle is pulled down the mill is out of gear and wheel and tail vane are parallel and swing in line with wind. Sometimes a strong wind may blow into the end of the blades and force the wheel to turn a bit.
This of coarse wears on the brake, and in some instances the wheel may turn. When the control handle is released, the wheel and vane are perpendicular with wheel directly in the wind, and away it goes.
The windmill in the photo looks like an Aeromotor (the kind we sold) with an enclosed gear box. It looks like it is out of gear. If it were in gear you would not see the tale vane or only the edge.
I remember helping my Dad erect the towers and pull the complete enclosed gear head
with a jim pole secured to the top of the tower with ropes and chains. There was a pulley arrangement on top of the jim pole.
A long rope was run thru the pulley and back to the ground and tied to the gear head. Dad or I would guide the head as a couple of men from the farm would pull the head up the tower. In the picture you can see the top cover. That cover was removed and 2 quarts of fine oil, capable of withstanding the cold MN winters was poured into the crankcase. Each year the old oil was drained and refilled, that was one of my regular jobs. I got $ 2.50 for the trip to the farm the oil and refilling.
The vane and wheel also needs replacing. The tower and the platform look OK. Too
bad we can't see the pump house and water tank. Sometimes the water tank was built inside the tower or a force pump was used and the water tank was built in a barn haymow.
I would like to thank Mary Stephens of Midvale for a donation to the Museum in
memory of Edna Moritz.
Come in and see the Museum. It's open every day but Monday.
Caption for photo:
"Early farm windmills used flat wooden slats for blades. In 1888 Aeromotor introduced its
mathematical windmill, which substituted sheet-metal blades for those of wood. Aeromotor
stamped a broad curve into the metal blade to rap more air. It did, and in doing so directed the
air to flow over the backside of the following blade. This cascade effect heightened the
difference in pressure from one side of the blade to the other, improving Aeromotor's
performance over that of its rivals."
History Corner 6-29-00 thru 11-16-00
This is a long series of columns about a journey made by C.W. Neff and three companions
to the Thunder Mountain gold strike in 1902.
History Corner 6-29-00
I have Gayle Dixon to thank for this week's column. She got me a copy of an account
written by C.W. Neff, about his trip to the gold fields near Thunder Mountain east of McCall.
Here is his story, along with some comments:
"In midwinter 1901-02 there began to appear articles in the papers of Denver, Salt
Lake City, Seattle and other western cities rumoring the discovery of rich new mines in Central
Nevada and Central Idaho. The West has scarcely cooled off from the heat of the Cripple
Creek and Klondike excitements. There were now twenty thousand people in Cripple Creek,
and in the far north were thousands of men searching for new Anvil Creeks and finding them."
"I knew nothing about prospecting, but I had been working in mines in Custer and
Saguache counties in Colorado, and I had a little stock in one of the good mines in Cripple
Creek and had been up there several times and my home was in Florence where were the mills
that extracted the gold from a thousand tons of Cripple Creek ore every day. Out of some of
these ore trains I had seen certain cars cut and put on the main line and sent on down to the
smelters at Pueblo or Denver and more than once I had seen men I knew riding on these cars
with shotguns on their knees as they sat on piles of ore sacks. This was high grade destined for
treatment at smelters. So these new rumors caught my eye. If I could only be one of the first in
a camp like Cripple Creek!"
"In January 1901 I went to Colorado Springs and was fortunate enough to be sent to
Huerfano County to lease prospective oil land. When I came back at the end of a month and
went to the Elk's Club whole groups of men were in the rooms arguing the respective merits of
Tonopah [Nevada] and Thunder Mountain [Idaho]."
"The former, according to all accounts, was one hundred and forty miles from the
nearest outfitting point, and these one hundred and forty miles were desert dust and sand with
no water and without trees. In contrast, Thunder Mountain was fully as remote from outfitting
points, but the trail to it was blockaded for seven months of the year by deep snow and in the
open season there were unbridged rushing streams and intervening high mountains to be
crossed. But along these trails was wild game in abundance with fish in every stream and every
mile an untouched wooded wilderness."
"I remembered the hunting trip I had taken into the pineries of Northern Minnesota a
few years before and chose Thunder Mountain. Having made my decision, I wrote to my old
friend Jim in Iowa, telling him briefly what I had heard about the new camp, asking him if he
would like to go along. Before I got and answer, the oil company I had been working for sent
me to Boulder County to lease more land. Returning from this brief trip I learned that not only
was Jim going to join me, but he was bringing with him two other friends I knew. The Chicago
and Des Moines and Sioux City and Omaha papers had already done their work and they had
laid plans before even hearing from me.
By arrangement I come up from Colorado and meet Jim, Frank and Ed in Pocatello
[Idaho]. They were from Iowa. Together we continue to Weiser and take the Pin Road (Pacific
& Idaho Northern) to Council, March thirtieth. The year was 1902."
At this time, Council was the end of the line on the Pacific and Idaho Northern
Railroad. It was as close to Thunder Mountain as people could get by rail. The depot in
Council stood at the east end of Illinois Avenue, near the old Chevron station. It was a busy
place during the gold rush to Thunder Mountain.
"Arriving there late in the afternoon we do nothing but make inquiries as to the job ahead of us. Not many men around. These are mostly old. We find that hundreds, or maybe thousands, have gone on ahead of us, that a number have already been in and returned but none of these men are around to give us any information."
"Some of the old men are talkative if approached properly. They have not been in, but intend to go in the coming summer. They have been long in Idaho and are used to the
mountains."
"We divide our duties for the next day. Ed and Jim are horse wise, or so they say, and to them will fall the job of purchasing four broncs. Not many horses are available we hear, but hundreds have been brought to Council and sold in the last few weeks. Horses can be taken for one hundred miles now, but if the snow should soften much they would be useless. Better get in while the snow is hard and before it begins melting at the bottom."
"Frank and I will buy the necessary grub and other supplies. Frank is a merchant at
home and I have had three years' experience around mining camps in Colorado."
Continued next week.
7-6-00
Note to Editor:
The lady who gave us the check from the class of '39 is named Doris Purnel Scheer.
I'm attaching the photo she gave us. Click Here to see CHS Class of 1939 photo.
The names, top to bottom, left to right:
Top row: Lois Shaw, Donna Watson, Richard Kidwell, Fern Poynor, Doris Purnel
2nd row down: Zoe Thorpe, Audrey Zink, Marie Craddock (now McFadden), Grace
Jenkins, Dorothy Ham
3rd row down: Dorothy Purnel, Julie Sigler, Howard Jeppson, Winona Mason, Ruth
Perkins.
Lower left: Norman Selby Lower right: Delmar Hallett
Not pictured, but in the graduating class: Marie Barber, Wilber Ham, Fern Hoffman,
Hazel Hoffman, Maryann King, Verne Martin, Melvin Snow
Caption for THE OTHER ATTACHED PHOTO:
The town square in Council on July 4, 1901--looking northeast (Shaver's would be at
the left edge of the photo today.) This is very close to the way Council looked in 1902 when C.W. Neff and his companions got off the train at the depot (about a quarter mile beyond the
building on the right edge of the photo). The road north out of town (now Galena Street) went to the left between the Haas Brother's store in the background and the last building in the
main row. Somewhere between the open square and the turn north just mentioned is where
the "rodeo" happened with the pack horses.
The first thing I would like to do is thank the Council High School class of 1939 for a
generous donation of $300 to the Museum! After their reunion, they had some money left over,
and figured we should have it. Thank you very much!
Doris Purnel Scheer also left a class photo at the Museum. I will see if I can get it put
up in the High School with the other class pictures. It's such a shame that so many class photos
burned with the old high school in 1964. Bear in mind that the class of '39 didn't graduate from
the "old" high school, but from the "old old" high school that also housed the grade school--the
big brick building, built in 1907, that stood near where Economy Roofing is now.
Now to continue with the odessy of the men bound for Thunder Mountain in 1902.
By nightfall of the thirty-first we are the owners of four horses and have bought saddle blankets, pack saddles and allfallcases for each animal. There is some discussion as we all look the horses over as to which particular horse shall belong to Ed, which to Jim, etc. I admit that I know nothing about horses and that I will be satisfied with the one that is left. One horse cost thirty-five, two cost thirty and a gentle old mare which stood sleepily by herself in the corral cost twenty-five dollars. She fell to me. The man in charge of the corral who had heard all of the talk said quietly to me: "Don't worry, that old mare has already made two round trips to Warren this winter." I did not get the significance of his remarks.
We bought enough supplies for thirty days. All the food was packed in cloth bags.
Flour, oatmeal, bacon, hams, beans, rice, sugar, salt, dried prunes and peaches, raisins, coffee,
tea, soap and a small number of cans of condensed milk. We bought a few tin plates, cheap
knives, forks and spoons, a set of nested tin pails, two frying pans, a coffee pot and a
galvanized water bucket. As equipment, we had brought along bedding for two completed
beds, a ten by twelve wall tent, a small sheet-iron stove, an oven and two joints of pipe. For
tools we had a short-handled straight-bladed shovel, three coal miners' picks bought in Omaha,
and a poll axe. Ed, Jim and I each had a heavy rifle.
The few buildings in the town were ranged at intervals along the west side and north
end of an open field.
In front of the main general store where we had bought and collected our possessions,
the four horses bought the day before were brought on the morning of the jump off. Not one of us had ever put a pack on a horse. There were several natives lounging in front of the store to see what they might see.
We put our bedding into rolls and roped them. We filled the allfallcases with bags of
grub, tools, cooking utensils, extra shoes and clothing. The shovel, axe, guns and water pail
were left out.
Each case was filled without regard to its weight. The horses had been tied to the rail
standing quietly enough. They were now led up one at a time, and without a re-cinching, a pair
of cases was hung on, a roll of bedding, tent or other bundle was placed between them, a long
lash rope was wound clumsily around horse and pack, and the end tied where it seemed
convenient. Everything seemed to be moving along smoothly. All the packs on, the rifles were
tied securely on top. The water bucket was a problem and was left to the last. It was finally
turned upside down and tied on Ed's thirty-five dollar horse. There was a final chorus of
'Good-bye and Good luck' from the crowd which suddenly seemed to have been greatly augmented. Men and women and children appeared from nowhere to see the start of the great adventure.
Each man led his own horse. Ed took the lead, setting his face to the north. He felt like Daniel Boone starting down from the Cumberland Gap.
As before stated, the open square was like a small field. The road to Meadows led out
from the northeast corner. Ed had made perhaps fifty feet in that direction when something
happened. Maybe he looked around to see how his troop was coming. Maybe he pulled tighter on the lead rope. At any rate, a change of pace in his horse caused a slight jingle of the water pail. His bronco leaped to one side as if he had heard a rattlesnake. Ed held on to the rope.
The horse's second move was to stand on his hind feet. The rattle of the water bucket could now be heard all over the square. Since Ed was still holding on when the horse came down to four feet again, he had to come in Ed's direction. Ed was no coward and he knew a great deal about horses. He had broken colts back in Iowa. He intended to shorten his hold on the rope, and did make a move to that end, but the bronc's head went down between his knees, and Ed failed to shorten his hold. About this time, the bucket fell off with a tremendous rattle. Since Ed was still hanging on when the bronc's head came up the first time to look around, he was looking in Ed's direction. Maybe it wasn't intentional, but it looked as if he intended to get rid of Ed. At any rate when his head went down the second time, and his back curved up, his aim was true. A roll of bedding shot from the pack and struck Ed amidships. He lost his hold. A couple more bucks and the entire pack went under the horse's belly. It disintegrated by degrees as the squealing animal ploughed up, battered and fertilized that field.
Continued next week.
7-13-00
Now this performance, considered by itself, would have not been a disaster. It was
highly entertaining to a few small boys on the outskirts of the field who, at the first buck, had let out fearsome yells. Ed afterward maintained that he heard a shot, but that might well have been a suddenly parted cinch. Jim, Frank and I stood petrified with amazement. That is for a few moments, or until about the time the pack went under Ed's bronc and real work started. Then the reserves went into action. Jim's horse moved so quickly that its halter rope left his hand without burning it. Frank was next in line and he had time to tighten his hold, which was too bad for him. He held on manfully, but he was too light. He lost his feet, and to escape being dragged, let go the rope. The show did not last long, but it was long enough to scatter the contents of the three packs widely over the field.
The old mare? Well, she just stood on three legs and appeared to be asleep. At any
rate, she was resting. Two men now came out to where I as surveying the wreckage. "Might as well take her pack off until you get ready to start." Without more ado, one man got on each side of the old mare, loosened the lash rope and removed the packs. "Just drop the rope, she'll stand." I did so, and sure enough she remained standing in her place, so I turned my attention to helping gather up the scattered goods. Volunteers appeared to help catch the loose horses, and everything was brought back to the original starting place.
The gear was examined and three cinches were found to be broken. These saddles
were taken into a harness shop at the south end of the square, and in a few minutes were
brought back good as new. We then began to clear the ropes, and once more looked
dubiously at the collected packs.
At this point, two long remembered benefactors stepped out toward the harassed
group. The two men who had unpacked my horse. We never learned the names of these two
men, but they were the truest mentors we were ever to meet in this new state of Idaho. "Well
boys, let us give you the first lesson. watch us and remember what we tell you."
With that, the horses were led in line and saddled one at a time. Ed held his while the
two men saddled him. He rolled his eyes a little but submitted, probably thinking it was not
worth while to buck with an empty saddle. Then they saddled the others. Next they gave their
attention to the packs. All the cases were repacked with precision and hefted so that each pair might balance. Tin pans, pots and rattling articles were securely muffled. Even the water bucket,
the cause of the original fracas, was stuffed with a pillow and placed inside one of the cases.
Even the old mare's pack was checked and changed. Then the cases, properly paired, and the big rolls of bedding, tent, etc., undone and folded into squares, were made into four groups.
One case in each group was set out by itself about six feet from its mate. Ed's horse was led up and between one case and the balance of that load. One packer took the left side of the horse, the other the right.
First, one of them re-tightened the cinch. This he did by placing one foot up against the side of the animal and heaving with all his strength. He uttered a kind of chant--"Mada two horse of him"-- and this he seemed to be in fair way to do when he finally snapped the strap through a loop and drew it tight. In concert then, both men lifted their cases and hung them on the saddle. A small bundle was placed between. A couple of quilts folded square placed on top of this. Then one of the men stepped to the horse's quarter and rocked the pack from side to side to see that it was properly balanced. A canvas tarp was next folded and put on top. Then with swift motions which the uninitiated could not follow, they put on the diamond hitch. One of them next took the hackamore rope from Ed's hand and tied it short to the top of the pack. He notified the world in general to look out for itself, stepped to the read of the horse and struck him a hard blow on the rump. The horse was game enough and put on a good show for a couple of minutes, but the pack was now a part of him, and he finally gave up, stood until caught and was brought back to join the bunch. "Now I don't think he will try it again," said the old packer.
"When the pack was on the second horse and ready for the lash rope, the packer said,
"I'll show you the squaw hitch, which is very simple, and I think you will get it right the very first time." So all the four partners gathered around while he slowly put it on.
The third horse was led up, the pack put on and tried for balance. A rifle was now
being buried in the bedding of each of the last three packs. When the third horse was ready for the hitch, the packer turned to him. "You lash this one." Jim took the rope and got it right without any hesitation. "That's fine. You won't have any more trouble with packing if you're careful to balance you packs."
When the old mare's pack was finally on, there remained the shovel and the axe. The
packer stuck these, handles first, through the ropes of her pack saying, "You may need these
along the trail."
Continued next week.
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of
Walter Grossen.
From this point on, some of the actual column that appeared in the Adams County
Record is left out, and only the text of the story is included.
7-20-00
There was a handshake all round with the two old packers, a genuine thanksgiving
which was never to be forgotten, and we were soon out of the little town and on the road to
great adventure and headed for the fabulous mountain built of gold. The road bore to the
northeast, and we soon passed the last of the scattered ranches in the upper end of the
valley. We had got a late start in spite of the fact that we had got up very early. We were
climbing gradually into higher country, and the road became, in places, a quagmire, and there
was still a lot of snow about.
[This would have been in the canyon between Fort Hall Hill and Price Valley. At this
time, a shorter road between Council and Long Valley was being built. From the Council
Valley, it went up Mill Creek, then east over the mountains. It is interesting that Neff and his
companions took the older, longer route via Meadows. Even though the shortcut was not a
completed road until September of 1902, it is my impression that many people bound for
Thunder Mountain that year took the shorter route. The reason for the road was not the
"boomers" headed for Thunder mountain, but because there were no good roads up the
Payette River to Long Valley. Freighters hauling supplies to Long Valley had been traveling
all the way around through Council, Meadows and Lardo (McCall), and a shorter route was
much in demand.]
We saw men with horses camped along the road, and caught up with and passed
men afoot with heavy packs on their backs. We tried to make our way along just outside of
the well-traveled trail, but found this too difficult. Without any packs on our own backs, we
found the going tough. So after seven or eight miles at the most, we stopped for our first
camp along side a clear stream. We had to tie our horses up, for we were afraid that they
might go back in the night. We fed them oats which we had brought. We cut and laid down
some poles in a level spot between two trees which we cleared of snow, and set up our tent
and stove. Our beds were of green boughs laid on the poles, and on them our bedding. It
was dark before we got through with our supper. Frank and I had one bed, Jim and Ed the
other. We were all dog tired, pulling our way through the mud and slush, and slept. At any
rate I did.
We were all glad to get up early. Our beds had looked comfortable when we had
finished them the night before, but we all had found projecting knots and uncomfortable
sticks under us. Getting breakfast and breaking camp that first morning out on the trail was a
slow, new experience. We found the grub too widely distributed through the packs, so we
remedied this by putting in two cases all that we might need for a few days
Being cheechakos, we were ignorant of the cardinal tenets of the pack trail. They
start as follows: Get up early. Have the duites divided. The wrangler goes after the horses if
they are loose, and brings them in. The cook starts breakfast. Another will take down the
tent and fold up the bedding. Still another must get dry wood and bring water. So far as
possible before resting, the packs must be made up. After eating, everything must be made
ready to put on the horses as quickly as possible. These can be saddled as soon as brought
in, but must be re-cinched before being loaded.
The packs on, someone takes a last look around the tent site, the camp fire site, all
the nearby ground and up in the trees. Too many articles are lost, even by the careful. An
early start gives the chance to pick a new camp early in the afternoon. Commercial pack
trains make about fifteen miles per day only. There is no stop for lunch. Lightly packed trains
or those returning without loads may make twenty-five.
Well, on the morning after our first night we got a late start. The weather was fine
and there was some frost. The going was much the same as it had been, but we were
ascending all the time. At breakfast time, Jim and I had provided a small lunch to be got at
easily at noon time, so we halted at midday near a stream and ate this, although we did not
take off the packs. We had no trouble with the horses on this second day, but men and
horses were very tired when, at about supper time, we dragged our feet wearily across a
snowy flat to the little cluster of buildings known as Meadows. In front of one marked
"Livery Stable" we turned in, and at the door began to remove the loads from the tired
horses. We suddenly bethought ourselves to keep the packs separate. We ordered oats and
hay for the horses, and since we were still within the limits of what we called civilization and
wanted its comforts as long as obtainable, we crossed the street to a building which bore a
sign marked "Meals and Beds."
"Other strangers began to come in pairs and groups, and there was much subdued
talk throughout the evening in the great store-like room which was heated by a big sheet iron
cylinder which would take cord-wood through the top. The weather was not very cold, but
nearly all found it necessary to remove boots and dry out foot-wear. There was much
planning going on and we heard frequent repetition of the names "Smith Creek, Big Creek,
Monumental" and also the magic names "Rainbow and Thunder Mountain." There seemed to
be something mysterious about the latter end of this trail which disappeared into hitherto
unknown fastnesses as it wound up Monumental.
We were too tired to do more than ,and went to bed early, each resolved to lose no
time in reaching this incomparable Eldorado.
7-27-00
There were no laggards in that rush. Long before daylight we were awakened by the
sound of heavy footfalls in the hall and room below. We were stiff and sore, but a little
exercise would straighten out the kinks. Breakfast was already on. We ate, ordered a lunch
put up, and struck across for the stable. Our horses were brought out, saddled and packing
begun. The wild one came first. He was not so rambunctious this morning. Jim put on the
squaw hitch without hesitation. Ed held him while the other three were packed. The stable
men informed us that there would be hay at the lake, but no oats. Before leaving the lake we
should inquire about feed further on. We added two twenty-five pound sacks of oats to two
of the packs and struck out along the well-packed trail which led east. The snow was not
very deep, about two feet, but we were traveling toward a high timbered range which looked
dark green in the distance.
We had no trouble in the forenoon. The night had been frosty enough to harden the
snow, and travel had been heavy enough to make it reasonably wide for the passage of men
or beasts in single file. Now the trail led through thick forest, big yellow pine and fir. There
was no brush except along the watercourses in the gulches.
[It's hard to imagine any hills in this region free of brush. In those days, before forest
fires were supressed, the frequent fires kept brush from proliferating. Indians would
purposely set fires on a regular basis, burning untold thousands of acres each year. Because
of the lack of brush and other "understory," these fires did little damage to established trees,
and in fact were good for the ecosystem. This is exactly why the Forest Service has started
doing controled burns--to head back toward the ecosystem that existed before settlement.]
At noon we ate hastily from the lunch which had been brought along, but did not
unpack our horses. We were anxious to make time.
Having eaten, we pushed on, and so reached a summit. [This would have been near
the head of Goose Creek, probably south of it.] Beyond was a vast expanse of timbered
country which seemed to be without peaks in the immediate distance, and was but little
lower than the mountain which we were crossing.
By this time, the sun had softened the snow somewhat. Going down a sunny slope
through some scattering yellow pines, Ed's horse slipped off the trail and began to flounder in
the deep soft snow. He kept at it quite a while and stopped only from exhaustion. We tried
to get him up and on the trail, but he succeeded only in getting further away. At last we took
off his load, and dragging him up on the trail again, repacked him. Thrice again on that hillside
we had horses down, and had to unpack and pack again. Luckily, however, for us, the way
now left the open yellow pines and passed across a creek and into a deep growth of black
pines. Here the snow was firmer, and as the day waned, the air grew colder. We met a few
men afoot coming out. These men were not very talkative. They would tell the distance to the
lake, but upon being asked what they thought of the mines at Thunder Mountain they would
shake their heads and say, "Go on and see," and edge around us and soon disappear for
they were good walkers."
We reached the lake that evening, but men and horses were very tired. This body of
water was marked on the maps as Payette Lake. On the trail it was always referred to as the
lake or upper or lower lake.
There was plenty of hay to be had at a high price. About fifty men were camped
about under the trees. A branch trail came in at this point from Long Valley, and there was a
small occupied cabin here and corrals, but travelers had to camp out and eat their own grub.
We learned that there was hay at Fisher Creek, the next day's stage, but none
beyond that except possibly at Burgdorf's, and the latter place was two stages beyond
Fisher Creek.
At the lake, Ed and Jim slept together. Frank and I shared the other bed.
8-3-00
Horses were down a good many times in the afternoon on the way to Fisher Creek.
A very hard day. We had learned from observing others that it was wise to take the packs
off the horse for an hour or more at midday. The old mare, however, never got off the trail or
gave any trouble.
That afternoon we had our first sight of a dog team. Every winter the mail was
carried between the lower end of the lake and Warren by this means. The trail was following
the shoreline. Keeping not far off shore, the five dogs, harnessed in tandem order, came
pulling a long low sled or toboggan. Sacks of mail were lashed upon it, and it had two light
handles set like plow handles extending back. The driver was trotting in the rear. The dogs,
or most of them, kept up a continuous yipping as they ran jauntily along. They actually
seemed to be enjoying the work or to be proud of their job and willing to show off about it.
The men watching from the shore waved their hands more to the dogs than to their driver.
Just as we arrived at Fisher Creek where there were perhaps fifty men with as many
or more horses a wild yell from our rear stampeded not only our horses, but the whole
camp. Yelling like an Indian and firing a six shooter, a man hazing two loaded big burros
ahead of him charged into camp. Frightened horses crashed into each other trying to get out
of the way, and many not yet unpacked went down in the deep snow. There were many
muttered threats and black looks directed toward the newcomer who, it was soon
perceived, was a mere boy not over seventeen years old. After the disturbance had subsided
and the work of making camp got under way, this boy approached me and called me by
name. He proved to be from Villa Grove, Colorado. His father had staked him to $150.00
and he had left home to join the rush. On the way in Denver, he had been robbed of all his
money and been delayed until he could get more money from home.
One of the men in camp told him never to do anything like that again if he valued a
whole skin. He had a disarming smile, however, and from that night on the antics and
vagaries of the Jackass Kid were published far and wide in the Idaho wilderness.
At Fisher Creek, Jim asked Frank if he would be willing to sleep with Ed. Frank said
certainly, and that arrangement was followed that night.
The next day was much like its predecessor except that there seemed to be more
men on the trail. Horses went down floundering and ruining the trail. There was one notable
exception. That was the old mare which belonged to me. When one of her front feet failed to
find firm footing, she stopped, shifted her position, tried the snow with her feet and did not
move ahead until she had found solid snow.
We camped in the snow at Little Lake. Next day was up hill. The going was better in
the mornings, so we got an early start. After hard work with the horses, we got over Secesh
summit which was ascended so gradually that we were scarcely aware of its height, except
for the great depth of snow.
We had fed the last of our hay at Little Lake so the horses had to be given precious
oats.
Next day was a comparatively short journey. The going in the snow was as bad as
usual, and we were all tired enough when late in the afternoon we reached Burgdorf's, which
according to all reports on the trail, was a grand stopping place. Old Fred was genial and his
whiskey was said to be good. We took aff the packs and went into the big room which
served as office, bar, and gambling room. He set out glasses and a bottle and gave a
welcoming roar and invitatinal gesture. Ed and I poured ourselves a drink, but this was
something new for Frank and Jim, and they just stood and looked around.
The drink downed, Ed broached the subject of hay. Old Fred immediately showed
great consternation on his face. "Hay! I have no hay for months. Too many horses, they eat
me out long ago." But we had been warned of this complaint, and after a half hour of denial
and a couple more drinks he agreed t let us have one bale of about eighty pounds for $5.00.
This he swore was from the small store which he had reserved for his own horses. Of course we did not know that he had no horses and that this performance was repeated several times
day, and was always polite on Burgdorf's part because he had to sustain his reputation as
the friend of every man who came that way, and in truth he was a friend.
Now to go back for a moment to the time we camped at Little Lake. Jim, there, had
come to me and said, "Do you want to try sleeping with Ed and let me sleep with Frank?" I
agreed. No sooner had we turned in for the night and settled for a blessed rest on the pine
bough beds than Ed suddenly floundered like one of the broncos in the snow. He threw
himself up in the air to turn over. The covers somehow all went with him, and when he came
down again solidly and went on sleeping, I found that I still had some bed under me, but
none over me. The next day I told Jim and Frank that thereafter the bedding would be
divided into two equal parts. We would give Ed one bed and the three of us sleep in the
other. We agreed since we had, in turn, found that no one could sleep with him.
8-10-00
To return to Burgdorf's. The horses provided for and our bedding carried to the long
bunk house, which was a wing of the main building, we took a look at the bath house.
Burgdorf's great hot spring was known far and wide. We felt of the water, and it seemed
plenty hot. More travelers had been coming, and there was great stir about the famous
hostelry. Frank and I had just stepped into the big barroom, looking for a place to sit down
until the call for supper came.
The room was crowded, many ranged along the bar. It was an unusual sight for my
friends, especially for Frank, who was a well-known Sunday school superintendent in his
home town. His eye roamed over the crowd appraisingly. More men came in. a swarthy man
in smoke-grimed mackinaw swung through the room and toward the bar where, with a great
roar, he clapped a heavy hand on the shoulder of a man about to raise a glass. He swung him
around. The man at the bar was crippled and limped a little so that he very nearly fell down.
The swarthy stranger backed a little way, and then let loose the most obscene, profane and
fearfully indecent speech that even that wild room had ever heard. Frank was petrified. He
looked at me and back at his terrible stranger, expecting imminent murder. But it was only a
friendly greeting. The bad man roughed and wooled the cripple around a little, and, side by
side, they moved back to the bar. Frank started out. Outside he said to me with wonder in
his eyes, "Did you ever hear anything like that before?"
We had a good rest at Burgdorf's, although I admit I was too warm between Frank
and Jim to sleep well, and we were off early for Warren. Not much trouble with the horses
until the snow softened in the afternoon. Comparatively level going. We made Warren early
in the afternoon. This was a very old mining camp, found in the sixties. Both placer and
quarts. Chinese and occasional activity at some quartz mine had maintained the town and
kept the buildings from falling down. It was now enjoying a boom because of the Thunder
Mountain excitement. It was still a post office, and another trail came in from the north from the Salmon River country, and this added to the stream of Argonauts from the south. We
stopped just long enough to write and mail some letters and pushed on about three miles to
camp for the night.
Here we were still in heavy timber, as indeed wee had been all the way up to this
time, with the exception of the first few miles out of Council. We passed a group of quartz
mine buildings down in the gulch to the south, and there were no signs of life there, but we
could not well leave the trail because of the still deep snow. Besides, by this time we were
used to making camp in the snow, and it did not take long to cut poles, lay them down on the
snow and pitch the tent on them.
Next morning after traveling about four miles through the same heavy woods and
descending gradually along a broad ridge, we came suddenly out on to a promontory and
looked down into altogether different scenery, the valley or canyon of the South Fork of the
Salmon River. The valley was steep walled and the opposite mountains which did not seem
far away, were crowned with the same evergreen forest through which we had come. And
trees extended far down the gulches toward the river, but the ribs or ridges were bare. We
could see the river winding for a long distance. It was nearly four thousand feet below us and
it took what seemed like a long time to get down there, for the way was very steep and for
the first time on the trip we became acquainted with switchbacks.
Half way down we got out of the snow. When we came down farther and to within a
mile of the stream, we could see every boulder in the shallower water. The steam was clear.
Only the deep holes showed no bottom. Depending on their depth, they were either blue or
blue black. The trail came down to a narrow place where a shaky pack bridge spanned the
river.
8-17-00
Our trail led up stream on the other side for a couple of miles, then it rounded a point
and came to the mouth of Elk Creek. Here was a ranch owned by Jack Shaefer, where, as
William Allen White said a couple of months later, "You could buy a bear grass mattress and
a million dollar dream for four bits, and if you found a fly in your coffee you could thank your
lucky stars it wasn't a chipmunk and throw it out." This was also the locale where, in the
early days of Warren, three white men were in camp when a couple of Sheepeater Indians
came down the South Fork with a young and pretty Umatilla squaw whom they had
kidnapped in Council Valley. The three whites proposed to buy her, in fact insisted on it. The
price was a dollar and a half in coin and a bottle of whisky. While the deal was being made,
each of the whites had assumed that his two partners would not want the girl. So after the
deal had been made, and while they were arguing this point, the girl just disappeared.
Discovering at last that she was staying away too long, they took up the trail and in the end
recovered her. Then one man bought the interests of the other two in the girl and they lived
happily all their lives on the South Fork, or close by. The two Sheepeaters were never seen
again in that country.
We did not even stop at the ranch to talk. We were in a hurry and passed by,
heading up Elk Creek, but after a couple of miles called it a day and stopped to camp. We
had found out at Warren and from men on the trail that from Sheafor's ranch to the Smoke
House up in the head of Elk Creek was seventeen miles. We heard a lot about the Smoke
House. Everybody stopped there over night, for just beyond was a ten thousand foot ridge
to be crossed.
After leaving camp near Sheafor's, we began to climb slowly but steadily and soon
came again into snow. The fringes of these snow areas, where the depth was lessening
because of the spring thaw, were harder for both man and beast than the deep snow in the
higher country. Horses could find no solid footing and when, tired out after a few hours
traveling, they began to go down often, it was wise to stop for the day and let the cool night
harden the trail. We made seven or eight miles however for the day, camped and looked
around. I got out a small trunk fishing rod and went over to the creek. In the open holes I
managed to get a half dozen small trout, but I was too tired to go far. No birds had been
seen up to this time, but Ed took a rifle and went up on the sunny hillside where there were
occasional bare spots. Deer tracks had been plentiful below on Elk Creek, but after a little
he too came back. He looked at the pan of small trout and then delivered himself of the
opinion that there were more birds and more and bigger fish back in Sac County than there
were in the whole state of Idaho. He was very tired, and the gist of his talk was that we were
all a lot of fools and were on a wild goose chase in a wilderness where there probably were
no geese after all.
The next day was stormy, with snow falling. We met a few men coming down the
trail. They would invariably step out of the trail to let the horses pass. We, as was our
custom, made effort to interrogate these returning men about the trail ahead, and always got
civil answers to our queries. But when asked had they been in to the big thing, and what did
they think of it, and what it was like, they would wave their hands, urge us to go on and see
for ourselves, edge around the cavalcade and plunge on their way. All were afoot. No
horses, so they heard, had ever gone further than the Smoke House, and very few that far.
8-24-00
Two of the cayuses finally gave up entirely. They had plunged and floundered so
many times that it was useless to think of trying to get them up to the Smoke House. The old
mare was still good. She had not even gone down once. We decided finally to take her on alone. We cached the three remaining packs along the trail, took off the halters and saddles, and turned
the three exhausted animals around and hazed them for a little distance along the back trail.
Then each man took a bundle of things necessary for the night, bedding and a little grub,
rifles, tools and oats, and near dark with our one pack horse we reached the Smoke House.
There were ten men already there when we arrived. This smoke house stood
surrounded by good sized black pines on a slope which faced the southwest. It was about
16 X 20 feet and had one door but no windows. It did not lack for ventilation however, for
the ridge poles were widely spaced, and there was an opening between them about two feet
wide and ten feet long. Directly beneath this opening was a crib of logs about four by twelve
feet on the floor. It was filled with earth to a height of twenty inches. Standards at the ends
held a long lodge pole and from this depended the hangers of wood to support kettles, etc.
So it was just a raised camp fire and the smoke was supposed to rise straight up and
disappear through the opening in the roof. Sometimes it did. Oftener it did not, but rolled
around the room. After our supper we bedded down, but I at any rate was conscious all
night long of men cooking, eating and talking.
The Smoke House was about three miles below the summit of the mountain, or
below the pass through which the trail crossed.
Next morning we packed the old mare with a little less load than usual, made packs
for ourselves, and began our first real hard work. What we had done up to this time in
packing and walking and repacking the tired horses when they had got off the trail was to be
regarded thereafter as child's play. We had observed the packs of other men who had been
on the trail without horses. Some had light wooden saddles on which the packs were lashed,
and straps hung from the top passed over each shoulder and under the arms. Most men had
made their packs into a roll and drawn the waistband and seat of a pair of overalls up as far
on the roll as it would go. Then the legs of the overalls were carried up the side of the roll
about a foot apart and secured by a short rope to the upper part of the roll, leaving enough
slack to put the arms through. A sack of flour made a nice pack, but a large roll of bedding
was unwieldy, and its swaying added to the difficulty of walking. A roll containing hardware,
if not properly made, would begin very shortly to gouge holes in one's back.
We made about a mile and a half on the regular trail above the Smoke House with
the old mare, and spent the day getting most of our stuff up to this point. Here, the hard
beaten trail ended, or rather scattered into a dozen trails, for returning men had taken short
cuts, and snowshoes had been used until very recently. We were glad, however, to have the
use of the horse this far, and all the men who observed her marveled at her ability to travel
on snow. Another night at the Smoke House with only light packs to the cache above. We
gave the old mare a good feed of oatmeal, took off her halter and, with audible thanks for
her great services, started her back down the trail. The packsaddles were left in a pile behind
the cabin with other piles of abandoned gear. We shouldered our packs and started on
toward the Big Thing.
8-31-00
Arriving at our cache on the mountain side, we prepared to attack the last steep
pitch, which would measure a mile and a half. Up to this time, I had been wearing a pair of
heavy leather boots. Now I changed to a pair of German socks and new overshoes. My
partners had been wearing footwear of this kind since leaving Council.
We were all in high spirits, for from all our information, this was the last summit to be
crossed. Ed and Jim took heavy packs, while Frank and I took smaller and lighter ones. My
pack contained our stove, and I carried something in either hand, but I didn not have all
together over fifty pounds.
We still had some trail left, for men had been passing us on the way up, and the trail
had become icy and slippery in this high altitude. I was the last to leave. The trail led up in zig
zag stretches through stunted trees. At the end of a half mile, I caught up with Ed. I had
observed him for some time, and he was having a hard time. His worn overshoes were slick
on the soles, and he fell often. As I came nearer, I could hear him swear whenever he fell.
Just before I reached him, he fell again and slipped off his pack. He cursed first this particular
part of the state, then the entire Rocky Mountain region, then himself, and finally all the
boobs that had no more sense than to engage in such profitless work. I came up and sat
down, slipping off my pack. I noticed that his shoes were perfectly smooth on the bottom. I
had not been slipping at all, because my shoes were new. He threatened to desert. I hefted
his pack, and it was heavy, at least eighty pounds. I suggested that he re-pack with not over
fifty. He did nothing but rail at the country and everything in it. Then I suggested that I would
try his pack and he could take mine. At this, his face became purple with rage. He didn't
think I could even get it onto my back, and I was not so sure myself. But paying no attention
to him, I got it onto a hump where I could get well below it, stood my rifle where I could
reach it when I got up, and got my arms into the harness. It took all the strength I could
muster, but my feet did not slip, and with the rifle to steady me I started up the trail. I made a
hundred yards or so and picked out another hump on which to ease the pack down. By this
time, he had decided to let me kill myself since I deserved killing, and he went on with my
pack, falling occasionally, but evidently anxious to get to the top. I finally got there myself,
but my work was through for that day. Jim suggested that I stay and get a shelter ready for
the night, and they would go back for another load. Up here the wind was blowing
unceasingly, and it was cold.
Jim had brought the tent in his pack, and we had the little stove. Nearby I found two
stunted trees just the right distance apart for the tent, had a ridge pole, and by the time the
others got back with a second load, I had the tent and stove set up and plenty of snow-killed
branches from the bases of the surrounding trees.
We spent only one night on that inhospitable height. I shall always remember the cold
and the wind that blew. So long as we kept the fire up, we were warm. We thought a great
blizzard was upon us because the air was full of the hard, dry, driven snow.
After breakfast, we made a roll of the tent on the very summit. It was about eighteen
inches in diameter, and perhaps eight feet long. We made it as symmetrical as possible, with
heavy, small articles rolled in bedding. We had peered down the steep east slope, and it was
smooth, with no trees in sight. Our plan was for one man to pull this torpedo-like roll down
this steep slope to the first god timber where we might camp again. Some of us would have
to climb back up for what remained after the first load was taken.
Ed took the roll. We had shoved it to the comb and kicked the overhang off. There
was a sheer drop of perhaps twenty feet, then a steep white slope as far as we could see.
We plunged down, first Ed without any pack but holding the rope made fast to the big roll.
We shoved it over. It went down straight with Ed wallowing down ahead. The heavy roll
made a fair trail for us.
The first quarter mile was easy because it was so steep. Then trees appeared on our
right and left, the snow in the air diminished, and we saw that a smooth, broad, white way
led down before us, becoming gradually less steep, and that thickets of fir and spruce lined
the main gulch on our right. When the long roll became too hard for Ed and Jim to drag, we
cut over into the timber and picked out a camp site.
No one had taken the trouble to tell us ahead of time about this smooth white way
down which we had come, nor did we find out about it until long afterward. It seems that we
had gone over in the wrong place. This was a snow slide path. That was why it was bare of
trees and so smooth. The regular trail kept along the ridge to the right, and went down a ride
on which a line of stunted trees reached almost to the top. On the first of the preceding
February, three greenhorns like ourselves, on their way to Thunder Mountain, had come up
from the Smoke House, broken the overhang with their snowshoe poles, and started down.
[In those days, skis were often called snowshoes, so it isn't clear which is meant here.]
Men following close behind had seen what must have happened.
This broad, white, treeless path reaching far down the mountain was a trough down
which snow probably slid every winter when conditions were just right and the snow was
disturbed. The men who followed on this day came up the trail, saw where the men ahead
had gone over the comb, and marked the tumbled nature of the snow beneath. They kept
around to the right on top until they reached the point of the ridge on which the scattered
trees still stood, and on which the snow was still undisturbed. Then they went over and
down, looking over the slide from a distance, although there could no longer be any danger
in walking down the slide since it was now almost as hard as ice. When they reached the
lower end where the snow was piled perhaps thirty feet deep over acres of ground, they
found no ski trails coming out. [This leads me to believe the snowshoes mentioned above
were actually skis.] The bodies were not found for a long time.
But we knew nothing of the tragic accident. More snow had fallen, and in blissful
ignorance, we wallowed through it until we concluded that we had come far enough to camp,
so picked out a good place in a thicket of firs. Here I was left to make camp while the others
went back up the trail after another load. Under the big trees it was possible to see the
ground in a narrow ring around the trunk, and men without tents would get down in this ring
and enlarge it on one side, build a fire to cook, and sit by and eat smoke all night long.
9-7-00
Our tent was a luxury if not a necessity, and we used it every night. I cut a number of
well-matched straight poles and laid them as a platform between two trees about twenty feet
apart. After the night on the summit, I wanted a restful camp. The walls were fastened down
to the platform. I made a fine bed of deep boughs placed in the back end, and the little stove
was set up in the front end. We could be comfortable even in a bad storm.
We had not had an especially hard day. In the morning we would all be able to go
back up to the summit and bring down the remainder of our outfit. So we felt cheerful, and
after supper Jim began to sing a hymn. Then Frank, who sang in a choir at home, joined in;
and I, to show what I could do, chipped in. Ed did not sing. We finished the hymn, when out
of the surrounding darkness came a voice, "Go on -- sing some more." So we picked out
"Old Kentucky Home" and another song which we could remember, and sang them.
We had not seen any strangers that
day, and thought we were the only ones who had been on the trail that day. The next
morning there were three groups of men breaking camp not far from us in the thick timber.
We climbed the mountain, up our snowslide trail of the previous day, and brought
down the remainder of our goods, and kept on down the gulch for about five miles. The
grade now was not so steep, so we had to break up the long roll and pack everything on our
backs. We soon came into a used trail, and not far beyond found a Canadian toboggan
standing by the trail. It was a beautiful sled with the manufacturer's brand on it. We decided
to try this. To do this was not stealing. We had for days passed countless skis, snowshoes,
frozen raw bull hides, home made sleds--set up by or lying along the trail. To take these was
all right, for the owners had abandoned them to try some new plan to reduce the effort of
making progress. We had also passed numberless caches of goods which were being moved
ahead in relays just as we were doing. No one among the hundreds or thousands of men
who moved in over this trail ever complained of having had any food stolen. So after a little
debate, we tried the toboggan. It was such a lovely thing that it was irresistible to us. Jim and
Ed undertook to pull it, and Frank and I went back for more. They got it down the canyon
about three miles, and decided on a camp ground. But they decided further to go back up
without it and pack the next load down on their backs.
That day and the next we saw a good many men, for they were on the well used
trail. An occasional man, or pair of them, were seen going out of the country. These men
were easily distinguishable, for they had very light packs or none at all. They were always in
a hurry and not inclined to talk much, but nearly always wanted tobacco. Since I was the
only one in this party who smoked, I would have soon run out had it not been for the fact
that I never smoked while on the trail. We used the toboggan the next day, and in fact until
we moved ahead for another hitch. But now the trail was descending less, and the snow
becoming shallower. We had all started out to make a new camp site, and after proceeding
about three miles had come up to our old acquaintance, the jackass Kid, whom we had not
seen since leaving Fisher Creek.
He was standing by one of his burros which was lying down on the trail. He had
been ahead of us all this time. By wrapping lots of burlap around his burros' feet, he had
managed to get the animals over Elk Summit, an almost unbelievable feat, but here he was.
However, he was in trouble. This burro had decided that death was preferable to
going on as he had been doing in the deep snow and without anything to eat, and the Kid
was just on the point of shooting him in the head when he heard us coming. So he waited
until we came up, and told us his story. Three miles more would see bare ground. He had
got the second burro down there the night before with all his goods, which were scant
enough by this time, and had come back after the second burro. But nothing he had been
able to do could get him up. So to keep him from starving he had decided to shoot him
where he lay.
Well, our two horse experts, Ed and Jim, who were pulling the toboggan, knew just
what to do. They proposed that the Kid give the burro to us instead of killing him, and since
there were four of us, we ought to be able to figure out some method of getting him down
out of the snow. The Kid agreed to this and left. We got some oatmeal out of the packs to
feed him, and brought water from the creek. Then we tried to get him up, but he wouldn't
move. So we unloaded the toboggan, tied his feet together, and after tremendous effort,
managed to roll him onto it. Then, while Frank and I held up his feet, Jim and Ed undertook
to pull the load. We made about fifty feet in the next half hour. It was an impossible thing to
do. This burro and its mate were unusually large, and their size had been remarked upon by
all the men at Fisher Creek, with the further wise observation that no burro, however big,
was any good in the snow or water.
So we rolled him off and untied his feet. Then two got him by the head, and the
other two by the tail, and by sheer power we stood him on his feet and held him there and
urged him ahead. Of course he was stiff from lying there in the snow all night, but after we
had literally held him up and walked him ahead a few steps, he perhaps thought of the oats
we had given him and decided that if there was anything he could do for these fellows he had
better live a little while longer and do it. In no time at all he was walking along, led by one
man.
The rest of us resumed our packs, and in a little more than an hour we had him down
out of the snow.
9-14-00
This was good luck of no mean proportions. The burro was as good as ever the next
morning. the Jackass Kid moved on down the trail. He had started in without very much of
an outfit for the burros to pack. He could put all he owned on the one burro. We did not see
him for ten days. During this time we moved our camp much more easily than heretofore,
thanks to the burro. We came down to the mouth of Smith Creek [named after "Three
Fingered Smith" from the Long Valley Massacre story], which was in flood. We had bare
ground now and the trail went down the left bank of Big Creek.
We passed Beaver Creek, a good sized tributary from the north and came to Ramey
Creek, which had been named after one of central Idaho's early explorers and trappers.
Here, Him sprained his ankle. At the mouth of Ramey was a good camp ground, much used.
Here we camped for a couple of days, hoping that Jim's ankle would heal, but it was a bad
sprain. Ed wanted to kill a deer, but the rest of us had decided that since that was one of his
great desires that we would discourage him. We did not really need meat because Con
McAuliffe and Dave Jenkins, two Nevada prospectors who had been making about the
same time on the trail, had given us a quarter of venison. So we urged Ed not to kill any deer
unless it had horns. He would climb the hillside to the north, come back after a couple of
hours, and tell of seeing herds of deer, and how he had even sighted at them but not one had
horns. We would tell him that the does were always tame at this time of the year, but that the
bucks were always wary and would be staying up on the high ridges. So Ed killed no deer.
He did not know that at this time of the year no deer wore horns.
After two days, when it became evident that Jim's ankle would not permit him to
travel, it was decided that Ed, Frank and I should make up light packs with enough grub for
four, or possibly five, days and make a flying trip on up to Thunder Mountain. Like all other
men on the trail, we intended to locate claims in the new Eldorado and to get as close to the
Big Thing as possible. From inquiry, we knew that it was only about thirty miles to the
Dewey Mine. Accordingly, Jim and I, since we had been doing the cooking on the trip,
made up a pack of grub. We had been nearly three weeks on the trail, and were running
short of several articles of food.
Both Frank and Ed had come to the conclusion that they did not like this kind of life.
Frank, of course had a business to look after in Iowa. He had come more for a lark than for
any other reason. Ed had started in hopes of making a barrel of money, but to him, making
money meant raising a crop of corn or oats and selling it in the fall. He did not know that
there were any other ways of making money. He did not take cheerfully to the task of putting
all he could stand up under on his back and starting out to see how far he could go with it in
a day and then to repeat this every day without apparent end. Therefore Jim and I knew that
after this flying trip, Frank and Ed were quite likely to back-track and leave the whole outfit
with us. Nothing had been used up but grub. We had no way of telling when we would be
able to buy more. Accordingly, the grub sack was made light. It contained flour, rice, coffee,
part of our remaining bacon and some beans, a little salt; not much of these articles and
nothing else. We put in a frying pan and a coffee pot and a can for beans or rice. We carried
on rifle, and axe and a small piece of venison. Lastly, a very scant amount of bedding We got
an early start. From Elk Summit to Ramey Creek we had been coming down the left bank,
first of Smith Creek, and then the left bank of Big Creek and the mail trail into this region still
kept on this side, so we had been told. But this was a summer trail. A little below Ramey, we
had been told of a foot-log across Big Creed which we would have to cross and then for
twelve or fifteen miles would have poor but passable trail. After this there was fine trail for
the remaining distance up Monumental Creek into the immediate locality of the gold mines.
9-21-00
Now a special word about pack men as well as pack horses. Certain men may have
reduced the work to scientific perfection in their own cases. I never did. Either my load was
too high or too low, or the straps bound my chest too tight or were too loose. If the load
were too high, I couldn't maintain my balance without constant effort. If too low, it hurt my
hips. The straps which passed over my shoulders and under my arms were never right. I
always had to stop several times in the first hour to make some adjustment. At the end of
two hours, a sort of paralysis set in, and I stumbled along the balance of the day without
being conscious of pain. Pity the poor pack horse which cannot stop to readjust his load nor
tell of the soreness coming in his back. No doubt there were humane men in the horse
packing business, but there surely were many inexperienced ones.
On this flying trip, we had light loads, but we were expecting to make the Dewey
Mine in one day, so after crossing the foot log, we breezed along at a good gait, but this was
simply an emergency trail and when we started up Monumental Creek, it went up, often to
escape cliffs that stood with its head in the clouds. There were many places that were
positively dangerous. My light pack didn't ride well, but after the saving paralysis set in it
didn't bother me. When we finally crossed to the summer trail we made good time.
We came at last to the mouth of Mule Creek, and there a sign pointed up this small
stream with the distance given as two miles. Well that wasn't far but we had come a long
way and were tired. However we bucked up and started this climb. It proved to be about
like either approach to Elk Summit. It was about one half rapids and the other half waterfall.
At the end of a mile we came to a log cabin set by a spring, and two men were
camped before it, just starting their supper. We shucked our packs and sat down to rest and
ask questions. These men were evidently well informed on the locality. They said this cabin
belonged to the Caswell boys who were the discoverers of the Dewey Mine. The cabin was
locked.
[I've previously related the story of how Arthur Huntley, of Cuprum, grubstaked the
Caswells about $50 to continue their search for gold near Thunder Mountain. In 1901,
Colonel. W.H. Dewey of Nampa (after whom the mine was named) bought the principle
group of the Caswells' claims for $100,000. It was said that the $100,000 check paid by
Colonel Dewey for the purchase of the property from the Caswell Brothers, was the largest
check issued in Idaho up to that time. News of this sale spread like wild fire, and the
following spring (1902) there was a stampede of fortune seekers to Thunder Mountain. The
brother's sold another of their claims (to A Pittsburgh steel man named Lovejoy who started
the Sunnyside mine) for $125,000 after the Caswells had already taken out $25,000 in gold
dust.]
They advised camping here for the night. This seemed advisable, and besides these
two strangers seemed willing to talk, and we might learn more about the country. Heretofore
all the men we had met on the trail going out had danced around, sidestepped us and hurried
on. Here were men who would talk.
I began to prepare supper. The strangers asked us to share their fire. This we did,
and Frank, who caught on quickly to the fine points of this gold rush life, rustled some more
wood.
We had bannocks left over from a baking at Ramey Creek. To supplement this, I
boiled some rice and fried some bacon and made coffee. I was saving the venison for the
morrow.
Ed put in the time asking questions of the strangers and complaining about the
terrible hardships encountered in this wild and possibly worthless country.
I called that all was ready, took out some rice on my tin plate, put a piece of bread
on it and poured over both some of the bacon grease. Then I poured for myself a tin cup of
coffee. Frank watched me and then followed the same procedure. Ed watched us, then
looked in the pack sack. "Where is the sugar and the milk?" he whined. "Didn't you bring
any?" "We had none to bring" was the answer. "Well, I can't eat rice without milk or sugar
on it--don't like it anyway." One of the strangers said quietly, "You may be eating your boots
before you get out of this country. There is nothing to be bought for love or money around
here. There are supposed to be stores moving in, but they are not here yet." From the tone
of his vice, it was plain to see that he considered Ed out of place on Mule Creek. Ed finally
tried a little and then took some more. It was really very good.
About the time we finished eating, and before it got dark, two more men came up
the hill. They stopped and asked about the cabin. "Why were we not using it?" Our new
friend who had advised Ed to eat again spoke up. "The cabin is locked; it belongs to the
Caswells." "What difference does that make? I know Ben and Lou Caswell. They're friends
of mine." "I know them too, and evidently they do not want the cabin opened--it looks like a
good chain and padlock. If you break in, a hundred other men may raid the cabin. Anyway,
why do it? Out here is a good place to spend the night." The late comers decided to go on
up the hill and left. Our new friend said, "He lied--he doesn't know the Caswells. If he did,
he would know that they wouldn't want any man to break into a cabin they had locked
unless it were absolutely necessary." There was no necessity tonight.
9-28-00
We were up bright and early the next morning, although we had talked late with our
new-found acquaintances before going to bed. One of these men had been in the district
during the winter, and had staked and bonded a group of claims. He told us that the country
within three or four miles from the Dewey in all directions had been staked solid, but that
recently the Sunnyside Mine, a mile to the east of the Dewey had been sold as well as the
Tiger Mine, which was five miles east of the Sunnyside, and that he believed that the best
chance of finding open ground would be around the Tiger. That a new town also was being
projected on Marble Creek which lay between the Sunnyside and Tiger and that they were
going over there to look around. Click here to review maps of the area the men traveled
With something which sounded definite and authoritative now to plan upon, we
started up the steep trail toward the Dewey. This proved to be less than a mile, and while the
going was steep, we were soon standing close under the mill which was not running. There
were several men in and about the mill making repairs or, at any rate, busy. These men gave
us scant attention. This was not strange, for if they had stopped to talk and answer the
questions of hundreds of newcomers, there would be no work done.
We did however get directions as to the trail to Marble Creek which passed up the
hill directly behind the mill. Not far above was the boarding house and several smaller log
buildings. Passing these, we kept straight up the mountain side to the top.
Here we had a fine view of the country to the east, north and west. Directly west
was Rainbow Mountain, well named because its southern slopes, now in part bare of snow,
were vivid with many shades of red, blue and brown rock, with clear white streaks also. This
mountain was on the opposite side of Monumental Creek and was much higher than where
we stood. To the south of us the view was shut off because Thunder Mountain culminated in
a dome five hundred feet higher than the pass on which we stood. Here we were in quite
thick black pine timber, and the snow was about two feet deep, but we had passed trees
blazed seven or eight feet from the ground and marked as corner and discovery claim posts.
Wherever we looked was timber except on Rainbow, the last one thousand feet of
which was above 7,500 feet, and even lower on the north slopes.
We started down the east slope of the mountain and soon came to what must have
been the Sunnyside, for there was a log cabin here that was not altogether new. There was
no one about so we went on down the mountain, which was quite steep, and came at length
to Marble Creek.
Here was, at this time, a fair sized stream running south, and the trail came right
down upon a log cabin two or three years old. Within one hundred and fifty yards up and
down the creek were the tents and brush camps of perhaps fifty men. Another mountain rose
to the east, and near the top of this was said to be the Tiger Mine.
We picked out a place to bed down, and set about to get acquainted and collect
information. These men were all willing to talk. This was the end of the converging trails from
Salmon City and Montana, points on the east, and Challis and Mackey and Ketchum and
Hailey, and the world beyond on the south. These men had come by trail about two hundred
miles to reach this Eldorado. There was a little placer pit on the hill above them, but this
belonged to Fred Holcomb who had built the cabin unless he, as had been reported, had
sold this and all the ground between this and the top of Thunder Mountain. The little old man
who lived in the cabin was a partner of Holcomb's. He was referred to as the old man, but
he wasn't over fifty. He was Tom Kerr, and he lived at Challis. He attended to his own
business, which however, led him to point out once in a while the limits of the Holcomb
holdings.
All the would be Argonauts were willing to talk. Almost without exception they had
already staked claims, and were willing to jump out in the night and stake more if a new
strike should be reported, but no man had any definite information about the gold already
reported found in the country nor in fact whether any ore in place had been found anywhere
except in the Dewey Mine. None of these men had seen any of the latter ore unless perhaps
it was Tom Kerr, and he didn't talk. A fair proportion of the men camped here had their
doubts about the ultimate value of the new camp. They had come from all points of the
compass; Cripple Creek, Leadville, Central City, the Black Hills, Butte and Helena, Mercur
and Park City, De Lamar, Nevada, the Mother Lode of California, Alaska. None of them
had ever seen any gold mines where there was no quartz to be found. But they were here,
and they would stay until the snow went off or until they had nothing to eat in order to see
what it was all about. A pack train was reported to be at the mouth of Marble Creek
twenty-five miles below, but it had been a month on the way from Salmon City, and this last
twenty-five miles was tough. One man said he had been told about a trail up Marble Creek
before he struck it, and that he counted the times he forded it and got above a hundred.
Another man said there were no crossings, that he forded it endwise on the way up, with the
exception of the box canyon where the whole stream went through a cleft six feet wide with
vertical walls two hundred feet high.
10-5-00
We decided to find vacant ground as near to the new Tiger mine as possible. That is
I decided, because I had been around mining camps in Colorado, and my partners were
willing to defer to me as having had some experience, however little. We went to bed then,
and getting up early, Frank and I got up a meager breakfast and made something to take
along. When we woke up and tried to rout out Ed, however, he flatly refused to get up, and
said he didn't want any claims and that we could go along without him. This we did, climbing
the mountain to the east on the upper slopes of which lay the Tiger group. This group we had
been told covered a basalt cap called the Niggerhead, [I would assume the Forest Service
has since renamed this geographic feature.] so we searched around this lava cap until we
found a stake.
Corner stakes were marked with arrows indicating six hundred feet in one direction
to another corner of the same end or fifteen hundred feet to a corner of the opposite end.
Adjoining claims would be similarly marked, and the stakes of such claims would be close
by. So we worked to the east and higher up until we reached a summit. Snow still lay in hard
drifts over most of the mountain, and we could see men's tracks in it. There were other
claims staked along a ridge to the northeast, but we could find no more stakes after going
about two miles. We were now on the headwaters of Rush Creek, about which we had been
told, and Frank and I started to locate claims. We had brought along printed location blanks.
These we made out, and we staked the north end of a group of four. The law called for four
corners, on center, on each end, and a discovery somewhere along the line between the
center ends of each claim. That day we set all the north ends, corners and discovery stakes,
purposing to come back the next day, pace off to the south end which would be down in the
gulch somewhere along the creek, and complete the staking.
Darkness was not far off when we got back to our camp at Marble Creek and Ed
was not in sight. I rummaged around to find our small store of grub and get something for
supper, but could find nothing. We had been cleaned out. The bedding we had brought along
was there, and the cooking utensils, but certainly no grub.
Frank and I looked up and down the flat, but could see no sign of Ed. Then Tom
Kerr came walking down toward us. "Miss anything?" We said we lacked a partner and
what grub we had left in the morning. He said, "I judge that if you were to lose that fellow
altogether you would be better off. He has been cooking and eating all day, and telling
everybody around here that you have been starving him to death. That he intended to fill up
for once. I said, "We have been on short rations except for meat and fish for several days."
"Come up to my cabin and I'll let you have something. I heard today that there is a
pack train twelve miles down the creek and it ought to be here tomorrow night. These last
twelve miles are not as bad as what went before. Then you can pay me back."
When he laid out the flour, bacon and coffee, he said, "Get rid of that good for
nothing fellow." I told him that I would, for I knew that Ed and Frank were going back
anyway. Frank decided that he would start back the next morning whether Ed showed up or
not. Each of us had brought a blanket or quilt apiece, and we got into our bed, leaving Ed's
quilt alone. Sometime in the night he came in and went to bed. Frank and I got up early and
began breakfast when Ed wok up. Frank told him of his decision to go back out of the
country. Ed said he would go too. I made a couple of extra bannocks, put some bacon
between them and gave them to Frank. Ed did not ask where this grub had come from, but
didn't think they could go to the camp on Ramey Creek in one day. I reminded them that
after they made the first two or three miles to the top of Thunder Mountain that the going
would be all down hill or level and that we had come up loaded and on a strange trail to just
below the Dewey. So they started out. I found out afterward from Jim that they had a full
day's work that day. Frank let Ed, who was surly all the time, set the pace. They went up the
steep mountain to the Sunnyside cabin too fast, and Frank had trouble keeping up, but he
had decided that if Ed could make it, so could he. Night came on while they were still some
miles from the mouth of Monumental, and this was the section where the trail had climbed up
and down to avoid cliffs or river crossings. It was a high water trail. Frank became sure that
he would never make it, but he stumbled on in the hope that Ed would surely give out and
stop, but Ed didn't stop except for brief rests or to find the trail, and whenever Frank caught
up, Ed would start out again. Jim said Ed came in some time in the night, groaning and
muttering and bedded down without taking off his boots. Frank came in a little later. He took
off his boots and rolled in with Jim. Nobody talked. Jim let them sleep late, but his ankle was
still sore, and many campers at this spot had made it necessary to go out a little distance to
get dry wood. So he woke Ed up finally and told him he needed more wood for the stove,
but couldn't get around well on his ankle. Ed just groaned but made no move to get up. This
made Jim see red. Ed got out and rustled the wool. Sore as they were, Frank and Ed started
out the next morning on the long return trail to the railroad. Ed wanted to sell his rifle and
several other possessions. Jim didn't need anything. Advised him to take them with him and
sell them on the trail. Ed left everything except his rifle.
Frank wrote after he got back to Iowa that he trailed Ed all the way to Council and
that they had very little conversation. Men would stop them as we had stopped other men
earlier on the way in. Frank said he and Ed would edge around such men in the same old
way and advise them to go on and see.
10-12-00
Right after Frank and Ed had left Marble Creek, I went back to Rush Creek to finish
staking my claims. I did this in one day, but was late getting back to camp. Tom Kerr called to
me from the door of his cabin. I went over and he was just getting ready to eat. He asked me
to join him and then after supper, which was a good one, he told me to get my bed and come
up and sleep in the extra bunk in the cabin. I had found a real friend, my first in that new
country.
The pack train got in the next day. The train and the goods were owned by a Mr.
Hunsaker. He had been over a month coming from Salmon City and the trip had been a hard
one. Some of his goods had been damaged by water and the general banging around, but nearly
everything was usable, and no one quibbled about his prices. Flour was ten dollars per fifty
pound sack. Sugar, bacon, coffee and tobacco as well as all other staples, were
proportionately priced. I bought flour, sugar, coffee and tobacco. I paid back Tom Kerr what I
had borrowed and made up a pack of about thirty pounds, leaving some things in his care. He
was expecting Holcomb back soon, but said someone would always be found at the cabin.
I got an early start back toward the camp on Ramey Creek. However, I stopped at the
Dewey mill and tried to make friends with the men there, for I was anxious to get some
dependable information about this mine which had drawn, and was still drawing, men from all
corners of the earth. All these men had taken up claims near the Dewey or Sunnyside and were
hopeful about their prospects.
On my way down Mule and Monumental Creeks I met men struggling in the opposite
direction, always with heavy packs on their backs. I did not waste much time with them for they
were going in the wrong direction to give me any advice.
I got to Ramey Creek in good time and found that Jim's ankle was much better.
Camped near him were Jenkins and McAuliffe who had been prospecting near by.
That night the four of us decided to move our camps down to the mouth of
Monumental, staying on the north side of Big Creek. Opposite Monumental I had noticed a
number of men camped as I came along and it seemed a sort of rendezvous. They were
probably waiting for the water to go down before going up Monumental along the summer trail.
Since Jim and I had grub enough for awhile and sixty days from the date of staking to dig the holes on our claims, we were in no hurry.
While we were loading our burro the next morning our old friend the Jackass Kid came
up the creek. He was afoot but had no pack. He stood around watching and seemed
undecided about something. He asked where we were going and our plans. We told him. Then
he outlined his circumstances for us. He had no money left, but he was still eating. However, if
he had both his burros once more he could make some money packing some of the outfits at
Monumental Bar up to Thunder Mountain. With one burro he could do almost nothing. We
struck a bargain with him at once. Take this burro load down to the bar and come back with
both burros and move all our stuff down. Also help Jenkins and McAuliffe down. All of us
would help by packing on our backs. This done, the burro would be his again. he was
overjoyed. The agreement was carried out and the boy became the most sought after individual
in that locality and doubtless replenished his purse considerably. We lost track of him soon and never saw him again.
[I skipped a less interesting section here. Neff was in the area where the "sort of
rendezvous" of other men was when....] Under a big Douglas fir was a pile of peculiar looking gadgets the like of which I had never seen before. They were about ten inches square with two corners slightly rounded. To make these two, three quarter inch pine boards had been nailed together with nails long enough to clinch and on one surface were three holes in triangular pattern cut our mortised in the wood. While I was turning one over, trying to figure out its purpose, a red-bearded young man came up and said they here his. I asked what they were for, and he said "horse snowshoes." He had, he said, come in in January with a pack train, left the shoes there, gone on to Mule Creek, come back here and turned his horses loose down Big Creek below this point. Now he said he had been looking for them and seen no sign of them.
He believed that some man with little knowledge of customs in this country had stolen them and he said a horse thief would stand but little chance in this country if detected. I agreed with him. A little while after, I was talking with another man about the snow shoes and the stolen horses. I pointed out the red-bearded man who had told about them. "That fellow! That is S.H. If anyone stole his horses, he was just taking back what belonged to him. He is the greatest horse
thief in Idaho himself. As for the snowshoes I think they belong to Stonebraker. I know he
came in over the snow."
[At this point, Neff became very sick for a number of days, and did little but sleep and
stay at his tent, not eating much. He wrote that his medicine kit contained quinine capsules, which he started taking. They didn't seem to help any. Quinine was as common in those days as aspirin is now, and could be found in almost anyone's supply of medications.]
[During this general time, Neff writes about how he and his companions caught and
speared a number of salmon and steelhead from the steams.]
10-19-00
Men and women too were steaming by now because many from the north were no
coming in over the Dixie trail to swell the crowd from Warren. The Dixie trail came over a very high long ridge called Ramey Ridge about nine miles north of Big Creek. There was an old couple, that is old for that kind of life (they were at least fifty). The wife was stronger than her husband and carried bigger loads. He, in fact, looked like and invalid. She had an indomitable will. They had had horses for the greater part of the distance just as we had, but even so, the presence of this couple on the bar was something to marvel about.
Not so strange was the appearance one day of the entire personnel of a proposed
dance hall for the new camp. The steely voices and loud apparel of the women both could be
heard most any time above the roaring steam. They complained profanely about their hardships
up to date, the noise of the river, the beds of boughs, the food they had, in fact everything. They
contrasted strikingly with the old lady who had come down the trail with a heavy pack on her
back.
Men with horses now began to appear. These men were generally experienced. The
had brought small supplies of oats when they left Warren or the Salmon River. When they
struck deep snow, they would be on the trail at three or four in the morning and the horses
would not break through often. If they did, they were unpacked, put on the trail again and
started on. At midmorning, camp was made. They were given some oats and rested until early
next morning when more progress was made. It was hard work for both men and beasts, but it
worked if there was enough frost at night.
[Neff was still weak from his illness when he and Jim decided to move on.]
Jim and I now moved down the stream about five miles. I had a roll of bedding that
didn't weigh much and I had to rest often. Jim had a heavy pack. While packing along the trail,
all men rested frequently. This was done by stopping at some bank or stone a foot or so in
height or a log lying at the proper height. When the man let himself down the pack rested on this
elevation, its weight was lifted from his shoulders and he could get a good rest without removing
the pack from his back. I was very tired when we reached the bar where Jim proposed to
camp and seeing a log just the right height from the ground I was easing myself down alongside
it when I heard the unmistakable rattle that men and even horses and dogs instinctively know
spells trouble. I threw myself, pack and all as far from that spot as I could. When I got out of
my pack there was a huge rattler under the log at the very spot I had intended to sit down.
After we had picked out a camp site and were settled, Jim hewed out a rough board and we
put it up where the trail crossed the little side stream. We named it Rattlesnake Creek. This trail
went on down Big Creek to the Caswell winter ranch and to the home of Dave Lewis, a
trapper who had guided soldiers into that locality in 1879 and liking the country had afterward
come back and lived there since.
10-26-00
Neff and Jim have now been in the Thunder Mountain area for a couple weeks. He
writes of coming across a crude sign near the junction of the west fork of Monumental Creek
and its main stream. The sign announced this to be the site of "Thunder Mountain City." This
was at least seven miles from the Dewey Mine.
"As we approached the mouth of Mule Creek, our trail took a short cut to meet the
stream above its confluence with Monumental. There were at this time several tents and camps of men just above the mouth of Mule Creek. In fact a town site had already been proposed and platted on paper in Boise, covering the beaver meadows which extended along the steam for a half mile or more. [The town would eventually be named Roosevelt.] We went on up the hill and camped at the Dewey for the night. Next day before starting out, we went to the recorder's office, which was hard by the mill, and got some location blanks from the recorder whose name was Tuttle. We left his office much encouraged and went on over to Marble Creek, which was
now designated Marble City. There was a tent store there now, and another was due at any
moment. We established a camp right near Kerr's house and the next morning started, with our
tools and a lunch for the day, for our claims on Rush Creek. We got something done that day,
and came home tired. We decided to take with us next day a little bedding and grub and stay
over until we had finished our holes."
"We went back to the Dewey to file our claims and get our bearings. We had joined a
great gold rush, staked some claims, and didn't know what to do next. We had brought back
some samples of the rock showing all over our claims, and so far as we could see it was just like the prevailing surface rocks on the Tiger and about Thunder Mountain itself. I remember also that it was like the rock at the Geyser Mine in Colorado and the rock in the northern half of the Cripple Creek area. But I had seen so quartz like the Colorado quartz, except that down on Rattlesnake Creek."
"The recorder's office, as I have said, was close to the mill. The office itself was a very small log cabin, but joined to it was a tent on a log frame where Tuttle cooked and slept. I went in, and using his pen and ink, made out duplicates of the notices we had posted on the claims.
When I handed them to Tuttle, who had been posting similar notices in a big book, he looked
them over, added the part he had to fill out and sign, and placed them in a box on a shelf. The charge was $2.00 a piece which I paid him, and I knew that I had just $7.00 left of my own money. He said, "How would you like a job?" I countered, "Doing what?"
"Working right here for me. I see you write a good hand and that you can write fast. I'll
pay you miner's wages which are $2.50 per day and board, and you can live right here with
me, or $3.50 per day and you camp somewhere near and keep yourself. I need help the worst
way, and have tried two men lately, but they both got drunk and were worse than useless. I'm
already a thousand notices behind." I asked when he wanted me to start. "Right now." You can
sit right in my chair. And there's just one stipulation I'll make. There's a new saloon just around
the reef towards the H.Y. Mine. You must not get drunk, I can do all the drinking that's
necessary in one family myself. Someone has to work here. I'll put you in charge. Se if you can imitate my signature." This I did satisfactorily for our writing was indeed very similar."
"Now," he went on, "if anyone wants certified copies, and most men do, make them
write them out themselves if they can. If they can't, you can do it and charge them extra for it. Fifty cents for the making out, and fifty cents for the seal which is right there. Sign my name, affix the seal and collect. Don't do anything for nothing. We must collect, for half of this money goes out to the county. When you get hungry, look around and find something to cook and eat.
Take charge. Now I'm going up to see about that new saloon and see if it's running right." With that he departed at a very lively gait.
Jim said he would look around and find a good place to camp and this he found not
more than a thousand feet away where there was a good spring. I told him I would keep my
bed at the office and eat here, for I wanted to make as good a showing on the books as I
could, for this job was a godsend. Jim said he would go back to Marble City in the morning
and bring back some things we had left there. That night I told Jim that if this job held out, and I could see no reason why it shouldn't, I could keep him grubstaked for the summer, and he
should do the prospecting."
"Tuttle did not come back until the next day, and when he did, he was feeling greatly
encouraged as I could see, with whiskey. When I showed how many I had copied and how
many new ones I had taken in, he said, "This is the most important office in the camp, and this camp is going to be a humdinger. I've been in lots of booms in this western country, and even
up to Alaska. I could see it last fall and when Tom Reed told us here at the mine, when the last pack train came, that any who did not want to stay through the winter or didn't know how to look after themselves in case something happened, meaning I suppose a shut-down or getting fired, could go out with this train. I decided to stay, for I was helping build the mill then, and we were dragging logs off that hillside by hand. Then Harvey Taylor, who was recorder, wanted to quit and go out, and offered me the job, so I wrote to the county seat and was appointed deputy. There's no way of stopping a boom like this. It's been advertised all over the world. If there were no gold here, the boom would last for two years anyway. Many claims have already been sold and companies formed and soon they'll be in to work. This office gets letters of inquiry in every mail that Enos Smith brings in." (At this time Enos Smith was packing in mail from Warren and collecting twenty-five cents for each letter.)"
"In this environment, I too felt full of hope for the future. I had a job and could keep my partner in the field on the lookout for something new. Besides, I was in an office where I could see nearly every man who came into camp. We were ready to ride the boom. I was living and working on the very property which was the center of attraction for these thousands who were on the way or outfitting to come. For the first time in my young life I was on the 'inside.' I was happy."
11-2-00
The later half of June brought a slightly different class of men to the new camp. Pack trains were now able to make their way over the high summits, and goods for stores and saloons came in. Trails were opened from Salmon City, Stanley Basin, Bear Valley and Garden Valley as well as the Warren and Dixie routes.
[This is probably why Neff and his friends didn't go over the Mill Creek road to Long Valley; the road would not have been open that early in the year.]
In addition to the outfits who were intent on opening business in the new camp, came individuals, pairs and groups who had been unwilling to undertake the rigors of the snow trails and had waited for the snow to disappear so they could ride horses in. For the most part, these were mining men and prospectors. Some represented capitalists or companies to which claims had been sold the previous winter without the formality of examination.[I plan to tell a little bit of the story of one of these men, Charles Luck, after I finish this story.]
A new company to work the Sunnyside Mine appeared. Another came in to work the
Fairview Mine on Rainbow Mountain. Pack trains began to reach the Dewey with needed
supplies of all kinds.
A few days before the first of July, three men came up to the Recorder's Office. One of
them was Newton Hibbs who explained that they represented the new townsite which had just been laid out on the beaver meadow immediately above the mouth of Mule Creek on Monumental. Hibbs was a quiet but very persuasive talker, and his mission was to get the Recorder's office moved down to the new town. He explained that a regular post office would
be opened there on the first day of July. There were already two stores there feverishly putting
up log buildings to house their goods, and there were saloons too. The Fairview Mine was
putting up additional buildings around their original Taylor cabin.
[Tuttle didn't want to move because it was too much trouble, but the Hibbs persuaded
him by promising to build a new cabin and tent frame, plus move the office paraphernalia.]
Hibbs said they were planning a Fourth of July celebration, and on hearing this, Tuttle
said he would be down on the Fourth to pick out a site, or he would send me to act for him.
On the first day of July snow began to fall, and continued through the second and third days of the month. There was about six inches of snow at the Dewey on the morning of the Fourth when I started down the hill. [Neff was going to town to pick out the office site.]
A muddy trail went up the center of the meadow and roughly indicated the one street of the new town. I passed a couple of new log buildings, as yet unfinished, on the east side of the street not far from the lower end of the meadow, and one of these from a rude sign was, or would be, a general store. There were probably altogether two dozen tents in sight, distributed along both sides of the street. I kept on to the upper end where Hibbs had said he was camped near the Fairview cabin, and at this cabin found Sam Jones, a colored man, who very obligingly pointed out Hibbs tent.
[Hibbs and Neff agreed on a site for the recorder's office, and Neff started to get to know more men.] Within the next few days I met many men, most of them pioneers of the district who had been in the fall before and were now come back to watch the boom. In late June the mill began to run steadily, and while I got used to the noise after a few days, I was glad to move down to the new town to escape that continuous, earth-shaking hammering. [The mill must have used a hammer type mill that pounded the ore into small pieces with a series of heavy weights.]
By this time the town had made a considerable start, and new buildings of logs, and some big tents, had been set up, and the town was full of people all the time, for literally thousands were coming here for mail and to file claims or to get supplies. Our town and post office had been named Roosevelt after our popular president.
Jim had by this time made the acquaintance of Alfred Skeels, a mining man from Central City, Colorado. Alfred represented a big broker in Chicago, and had been sent in to locate claims in the new district. The broker's part was to incorporate a company or companies and sell stock. This seemed to be a common practice, for within the next two years, scores of companies were started in this way, not only in our camp, but in districts sometimes 150 miles distant which were taking advantage of the boom to peddle stock. Unless one read carefully, he might not know from the published literature whether his property was near Thunder Mountain or 100 miles from that place. Thunder Mountain was the magic name, and it was used freely.
The working mines like the Fairview, the Dewey, in fact all of them worked seven days
per week. I had hired out on the same basis and wages, and I was a little more fortunate than the miners since I did not have to change shifts and so have to work at night any of the time.
Still I had plenty of time after work to take in the growing town and get acquainted and the recorder's office was a very popular place as well as the post office next door. Location notices were still coming in in quantities, and it was a treat to me to get acquainted with all these new men. Many claims were filed in our office from distant districts like Sulphur Creek and bear Valley, on the Middle Fork of Salmon, on Big Creek and its branches, Chamberlain Basin far to the north, and the Pen Basin, Johnson Creek and Profile sections. These locators were from all walks of life. There were now lawyers, doctors, newspaper men, representatives of going mining companies in all the western states, and representatives of companies that were not going. All however had to pay cash for the filing and the certified copies if these were desired. It became an easy matter for me to distinguish between the professional prospector or mining man and the man who was having his first fling at this business. I had not more than a half dozen applicants who were so lacking in schooling that they were unable to make out papers.
11-9-00
From the day of our advent into Roosevelt, Tuttle had assumed for himself the position
of "Goodwill Representative" of our business and of the camp as well. The entire conduct and work of the office was left to me. He was always home in the morning, and upon getting up would wash and dress to go down town. Next he would take a drink of whiskey, for he always kept some on hand for something might happen to the saloons, or they wouldn't open up early enough.
The new town grew rapidly in July. By the middle of July I became apparent to the
sponsors of the two other townsites, Thunder Mountain City and Marble City, that they held jacks while we held aces. [The other towns lost many businesses and residents to Roosevelt.
Of Thunder City, Neff said the town "disappeared without trace overnight."]
[At one point, a gramophone (record player) was playing in a saloon in Roosevelt.]
This was perhaps the only musical instrument between Warren on the west and Salmon City to the east, and it attracted men much as a freshly killed deer hung up in the woods in late summer will attract yellowjackets. [Klondike] Kate was in personal charge of it. She sat on a high stool at one end of the bar and had the air of a faro lookout at his post. As long as drinks were moving over the bar, the machine wailed. The rule seemed to be "No whiskey, no music." Kate was a top notch psychologist although it is doubtful if she had ever heard of those pseudo scientists. She had records of old familiar and time-honored songs, popular songs of the day, and a limited number of parodies of well known songs which a respectable man would not want to hear unless he were standing in the dark. They must have originated down at the lower end of the worst street in the restricted district of Hell.
There were plenty of gamblers in the town already, or men who thought they were
gamblers, and in each saloon at night a poker game could be seen in progress. This was
generally of the stud persuasion, for the reason that more suckers would enter the fish trap in an hour than by the game of draw, and consequently the turnover for the house was greater.
There were no roulette, pool nor billiard tables, for they could not be packed upon
mules very well. Occasionally a 21 or solo game could be seen.
[Neff met a Boise lawyer, Bill Puckett, who had claims in the area. During their initial
conversation, the man asked Neff if he was from Moscow.] I was puzzled as my mind flew to Moscow, Russia. Seeing my embarrassment, he said, "I thought maybe you were one of the
boys from our state university." [Kind of puts in context how long the U of I has been around.]
[A man named DeCamp liked the names Jim and Neff had given their claims, and
wanted to buy them.] That night we agreed to give DeCamp an option on our group of claims for $20,000. Tuttle affixed his seal to this document, DeCamp put it in his pocket and in a few days both Jim and I had forgotten about the option.
Since the Fairview bunkhouse was just across the street from my office, I became very well acquainted with the crew of that mine during the summer. The mine works were about 1,000 feet higher than the town, and since the slope was exceedingly steep, the trail was a succession of switchbacks from the town level to the tunnel. The crew seldom numbered over four men besides the foreman, Alex Urdahl. Three out of the four were "steadies" and had come over from the Seven Devils district where they had been working for the present manager of the Fairview, Frank Johnesse. [The Seven Devils Mining District was in a slump during 1902--partly because of the competition for attention from the Thunder Mountain boom.]
Johnesse was a very big man , and had been a successful promoter, had once been State Mine Inspector, and had had a term in the legislature from this county. He had outside business to look after, so was not often in Thunder Mountain.
[Two men, Sittig and Pyle, worked for the Fairview mine. Neff heard a story about them that occurred when the pair had worked together in a mine near Idaho City. They were drilling holes in tunnels for blasting. Men usually worked in pairs for this job. The drill was a long chisel-like rod. (We have one in the Museum on display.) The drill driven into the rock at the end of a tunnel, and was turned slightly after each blow. This gradually formed a hole into which blasting powder or dynamite was placed. Competitions have been held to see who could drill the fastest. Often, one man would hold the drill while the other man struck it with a "double jack" sledge hammer. In the following story, both men seem to have been using their own drill and a smaller "single jack" hammer.]
Pyle discovered almost immediately that here was a man whom it might be an honor to
beat, and he turned on the heat, trying to wear him [Sittig] down. In a drift [tunnel leading from the main tunnel] the cut holes, uppers or back holes, half uppers and lifters, form a pattern that is generally regular, and a line down the center of the face will show an equal number of holes
on each side. Working with might and main, Pyle could not finish on instant before Sittig, and Sittig's holes always seemed to break perfectly. Pyle suggested after a week that they change sides. Sittig agreed without even a word, but the result was the same. Pyle was certainly no quitter. He stayed with it for exactly 30 days, and a record was set that, for two man drifting with single jacks, is still talked about in Boise Basin. When they met again in a mine in the Seven Devils, each regarded the other as an equal, all strain vanished and they became good friends, but there was really no let up in their work.
The third man, George McBride was always the blacksmith or tool sharpener whenever he worked for any mine. He had learned the blacksmith's trade when young, and still young had come out from Indiana to Colorado, and since mines always needed a blacksmiths, he had caught on at the mines. [The mines in Colorado began to wear out, so he set out for the northwest.] He came down to the great Snake River and began to hear of Idaho mining camps, Custer, Rocky Bar and Silver City. The latter seemed to have the call. There were several very rich mines working there and at nearby DeLamar. So he left the river and went up to Silver City. He got work at once at the Cumberland and stayed in the camp about two years when there came news of new, boom camps farther north, in the Seven Devils mountains and at Buffalo Hump. He saddled up and struck out for the Seven Devils. He worked about the mines here for a couple of years, most of the time for Johnesse, and it was there that he got acquainted with Urdahl, Sittig and Pyle. It was natural then, that when Johnesse got started on the Fairview at Thunder Mountain that they should all move over there together. Besides, this seemed to be the biggest boom that the northwest had ever had.
11-16-00
The Fairview was the only mine in our new camp near enough to Roosevelt to permit
its workers to live in the town. All the other properties starting up had to build boarding and
bunk houses of their own, and in most instances, they were too far from town for the men to
come down very often.
[The mines at Black Lake had bunk houses for workers that sat way up on the hill by
the Summit Mine tunnel. My father remembered when they were standing, but all that's left now
are piles of rotting lumber. The Forest Service photo accompanying this column was taken of
an "abandoned hotel at Black Lake" in 1962. I'm wondering if it was part of the bunk houses
up on the hill or if this building was down by the mill and "town." If anyone knows, please
contact me.]
[Neff writes about the salmon and steelhead men were catching near Thunder
Mountain. They soon had the creeks fished out near the centers of population, and anyone
wanting to catch a fish had to hike some distance to find one. A man he met told Neff about an
interesting experience he had. The man had seen some big fish in a deep pond behind a beaver
dam, but the fish wouldn't bite.]
When he got back to town and told about these fish, someone suggested that he take a
couple of sticks of powder with him next time he went down there and drop a "straight hook"
very quietly among them. He was told just how to prepare the charge to waterproof it and just
what to do. But the friend neglected to tell him quite all. So when he went down again, soon he
fixed a charge of two sticks, crept out quietly on the dam and found the fish still there. He lit the
fuse and dropped the charge as softly as possible among the fish. They moved about a little and
he kept watching them to see if they would regather in the deep hole. What the friend hadn't
told him was to get away from there after he had dropped the charge. As he leaned over to
watch the fish, all the water in that part of Idaho seemed to blow up in his face and he was
knocked violently backward into the mud and water below the dam. He never knew whether
he had killed any fish or not. He was not hurt at all, but he foreswore all extra-legal means of
taking fish from that time on.
[People around here used to "fish" with dynamite occasionally. My dad told me about
one method of putting the stick(s) of dynamite in a glass jar, then lighting it and screwing the lid
on. I guess the jar had rocks in it to make it sink. In 1923 Ike Glenn was accused of dynamiting
fish, and the case even went to trial, but the jury found him not guilty.]
During the summer thousands of men came through our town paying us only a brief visit
and the most of these were simply drawn by the excitement and didn't know what it was all
about. They were not prospectors or mining men of any sort. The mining men were of a
different sort. They were after information and stopped long enough to ask questions, and many
were free enough to volunteer their own sage opinions. About the tenth of September came a
man heading a party of four who stopped at the Fariview over night. It didn't take me long to
find out that the Saturday Evening Post wanted to find out for its readers what this greatest of
modern mining booms looked like and meant, and had sent this man, William Allen White, out
to write us up.
[Tuttle decided to move on, and assured Neff that the Recorder's job would go to him.
Instead, they found out a woman had been scheming to get the job through political contacts.
She showed up at the office with the proper papers, and so took over the office. Shortly after
this, Neff heard from Mr. DeCamp to whom Neff and Jim had given an option to buy their
claims. DeCamp said he had sold the claims and wanted Neff and / or Jim to come to Nampa
to sign papers. Jim stayed at Thunder Mountain; Neff and his friend, Skeels, started out at the
end of September.]
The mail carrier had built, during the summer, a cabin every 16 miles along the route to Garden Valley, for the use of his carriers. There was supposed to be a little grub in each cabin- -rice, sugar, coffee and flour. Travelers were put on their good behavior. This was a matter of accommodation, and no one was supposed to cheat. There might be a chunk of venison
hanging in a sack in these cabins, but better not depend on it. Each cabin contained a small
cook stove. Better take a little grub of your own along as a supplement. When you got to
Peace Valley, the first cabin above Garden Valley, you were supposed to pay 50 cents per
night for the use of cabin and food. There was always a man resident at Peace Valley.
[These cabins sound similar to the cabins that Solon Hall built at intervals between
Indian Valley and Warren, but I've never heard of them being open to the public like this. Neff
described the cabin where they spent the first night.]
These cabins were small, about 12' X 16' in size without many conveniences. One
could sit on the bunk or on a stove length cut off a log if there were such a block. There were
no windows. A shelf hung suspended by wire from the ridge pole, and on this was piled the
current supply of grub. Down these wires the kangaroo mice, pack rats and weasels were
afraid to slide, and they were too dumb to know they could jump to the shelf and afterwards to
the floor. A big grub box had been provided, and in that could be found tightly covered tin cans
which might contain food, but holes had already been gnawed through the box and the mail
carriers had already learned they were not invulnerable. There was an axe and, in some cabins,
a one man saw. A transient using the cabin was supposed to leave as much wood in the house,
or just outside, as he found when he came there. Nothing probably was ever stolen. Skeels and
I observed the rules.
[The pair reached a place called "Pen Basin" where a man named Berry lived, and
spent the night at his accommodations. This cabin was a a junction where several main trails
met. Here they met a man who illustrates the nature of the men of that time and place, and their
ambition.]
In spite of the fact that we were at a crosstrails of an immense new territory that night,
only one other guest showed up at Pen Basin. This was Lou Vogan who was planning to run a
trap line through the coming winter, and he was now engaged in building small cabins or shelters
spaced at intervals of about 12 miles. There would be six of these describing a rough circle and
the Pen Basin station would be headquarters. In these shelters he would , in the last days before
the season opened, cache grub and a little bedding.
Before we started out, Skeels produced a Kodak which I had not know he possessed,
and with this, berry took a picture of Skeels and me with our packs on and ready to travel.
[Don't you wish we had that picture? A camera like this would have been a rarity in those days,
and probably quite expensive. About this point in his account, Neff reveals that he is 25 years
old. I pictured him as being much older.]
[At Nampa, Neff meets DeCamp's partner, who is quite cold to Neff and tells him that
he and DeCamp can only pay them half of the $20,000 they promised for the claims. Neff is
stunned and leaves without making a deal. He later meets a man at Boise named Richardson
who owns claims at Thunder Mountain, and they strike a deal for Neff to manage and develop
them. Richardson pays for a quantity of supplies, and Neff sets off with the goods in a hired
wagon to return to Thunder Mountain.]
Our road led out to the northwest from Boise and after three or four miles we struck up
a creek and began to climb the treeless foothills or low mountains that form a divide between
the Boise and Payette Rivers.
We made Horseshoe Bend on the Payette in the evening after an all day ride through
desert monotony. We set out in good time the next morning and crossed the Payette on a
bridge. There was some bench farming land on the north side but we were soon through this
and into hilly country on the road to Sweet. There was a place called Jerusalem around here
somewhere but we didn't see it. The we got out of the hills and into the farming section for
which Sweet was the center. Sweet was just a store with nothing of interest except a hot spring
in a nearby pasture where miners often came to be cured of rheumatism. This was an
uninteresting semi-desert country, but not far beyond Sweet we began to climb mountains again
and these were timbered enough to make the road less monotonous.
We wanted to take advantage of all the stopping places which had overnight
accommodations, so we stopped at Sweet and at Ola, which was up much higher in the
mountains to the north. The next day we fore to the northeast, descending but very little and
came to Smith's Ferry on the North Fork of the Payette. Here we were ferried across the river.
Somewhere between Smith's Ferry and Warner's ranch was a place with the high sounding
name of Alpha, but if we passed it I did not know it.
[The supplies were transferred to pack animals, and packed to the claims near Thunder
Mountain. At this point, Neff's account abruptly ends. I wish we knew what became of him. I
would guess that, like everyone else, he left the Thunder Mountain area when the boom ran
down.]
The fate of the town of Roosevelt is interesting. In 1909 a land slide came down the
mountain just down stream from the town. The slide completely dammed the creek and backed
up the water until it covered the whole town. By this time, few if any people were still living
there. Today the only thing there is "Roosevelt Lake" shown on maps.
On the internet I found an item on Thunder Mountain City. This information is listed on
it: "The town was located about three miles down Monumental Creek from Roosevelt.
Although it started as a mining camp, nothing developed and it soon became a way station and
outfitting point on the wagon road into the neighboring mines. The remains of several log
Buildings can still be seen."
Speaking of web sites, I have been doing some work on the Museum web site. We
now have Adams County cemetery records there, plus some of the items we have for sale. The
address is <www.ctcweb.net/~jcpeart/history.htm>
11-23-00
This is the last installment of the C.W. Neff story. Neff and his companion, Skeels, are hiking
out to Boise and Nampa.
The mail carrier had built, during the summer, a cabin every 16 miles along the route to
Garden Valley, for the use of his carriers. There was supposed to be a little grub in each cabin-
-rice, sugar, coffee and flour. Travelers were put on their good behavior. This was a matter of
accommodation, and no one was supposed to cheat. There might be a chunk of venison
hanging in a sack in these cabins, but better not depend on it. Each cabin contained a small
cook stove. Better take a little grub of your own along as a supplement. When you got to
Peace Valley, the first cabin above Garden Valley, you were supposed to pay 50 cents per
night for the use of cabin and food. There was always a man resident at Peace Valley. [These
cabins sound similar to the cabins that Solon Hall built at intervals between Indian Valley and
Warren, but I've never heard of them being open to the public like this.
Neff described the cabin where they spent the first night.] These cabins were small,
about 12' X 16' in size without many conveniences. One could sit on the bunk or on a stove
length cut off a log if there were such a block. There were no windows. A shelf hung suspended
by wire from the ridge pole, and on this was piled the current supply of grub. Down these wires
the kangaroo mice, pack rats and weasels were afraid to slide, and they were too dumb to
know they could jump to the shelf and afterwards to the floor. A big grub box had been
provided, and in that could be found tightly covered tin cans which might contain food, but
holes had already been gnawed through the box and the mail carriers had already learned they
were not invulnerable. There was an axe and, in some cabins, a one man saw. A transient using
the cabin was supposed to leave as much wood in the house, or just outside, as he found when
he came there. Nothing probably was ever stolen. Skeels and I observed the rules.
[The pair reached a place called "Pen Basin" where a man named Berry lived, and
spent the night at his accommodations. This cabin was at a junction where several main trails
met. Here they met a man who illustrates the nature of the men of that time and place, and their
ambition.] In spite of the fact that we were at a crosstrails of an immense new territory that
night, only one other guest showed up at Pen Basin. This was Lou Vogan who was planning to
run a trap line through the coming winter, and he was now engaged in building small cabins or
shelters spaced at intervals of about 12 miles. There would be six of these describing a rough
circle and the Pen Basin station would be headquarters. In these shelters he would , in the last
days before the season opened, cache grub and a little bedding.
Before we started out, Skeels produced a Kodak which I had not know he
possessed, and with this, berry took a picture of Skeels and me with our packs on and ready to
travel. [Don't you wish we had that picture? A camera like this would have been a rarity in
those days, and probably quite expensive. About this point in his account, Neff reveals that
he is 25 years old. I pictured him as being much older.] [At Nampa, Neff meets DeCamp's
partner, who is quite cold to Neff and tells him that he and DeCamp can only pay them half of
the $20,000 they promised for the claims.
Neff is stunned and leaves without making a deal. He later meets a man at Boise named
Richardson who owns claims at Thunder Mountain, and they strike a deal for Neff to manage
and develop them. Richardson pays for a quantity of supplies, and Neff sets off with the goods
in a hired wagon to return to Thunder Mountain.] Our road led out to the northwest from
Boise and after three or four miles we struck up a creek and began to climb the treeless
foothills or low mountains that form a divide between the Boise and Payette Rivers.
We made Horseshoe Bend on the Payette in the evening after an all day ride through
desert monotony. We set out in good time the next morning and crossed the Payette on a
bridge. There was some bench farming land on the north side but we were soon through this
and into hilly country on the road to Sweet. There was a place called Jerusalem around here
somewhere but we didn't see it. The we got out of the hills and into the farming section for
which Sweet was the center. Sweet was just a store with nothing of interest except a hot spring
in a nearby pasture where miners often came to be cured of rheumatism. This was an
uninteresting semi-desert country, but not far beyond Sweet we began to climb mountains again
and these were timbered enough to make the road less monotonous.
We wanted to take advantage of all the stopping places which had overnight
accommodations, so we stopped at Sweet and at Ola, which was up much higher in the
mountains to the north. The next day we fore to the northeast, descending but very little and
came to Smith's Ferry on the North Fork of the Payette. Here we were ferried across the river.
Somewhere between Smith's Ferry and Warner's ranch was a place with the high sounding
name of Alpha, but if we passed it I did not know it.
[The supplies were transferred to pack animals, and packed to the claims near Thunder
Mountain. At this point, Neff's account abruptly ends.]
In talking to Steve Stoddard, who obtained the original copy of Neff's account, I got a
little more info on Neff. First, Neff wrote his "autobiography" for his children as a Christmas
present in 1941. Steve doesn't know if he wrote more than what we have or not, but suspects
he did. He has heard that Neff's daughter lives somewhere in California. So we know he
eventually married. And from Neff's old friends who had this section of his autobiography,
Steve learned that Neff continued to live in the Thunder Mountain area at least until the 1960s.
Steve told me that if he gets more of Neff's autobiography, he will let me know. Incidentally, the
Neff Creek near Thunder Mountain IS named after C.W. Neff. The fate of the town of
Roosevelt is interesting. In 1909 a land slide came down the mountain just down stream from
the town. The slide completely dammed the creek and backed up the water until it covered the
whole town. By this time, few if any people were still living there. Today the only thing there is
"Roosevelt Lake" shown on maps. On the internet I found an item on Thunder Mountain City.
This information is listed on it: "The town was located about three miles down Monumental
Creek from Roosevelt. Although it started as a mining camp, nothing developed and it soon
became a way station and outfitting point on the wagon road into the neighboring mines. The
remains of several log Buildings can still be seen." Speaking of web sites, I have been doing
some work on the Museum web site. We now have Adams County cemetery records there,
plus some of the items we have for sale. The address is
<www.ctcweb.net/~jcpeart/history.htm>
Also, this exciting news just in: Marguerite Diffendaffer has agreed to let us put the text
of her book "Council Valley--Here They Labored" on our web site. This book is out of print,
and will be a valuable resource for researchers. So... any of you "computerists" out there with a
copy of her book, and who are willing to type and e-mail me sections of her book--please
contact me, and we'll make sure no one duplicates another's work.
This is a series of History Corner articles about a trip to Thunder Mountain by Charles Luck in
1902.
11-30-00
I heard from several people about the photo of "Sheepeater's Monument" pictured in last
week's column. It is a natural formation located on Monumental Creek, and this "monument" is the reason the creek got this name. A main pack trail goes down the creek near this formation, but the nearest road is at least six miles away. It is at least that many miles below the old town of Roosevelt, which of course is now Roosevelt Lake. I'm told there are still a few buildings at the old town site. And the cemetery is located a short distance up Mule Creek.
The larger top of the monument is more solid rock than the lower part, and stopped
erosion from above, leaving the column under it as the surrounding material wore away. It is the only formation of its kind in that area, although there are a few cliffs. The photo is hard to duplicate today because there are many more trees blocking the view. I understand the same lady who asked me about this also asked Pete Zimowski, and he put some info about it in the Statesman (Outdoor section) that came out on Thanksgiving day. Concerning the transcribing of Council Valley -- Here They Labored onto our web site, a couple people made me realize we can scan the text and OCR it into a word processing program instead of retyping it all. Any of you out there who have scanners and are willing to help with this, please contact me (dafisk@ctcweb.net) and we'll get each person lined out on a section to scan. Anyone is welcome to contribute new material (on local historical people) that is not in the book. Just email it to me. If you can't do that, send me written info, and I'll get it in.
So, are you tired of Thunder Mountain stories yet? I'm hoping not because I have
another one. This one was written by Charles W. Luck who was hired to make the journey to Thunder Mountain to investigate the prospects for investing. His story begins below.
In the fall of 1901, newspapers began printing strange and fascinating accounts of a gold strike in the almost inaccessible wilds of central Idaho. Thunder Mountain was represented as a weird place where unaccountable, subterranean rumblings were heard from time to time. An Indian legend held that there was an immense cavern in the mountain. Bags of gold, it was asserted, were secretly being brought out. The first claim had been sold for $100,000. An account of the sale with a picture of the check was published in the Idaho Daily Statesman. And it was common news that another claim had sold for $125,000. Thunder Mountain was a large area of rich virgin ground, unstaked, bounded only by the imagination. "First come, first served!"
It was my good fortune to be in the midst of this one. I was where I could observe the
symptoms and feel the pulse. It is not an individual disease, this gold fever. Men have it only en masse. That is why they can have it and be sane in every other respect. Being in it but not of it, I could watch it spread and feel the increasing heat. In January 1902 a mining broker in Salt
Lake City engaged me to go in and report on Thunder Mountain for some wealthy clients of his
in the East. They had money to invest but not to throw away. At once I began laying plans and
making arrangements to go as soon as it was possible to get in with pack horses. No data for a
report could be gathered while that mysterious region was covered with ten feet of snow. I
engaged a packer who would also serve as cook, and an assayer with a portable outfit.
A student of electrical engineering who had come west for his health haunted my office.
He was such a fine, intelligent fellow that I could hardly refuse him, although he was physically
unfit to go. For some months he had been living on Mellins Food, Horlicks Malted Milk, and
other pap for infants and invalids. He was nervous and couldn't sleep. What could I do with
such a man in my party? It required hardy, vigorous men for such a trip. He, however, urged so
persistently and appealingly that at last I told him to buy himself a horse, a sleeping bag and
strong, warm clothing. I warned him that I could not turn back if he gave out, but would have to
leave him at the nearest cabin whence he would have to make his way back to civilization as best he could on his own horse. I was to pay him no wages but would provide him tent room
and grub of the standard variety, strong meat for men--no Nestles Food for Infants. As spring
approached the lower valleys, the impatient crowd started.
All winter it had been gathering numbers and enthusiasm. In April they brought out the
bodies of three men who had been caught in a snowslide on Elk Creek Summit. The effect of
that was to make room for three more adventurers who were ready in line to take their places.
12-7-00
After I had already sent in my column last week, I heard from Ervin Bobo about the
Sheepeater's Monument. He packed for the Forest Service for many years and went by the
monument a number of times. He said it looked like it could fall over any minute; the material
looked very crumbly. He said it is 70 feet tall and six feet in diameter. (Zimo says 20 feet at the
base.)
Now for more of Charles Luck's account of his trip to Thunder Mountain. We left
off last time after he had arrived in Council. He now tells how locals sold horses to the Thunder
Mountain "Argonauts."
As pack horses were an essential part of every outfit, every available horse was
bought and then the boys scoured the hill for cayuses. They drove them into corrals, wild eyed
and with kinks in their tails. They roped and threw them, put on a breaking bridle, slipped the
blinder over their eyes, cinched on a pack saddle and sacks of sand and let them buck. After
two or three days of this, they sold them to the Argonauts from the East for trustworthy pack
horses. And the Easterners bought greedily. They knew a horse when they saw one. It was an
animal with four legs, one on each corner.
A party of young fellows from Pittsburgh camped next to me. Such an outfit! A silk
tent, collapsible table, chairs and cots, the finest of woolen blankets, aluminum ware galore--it
was rare and expensive--and toggery! Such wonderful clothing for sportsmen I had never seen
before; the softest of leather, plush lined. Their guns of all kinds were just as wonderful. They
were sportsmen all right. Anybody could see that at a glance. They were prepared to meet all
the thrilling adventures they had found so truthfully described in those popular yellow covered
histories of the Wild West. They bought a bunch of those well broken cayuses. A cowboy
taught them to saddle and pack and throw the diamond hitch. I sat in my tent door and watched
them the day they started. They had no idea of apportioning arranging and balancing their
packs. From early morning until afternoon they worked with a will if not with intelligence. They
put on each horse anything that happened to come to hand, and they piled things on as long as
they could make them stick. Then came the diamond hitch. There were varieties of it that no
packer in the mountains had ever seen.
I couldn't help pitying the last fellow. Of course he had to take all that was left. He
piled it bravely on. The wonder is that the cayuse stood for it. At last he got it to stick and
threw over the hook of the last rope, caught the rope in the hook and stood wondering what to
do. He had forgotten the combination. He didn't dare to leave the horse to inquire lest the horse
also leave him. So he threw the end over and pulled it tight, then over and over again, winding it
around the pack and the horse like thread on a spool. While in camp the boys had bought
everything that they had forgotten before. These things were done up in store packages with
white cotton twine. As they wouldn't stay in the pack, he tied them on at convenient places, like
presents on a Christmas tree. Off he started leading the cayuse. It was a novel sight. After a
while I followed to see how he was making it. A mile or so up the road I overtook him. One by
one the bundles had dropped off and he had picked them up and was carrying them in his arms.
As his hands were engaged, he had tied the halter rope around his waist. It was a perilous
position; if the cayuse started, it would drag him to death. For a moment my conscience smote
me. Ought I not to warn him of his danger? Then I reasoned that a fellow like that would
probably be killed anyhow; and if it happened near a railroad, it would be easier to send his
body to his friends.
Several days more I sat and watched the crazy crowd stream by. My horses were on good pasture and we could live off the town and not deplete our supplies. Men were rushing to the
snow barrier in the high mountains where they were feverishly digging trails through the snow
and building pack bridges over swollen streams while they ate their supplies and their horses
starved. Many a horse was barely kept alive on rolled oats, and many fell by the way.
Knowing the country and the conditions, I could time my movements to reach the high passes as soon as the sappers and miners had cleared the way. Most of them had come from cities in the East. Their white collars and stiff hats betrayed them. They wanted experience of the wild life; so it was only fair to stand aside and let them go to it.
In due time I moved my outfit up to Payette Lake, forty miles farther on the road to
the golden heart of Idaho. It was five thousand feet above sea level and within sight of Secesh
Summit where the trail was almost cut through the six or eight feet of melting snow banks. To
be continued next week.
12-14-00
Continuing with the story of Charles Luck.
On the way to the lake we came overnight at the village of Meadows. This little town had about one hundred fifty inhabitants and seven saloons. That evening among the passengers on the stage from Council was a young fellow from New York, a Harvard graduate and son of a millionaire. He had impartially patronized all the saloons and had stretched out on the hotel sofa to sleep it off. Some shameless fellows who hadn't a bit of respect for a gentleman of learning and wealth wound a lariat around him and the sofa. Then they placed the sofa in front of the big fireplace. They threw in an armful of crumpled newspapers and shouted "fire!" Awaking and seeing the great blaze near him, he made a desperate effort to escape, tipped the lounge over and crawled out into the street on his hands and knees with the lounge on his back. All the village was there to see the performance. The artificial entertainment of the "movies" had not yet been invented. We enjoyed the real thing!
Our start from the Lake was late the first day; for, even with experienced help, it takes
considerable time to get a packtrain strung out. We had five horses all heavily loaded. The most surefooted carried my instruments, bed and personal equipment. The others carried tent, sheet iron stove, cooking utensils, tools, provisions, beds and personal effects. So many things are
indispensable on such a trip that the packs have to be culled and culled again until every
unnecessary thing is left behind and every necessary thing is remembered and in its place.
It had rained the night before, and the day was so damp and cheerless that we decided not to camp the first night but to stay at Fisher station, an old stopping place on the Warren route about miles above the head of the lake.
A mile from station we heard wild shouting and pistol shots on the road back of us. Judging by the rate at which the sounds were approaching, we knew that it was a gang of mounted men who had tanked up at the Meadows--that was the last filling station until they got to Warren--and who were riding hard. If they rode among us, we knew that our horses, fat and fresh from the bunch grass, would stampede and scatter our packs, so we drew aside into the undergrowth out of sight and let the howling mob pass. They went by on the run, swinging in their saddles and shooting their guns.
When we reached the station, they had already unsaddled, and our horses drifted in among theirs. I untied the lash rope on the left side of my horse and went around to the right side to loosen it. Up came the leader of the gang, a big, double fisted fellow, coat off, vest open, face flushed. As he pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his hip pocket, I noticed that his pistol was not in the holster that hung loosely at his belt. He had Probably laid it down with his coat when he unsaddled. Holding the bottle over my horse's neck as he approached from the other side he said, "Hello stranger, have a drink?" "No, thank you," I replied pleasantly. At that his face flushed darker. "You won't drink with me'" asked he in an angry tone. "No," replied I in a quiet, friendly voice. "I won't drink with you. But you needn't be offended. You offer it in a friendly spirit and I refuse it in the same. I wouldn't drink with the governor or the president or the king of England. I don't drink and that's all there is about it."
"Come on boys," he shouted. "Here's a feller that won't drink. Let's make him dance."
Now I was never much of a dancer and I had no notion of learning any new steps and high kicks in my heavy, hobnailed shoes. I said nothing but kept an eye on him. His hand went back to the empty holster. A perplexed frown came on his face. Venting his wrath in imprecations, he turned and went into the cabin where his companions had already entered.
As we piled our packs under the shake roof of the little shed, I said to the boys quietly, "It looks as if we were going to have a happy, homelike time with that gang tonight. They won't bother you.
That big leader has it in for me. He's just drunk enough to do something wild and foolish. You go in first. Sit around anywhere. Be quiet and good natured. If you act afraid, they'll think that they have you bluffed. No matter what happens to me, you keep still and keep away. I'11 call you if I need your help. Then get busy and get busy fast."
I sauntered in after the boys. On entering the door a quick glance showed me the whole situation.
The cabin was one room about twenty by twenty-four feet. A lean-to shed was the kitchen. The beds were upstairs under the low roof. Along one side of the cabin ran a long board table with benches. Along the other side were benches and stools occupied by the trail crowd. On my right near the door was the heating stove. Just back of it against the wall was a bench on which sat the dancing master. Beside the stove, nails were driven in the logs to hang clothes on.
I passed along the side of the stove, then turned and crossed in front of it to the wall. With proper deliberation, I took off my wet hunting coat and hung it on a nail. Nobody was talking; everybody was watching me. Then I unbuckled the belt of my Colt's Automatic .38, removed it, rebuckled it and hung it beside my coat with my right hand. I let my hand slide down the belt until it rested on the butt of the pistol. Tuning my head, I looked square at the big one and talked to him with my eyes.
"You didn't know that I was armed. You came near a dancing party with yourself as sole performer. But I treated you square. Now I expect you to treat me the same way. Otherwise get your gun, I'm ready."
Eight feet from him I stood as still as a statue, looking him straight in the eye until his eyes dropped. At once I walked away and went to talking pleasantly with the others. Presently the landlady called supper. Afterwards we smoked our pipes and went to bed. The next morning, sober, the big one came up and shook hands with me. I have Since eaten many a meal in his cabin but we have never mentioned the dancing party.
To be continued.
Has anyone heard of the "Bacon Hill Lookout"? Could it have been near Mesa? Let me know if you have any information.
Also, I got a letter from someone looking for information on Claude and Elsie Taylor who lived in Council. He did some mining near Thunder Mt. in the 1930s, and died sometime after 1961. She had a drinking problem and was admitted to the Council hospital several times. Please contact me if you have information on them.
12-21-00
I asked for information on the "Bacon Hill Lookout" last week. Ervin Bobo, Clarke Childers and Kenny Mink gave me the benefit of their sharp memories. Here's the scoop. In the summer of 1942, either the State or the grazing association in the Goodrich area decided the risk of fire was great enough that a "smoke chaser" should be positioned where he could put out any fires that started. Gordon Ader, a young man just out of high school, was given the job. A tent on a wooden frame was placed on a hilltop about half to three-quarters of a mile northwest of the present County landfill.
For those of you who may be familiar with that location, its north of land John Gould owned for many years. There's an old homestead site with a pond just south of that hilltop; at least the pond was there until the subdivision boys came along with their bulldozers.
There was also and old log corral there. Kenny said there was a phone line that went through where the "lookout" was at that time, so Ader probably had a phone to report fires.
Clarke e-mailed me to add: " I remember it real well as it was in service when I was Fire
Dispatcher at Council in the later 1940's. It was just a high knob on the south side of the old Goodrich road. The old road turned off just this side of the current landfill about 1/4 mile and went west towards Goodrich and hit the current Goodrich road again just this side of the river bridge. The smoke station was about 3/4 of a mile from the current road, and there was a kind of make shift road up to top of knob. The forest Service never put a building there--just kind of a camp—and manned it when there was a lightning storm or some other need in fire protection. We had some trouble keeping help up there because there was lots of rattle snakes."
Ervin loaned his horses and saddles for the project, and Ader started his vigil on July 1. About two months later, money ran out to fund the endeavor. Ader was let go, and the "Bacon Hill
Lookout" fizzled into the shadows of history.
Now back to the story of Charles Luck on his way to Thunder Mountain.
Leaving the station, we began to encounter slush and mud. Frequently our horses splashed across the little streams that came roaring down the sides of the canyon. As the sappers and miners ahead had provided foot logs, we crossed dry shod. One of these was the size of a telephone pole and about twenty feet long. It lay so close to the rushing water that the spray kept it wet. But the hobnails in our shoes held us from slipping, and we crossed, all but our tenderfoot student. He hesitated and looked wistfully at us on the farther bank. At school he had learned many things that didn't help him at all on that springy pole over the rushing water. However, as there was no other way, he tackled it. Out a few steps he lost his balance, stooped down quickly, put his hands on the pole, spread his legs and went down astride the pole. Then he cooned across with his legs dangling in the icy water. We called a halt while he emptied the water out of his shoes, wrung out his clothes and dressed. That night, beside the Upper Lake, we dried out before a roaring camp fire and were lulled to sleep by the distant sound of streams rushing down from the lofty, snow clad mountains that surrounded us.
The next day we crossed Secesh Summit, a low pass across the Secesh Range, 6400 feet above sea level. All day we wallowed along the trail that had been tramped and shoveled through the snow by the eager multitude ahead. The snow banks on either hand were often as high as the packs. At one point a pack animal just ahead of us mired down. There was no detour possible. The whole procession had to wait while the poor thing was unpacked, pulled out of the mudhole and repacked.
In the meantime I climbed up where I could see the trail a half mile or so in either direction. It showed an unbroken line of pack animals and men. Thousands were making the journey to the
rainbow's end to find the pot of gold.
That night we reached the Burgdorf Hot Springs. This was an old stopping place on the road to Warren. Freighters and prospectors and trappers had long made this their rendezvous. In the boom days of Warren a prospector had built his cabin here beside a hot spring that gushed copiously from the mountain side. By chance, the present proprietor passed that way and acquired the claimant's right. This was thirty years before the Thunder Mountain boom. Some say that he got it for a song and some say that he didn't even sing but was lucky enough to hold four aces. At all events it fell into thrifty hands.
Nature had placed this valuable spring where the lay of the land brought together the trail from the north, from Florence across the Salmon river; and the trail from the south where the great valley of the Snake river with its Oregon trail led to the base of supplies. From the spring it was a day's journey to Warren. Neither the comfortable, rambling hotel, part of logs and part of lumber, nor the delightful baths in the swimming pool could stay the feverish throng. We had to go. There would be time enough after we got our gold. The nuggets were waiting for us to knock them off the outcroppings. From the spring to Warren we followed a wagon track where thousands and thousands of gold hunters had passed in the 1860s. One sometimes wonders whether gold fever lingers in certain localities like a contagious disease in an old house.
Warren was once more a busy place. It had two general stores, a meat shop, a post office, two saloons, a hotel and a few cabins. Most of the buildings were of logs and showed their age. Although the town had a fresh lease on life, it bore the depressing marks of a worked-out mining camp. Along the stream for miles above and below the town, from foothill to foothill, the narrow valley was othing but a mass of barren sand and gravel with interminable ridges of boulders. To get the little, shining specks of gold, the earth had been ripped and torn up and left barren and unsightly.
A few miles beyond Warren we left the wagon road. It seemed to be the last thread that
connected us to the great, busy world of men. Before us lay the wilderness. At our feet stretched a yawning chasm, the canyon of the South Fork of the Salmon river. For many miles north and south of us the towering mountains had been cleft asunder. And there, four thousand feet below us, flowed a stream carrying the volume of a river on the slope of a mountain creek. Here we all tightened cinches and lash ropes, lest the packs slide over the horse's heads. Then down we walked and slid until our legs ached. Downhill travel is more tiresome and dangerous than uphill. It lames the muscles and chafes the feet. It is better to climb any time.
To be continued.
12-28-00
Continuing with the story of Charles Luck, on his way to Thunder Mountain in 1902.
That evening at our camp on high bar near the river but out of sight of it, we heard the low rumblings of thunder. But the day had been clear and the narrow strip of sky over our heads was blue. At first we guessed that there must be a thunderstorm over the mountains out of sight. The rumbling, however, continued until drowned in sleep. When the trail approached the river next
morning, we found that the thunder was produced by great boulders borne along by the terrific force of the stream until they dropped off into holes with a dull crash that reverberated along the canyon walls.
We crossed the raging torrent on a pole bridge thrown across between two jutting ledges where the crowding walls of the canyon narrowed the stream to forty or fifty feet, a third of its usual width. We were glad to camp where our horses could get something to eat. They had been living on snowballs and pine grass for several days.
Before us was Peg's Flat. From way back on the trail we had heard tell of that. Smooth and grassy it lay on the mountain side half a mile long and reaching back a half mile, rising at an angle of perhaps 25 degrees. It was so steep that animals could graze on it only by following the trails that terraced the entire area. It was a flat on edge. To catch a horse grazing within plain sight on the bunch grass at the upper edge, one had to climb about as high as a quarter of the way to the summit of Mt. Washington.
Now our way lay up Elk Creek. In seventeen miles from the river, we had to climb 5,700 feet to Elk Creek Summit, a saddle 8,735 feet above sea level. The trail was often steep, narrow and dangerous. At one place we saw the carcass of a horse that had evidently made a misstep and had rolled down the mountain side and lodged in the brush on the bank of the creek. Beside it lay the body of a bull terrier. We later learned that the horse was a well bred city animal; heavily loaded, it had stumbled and gone down. The dog was his inseparable companion. The owner, unable to coax the dog away, had led him with a rope for a day's journey. That night the dog took the back trail and died beside his pal.
Several miles farther up we encountered a risky bit of trail that ran for two hundred feet across the face of a cliff. From the towering cliffs above to the foaming creek below stretched this surface as smooth and hard as if the mountain side were covered with a great slab of concrete. It was so steep that nothing could stand on it. Across this a narrow furrow had been picked and blasted for a trail. About halfway, a low rib of rock ran down across the trail and for some reason, or more likely without a reason, had not been blasted out. The horses had to step over this. In doing so, my horse caught one front foot in the crevice of the rock. Instantly I sensed the impending loss of horse and pack; for if he lived to get to the creek, he would be swept away. Nothing but a trout could live in such a torrent. I got out of the way and gave him room and time to figure it out for himself. With wonderful sagacity he put his head down and examined the situation carefully. Then he moved his hind feet up to the ridge. Suddenly he reared back on his haunches, thus pulling his foot out in the same line in which he had put it in, the only way in which he could get it out without injury. Bounding lightly over the obstruction he landed with all four feet safely on the trail. That was a case of horse sense on the part of both of us.
That night we camped at the Smoke House in the edge of the rapidly melting snow. It was a roughly built log cabin with a rude fireplace without a chimney. For windows and a doorway there were holes in the walls which could be closed with a gunny sack, a bit of canvas or old blanket. It had been hastily built by the advance guard who had braved the winter storms and, after building this had fought their way over the summit about three miles beyond. The trail that was dug during the day was often blown full again in the night and the work had to begin again.
Just over the summit was where the three men from Weiser, mentioned earlier, had been caught in a snow slide in December. When we crossed the next day, the trail had worn down in the snow so far as to disclose, embedded in the ice, a piece of rope, the corner of a quilt and the edge of a sack of flour that had belonged to their pack; marking for these men the end of their struggle for gold.
To be continued.
1-4-01
Continuing with the story of Charles Luck on his way to Thunder Mountain.
We had now crossed the divide between the South and the Middle Forks of the Salmon River and were on the down-hill pull. The rugged heart of Idaho is typical of life. If you are not going up, you are going down. The trail cut in the deep snow to get down had thawed and settled until it was almost impassable. The snow, however, was still so deep that it was impossible to find another way around the down timber and the long stretches of slide rock. There was the carcass of a horse that had caught his leg in a crevice among the rocks and had to be killed. Another had slipped and fallen against a snag and knocked out an eye. One of our horses got a front foot caught in the roots of a tree. It could not be extracted. A struggle would have caused a broken leg. But the horse stood still while we got an axe and cut the root.
That day was the hardest yet; for we had to keep plodding on through slush and mud, splashing through swollen streams and climbing over down timber until we got down far enough to find grass for the horses. Then we made camp.
Our invalid helped unpack and hobble the horses, cut wood for the cook, ate more bacon and beans, hot biscuits and black coffee than was good for two men, slipped into his sleeping bag and slept like a healthy child for ten hours. This strenuous life in the open is the medicine for nervou disorders. Now we were out of the snow. The endless line of expectant adventurers, always in sight ahead and behind, made the way certain. We followed down Smith Creek to Big Creek thence on down to Monumental Creek. There were occasionally little flats where the going was grassy and pleasant. Often we crossed rocky talus under majestic cliff sand stretches of slide rock that flowed down almost as it seemed from the sky, filling narrow clefts in the rock ribs of the mountains.
Down Crooked Creek came a trail from the north. Here we met the stream of prospectors who had set out from Stites and Grangeville and had followed the old routes laid out by the prospectors of '81, when they discovered the Salmon River placers. These latest descendants of the pioneers fell not one whit behind their forefathers in calm and confident contempt for dangers and hardships. They crossed the raging torrent of the wicked, treacherous river and climbed the great mountain mass that flanked it on the south. Over the snow fields on the high ridges and slopes of the mountain they moved slowly; rugged, hardy, determined men. Food, clothing, tools, all their belongings were in packs on their backs or on sleds. Others had bundles done up in green cow hides which they dragged on the snow, always taking care to have the line of friction with the grain of the hair. That seems a small matter, the matter of hair, until you try it.
The next night we camped among forty tents on a little flat opposite the mouth of Monumental Creek. Big Creek flows east; Monumental Creek, north. Up the latter ran the old Indian trapper trail to the land of our dreams, the goal of our struggles, the consummation of our fortunes, ThunderMountain.
Alas! the creek was in high flood. It was evident that the trail was intended for use only in time of low water. It threaded its way up the deep, narrow gorge continually crossing and re-crossing the stream to follow the little flats. Sometimes the mountain walls crowded together until there was scarcely room for the stream between the towering cliffs. In such places the trail was forced to take to the bed of the creek. But now no man and no horse could keep his feet in that mad torrent. It is doubtful whether he could touch bottom. So a new trail had to be cut to eliminate the twenty crossings.
While this work was in progress, the gold seekers camped at the mouth of the creek. They built a pack bridge across Big Creek to a narrow flat at the mouth of Monumental. Two trees, a foot and a half to two feet in diameter, were thrown across and hauled in place by many strong anti willing hands. Small trees from six to ten inches in diameter, were cut in lengths of five feet and split in two. The slabs were laid with the flat side up and the round side notched into stringers. When the horses crossed, it teetered and swayed. But green wood does not break easily, however much it may spring and bend. And who cared for the tumult of the rushing torrent that swept in dizzy swirls and eddies within three feet of the bridge? This was the trail to gold!
The report that the trail was nearly ready reached camp the day of our arrival. To make sure, I left the packtrain in camp and proceeded on foot. Beyond the bridge the trail followed a narrow flat bounded on one side by Monumental Creek and on the other by a vertical wall of rock that gradually approached the creek. As it did so, the flat rose until it was twelve or fifteen feet above the water, so that the trail was on a narrow shelf overhanging the creek. There it made an abrupt turn at right angles and ascended a chute between rock walls which was so steep that I crawled up it on all fours. Thirty or forty feet of this led to the top of the bluff where the going was better. Men were digging and blasting a trail around this dangerous place.
The ends of the new trail had been brought up and down until only about twenty feet of smooth, steep rock remained to be blasted away. As I stood watching the work, a French-Canadian prospector suddenly appeared on the top of the rock. Beside him stood his little burro with his head cocked on one side and his great ears pointed forward. He carried such a bulky pack that little of him showed but head, tail and legs. Presently came the inquiry, "Is ze trail fini?" Then he deliberately slid down the rock and the burro followed with as little concern as if that were a regular part of the day's programme.
To be continued next week.
I would like to thank Shirley Wing for a very nice donation to the Museum. We really appreciate it.
The book that Don Dopf and I are writing about the history of the P&IN is going to the printer, and it should be done in a week or two. The price will be about $20. Watch this column and ads in the Record for more information.
1-11-01
The continuing story of Charles Luck on his journey to Thunder Mountain.
Early next day the camp was alive and stirring. The trail was open; the rush was on. Before noon the last tent was on its way to the land of gold. Nothing was left to mark the site of the tent city but the ubiquitous tin cans.
This creek up which we were traveling drained the west side of Thunder Mountain. On account of the curious pinnacle and spires and grotesque shapes left by the erosion of the rocky walls, it was called Monumental Creek. It flowed in a great gash in the mountains that gave a water grade, pretty steep in places, to the land of promise.
The little flat where we camped was the best, almost the only, available safe townsite in this region. It comprised a few acres of jumbled up rocks and ground, the debris that had washed out of a side canyon where a brook emptied into Monumental Creek. Here we found men who had set out from Weiser in February and had struggled through the winter storms to reach the goal only two weeks ahead of us. And there were others who had passed on weeks in advance of us at Council and had arrived but the day before. This was the end of the trail.
The camp grew as by magic. Every little smooth piece of ground among the rocks had a tent on it. Near the center was a large tent, about twenty by thirty feet. That was the saloon. The bar was made of roughly hewn poles supported on posts. A few glasses and several kegs of red eye and boxes of cigars and tobacco constituted the stock in trade. Men sat around on blocks sawed from logs and played cards on tables improvised from scraps of boards that had come in boxes. At night especially, the place was filled with a motley crowd and tobacco smoke, prospectors, tin horn gamblers, adventurers of all kinds. A woman ran this chute to the inferno. Now and then we were awakened by a shot or two in the night. We simply flattened out as close to the ground as we could and hoped that the rash fellow would shoot high.
As soon as permanent camp was made, everybody hastened to see the Dewey mine and its five stamp mill. No one without a permit was allowed to enter those enchanted precincts. The crowd stood on the adjacent mountainside and gazed in silent awe and wonder. From the mine an elevated tramway carried the ore cars to the crusher on the top floor of the mill. With several others I slippeddown and got a pan of fine ore that had apparently dropped from the cars. At all events it was underthe tramway and that was enough to satisfy men who wanted to be satisfied. And it panned gold, a nice string of colors.
While the eager crowd scattered out to stake claims for miles around, I retired to a good view point and sat down to meditate. Here was a good chance for a man to use his head, if it was yet on his shoulders. Nearly everybody seemed to have lost his on the trail. Up high on the mountain side, there was no place for extensive placers. Yet it was placer gold that first called attention to this camp. Some hunters, prospecting about, had found a piece of peculiar ground. It seemed like a hard clay formation that weathered and slaked on the surface. Then the hard stuff had to slake through another year before it could be washed again. That couldn't be real placer ground. There was no gravel, no evidence that a river or any stream larger than a rivulet had ever flowed here. Moreover, the surface indications showed that this mountain was of volcanic origin.
And there was another curious thing. The mountain side was covered with lodge pole pines.
These trees grow very tall and straight with only a tuft of foliage at the top and are seldom more than eight to twelve inches in diameter. They always stand vertical.
Now, just below the mine and mill was a patch of ground comprising several acres on which the pines stood in a crazy fashion. In places the tops interlaced or crossed one another; in other places, they leaned apart. The strange conditions seemed to occur in alternating rows that reached clear across the patch. On examination I found a wrinkled surface with long, parallel waves. The trees near the crests of the waves leaned apart. Those in the troughs leaned together, the trees still maintaining a position nearly perpendicular to the surface on which they had grown. It was evident that there had been a landslide in recent times. The trees appeared to be about sixty years old. When the slide reached the bottom of the little draw where Mule Creek ran past the mill, the lower edge could go no farther and the weight above had crumpled the surface.
Following this clue up the mountainside, within half a mile I found where the slide had broken loose. It was perfectly plain; a small volcanic nipple, or vent, had broken loose and slid down, carrying the surrounding surface with it. The gold in the placer and the Dewey mine came from that.
As soon as it was mined to the parting seam on which it had slid, the mine would be gone. If all the gold there could have been recovered, it would not have paid half the transportation charges of the crowd that had followed the gold trail to Thunder Mountain.
The last Charles Luck episode next week.
Caption for photo:
The Dewey Stamp Mill. Set up in the manner common to mills of its type and era, ore entered the mill from the chute high above. It would then go through a hammer mill to pound it into small pieces. One of these buildings undoubtedly contained a large wooden vat or two in which the ore was soaked in a cyanide and water solution to leach out the gold. After the acid solution was no longer needed, it went down the creek. That's why C.W. Neff said they had to hike a ways to find fish.
1-18-01
This is the last installment of the Charles Luck story:
Now that the purpose of the trip had been accomplished I could return to Weiser and make my report to the men who hired me. Returning over the trail was somewhat uneventful, and yet it was at the Burgdorf Hot Springs that I ran into the one person who had really made a strike. I stopped at the hot springs because after roughing it for weeks, a civilized man likes to sleep under a roof, take a hot bath and eat a few square meals with his feet under the table. The adventurers, the prospectors,promoters, packers, reporters who spend their time in such a place were always eager for news and something new. This time they really had something unusual to talk about.
Fred [Burgdorf], the proprietor, wanted to find a parson to marry him. He was an old bachelor who had lived there in the wilderness for thirty years, nearly four hundred miles from the nearest railway station. No wonder he had lived in single blessedness and peace. But a woman had appeared on the scene. For two weeks the bride and the marriage license had been waiting. Now great was the rejoicing. A minister had just arrived. [Though Mr. Luck did not admit it in his memoirs, his family later believed that he was the minister.]. His appearance was a little strange as he wore high boots with hobnails and a gray sweater with a broad red band around body and arm. The bride judiciously let it be known that she hoped he wouldn't wear that at the wedding.
To clothe the minister appropriately, all the guests went to digging up their finery. One furnished a vest; another, a cut-away coat made for a smaller man. By standing straight, the minister managed to keep from splitting it down the back. Someone discovered an ancient necktie. The groom had a black broad cloth suit, and the bride a beautiful and becoming silk dress. William Allen White thumped chords on the piano. It wasn't just like the wedding march from Lohengrin, but it served the same purpose and few knew the difference. The parson knew his part, although he didn't look it. The cook set out a wedding supper hard to beat and few have ever been enjoyed more.
And who do you suppose was the bride? The woman whom I had seen in Council. She had fearlessly set out on the trail to seek her fortune. With the instincts of a true prospector and with a prescience far beyond that of the male of the species, she knew pay dirt; she recognized gold when she found it. Why go all the weary miles to Thunder Mountain? In true mining fashion, she made a discovery, set her stakes, did the location work to hold her claim and got a legal patent on it.
Luck's story ends here, but there is some personal information about the man. Charles Luck was born in Ohio in 1857, graduated from Harvard University, and became a minister. After studying in Europe and spending three years in Guatemala, he pastored churches in New England; Pocatello, Idaho; and Ogden, Utah. In 1898 he served as the first regular pastor of the Weiser Congregational Church. Shortly after 1900, he engaged in civil and mining engineering, a vocation which he followed until 1942 when his eye-sight failed him. He was county surveyor for Washington County for many years. In 1902 or 1903 he acquired a beautiful parcel of land extending into Payette Lake from the east. This area, known as Luck's Point, now contains many fine summer homes. He died in 1945 at age eighty-eight, and is buried in the Hillcrest Cemetery in Weiser.
Caption for photo attached as <luck.jpg>: Charles Luck at his home in Lardo (McCall) in 1922.
1-25-01
Some time ago I wrote. a little about the Burt family at Fruitvale. Those of you who were around here more than 30 years ago probably remember that there used to be a number of Burts living at Fruitvale. Now there are none. Last fall, Cyril Burt gave me a copy of a book he had written entiled, "Ethel" about his mother, Ethel Burt. Part of her story encompasses enough local history that I thought it fitting to share it with you.
You may remember that back in June I wrote a little about the Burts. Charles and Eunice Burt came to Fruitvale from Caldwell in 1924. They, had six sons: Charles, Harry, William (Will), Fred, Harold, Claude, and one daughter: May Hulse. Harold married a Fruitvale girl, Violet McMahan (Raleigh's daughter) in 1926. Claude also married a neighbor girl, Alice Clark in 1927.
The story of the Burt familyis somewhat mixed in with the history of the railroad. In my column back in April of 1999, I wrote about the train wreck at Fruitvale that Harold and Charley Burt were in. May Burt Hulse's husband, Arthur Hulse, was the Fruitvale section foreman in 1925 when he was killed in a motor car (speeder) wreck. He was the father of Edna Rice and Eunice Finn. The story of both of these wrecks will be in the History of the P&IN book that should be ready for sale in a couple weeks. As fate would have it, now that the book is already being printed I found more on the Hulse's fatal wreck in Cyril's book.
First, to set up the story, I need to fill in a little background from the perspective of Cyril's book. As near as I can tell, the story of at New Meadows when Will worked for the railroad in the early 1920s. Next, they gave W.W. Propst a Model T as a down payment on his shoe shop in Council and moved to a house in town.
Cyril tells the story of Arthur's death: Ethel and her three children were in Fruitvale visiting with Aunt May Hulse and her husband, Art. She needed to get back to their place in Council. Will was working in the shoe shop and would be home soon. Art had to tow a motor car he had been using back to Council, so Ethel asked him if she and her children could ride on one of the motor cars. There was plenty of room for them to ride but it was against the rules set by the Pacific and Idaho Northern Railroad Company.
Aunt May said. "Oh Art, let them ride that little bit, it won't hurt a thing." Having had experience in bending the rules a little when he worked for the Union Pacific Railroad Company in Teton Basin, he was reluctant to take that risk again. He and some of his crew had taken a motor car down the track from Driggs to go fishing on the Teton River and the road-master came along. A couple of days later Art received his time check. Having a German name people hated, because of World War I, caused more of a problem than a harmless little fishing trip on the Teton River. However, that was in 1918 and now, seven years later, he was not about to take that chance again. He told Ethel she had better ride the "Gallopin-Goose."
Art checked the train schedule and decided to head toward Council, driving his motor car and towing the one he had borrowed while they repaired his. Ethel and her children went down to the depot to catch the Gallopin-Goose for the six-mile ride to Council. Art was put-put putting along on his gas powered motor car when one of the front wheels came off. Someone at the repair shop had neglected to key the wheel on, causing the accident. When the dust settled, both motor cars had jumped the track and Arthur Pierce Hulse was dead. He left a wife, who was expecting a baby, and three daughters, Eunice, Esther and Edna.
It was November 4, 1925. As the Gallopin-Goose went clicking along the track between Fruitvale and Council, Ethel and her three children were enjoying the ride. Suddenly the engineer slammed on the brakes and stopped. A few minutes later the conductor came back and told Ethel about the motor cars being derailed and the section foreman was hurt! Ethel knew the section foreman was her brother-in-law and the tears streamed down her cheeks. She realized how close she had come to being on those motor cars with her family. As a result of the accident Art Hulse died and May lost the baby she was expecting.
According to her, the little girl was born dead, with a mark on her head in the same place as the mark on her father's head, caused by the wreck. Dr. Higgs said he had never seen anything like it!
Actually, Art Hulse lived until he arrived at the Weiser hospital, but died before any attempt could be made to save him.
I'll have another story involving the Burts and a fatal accident next week.
2-1-01
This week I'm once again quoting from Cyril Burt's book "Ethel" about his mother, Ethel Burt and her husband, Will.
Gene [Eugene] was Ethel's first child, a handsome little boy who made life worthwhile for this young couple. One day when he was just learning to talk, he fell and hurt himself. Crying, he came running to his dad who said, "Be tough son," and Gene said, "I be tough Daddy." From then on, whenever he got hurt he would always say, "I be tough Daddy."
Gene and his cousin, Cleon, (who we called Buster) had a job working for Clarence Ivie about a mile north of Fruitvale. They were digging a place in the hillside, along the road in front Clarence's house, so he could have a "dugout" garage for his Model T Ford. [This was December of 1934. Gene was 13 years old at the time.]
Al [Alvin] Bounds, a handsome young man from Council, about twenty-one years of age, was dating Clarence's daughter. He came out of the house carrying a shotgun and wearing a pistol in a shoulder holster. He put the shotgun in his Model A Ford and walked over to where Gene and Buster were working. Gene said, "What are you doing with that hog-leg? I'll bet you a a dollar you can't hit that tomato can over there." Al said, "I'll bet you don't have a dollar." When Gene showed him that he had a dollar in his purse, Al pulled a 22-Colt semiautomatic pistol from the holster, pointed it at Gene and said, "I'll take that money." He pulled the trigger and shot Gene, with the bullet clipping his right forearm, entering his right side, and out his back near the backbone!
[Cyril said Al apparently thought the chamber was empty.] Gene felt a sharp pain near his backbone where the bullet came out and saw blood on his arm! He was still standing, but had dropped the purse from his hand. Al said, "Did it hit your body?" Gene assured him that it had. Cleon stood speechless, not believing what he had just witnessed. The thought came to Gene's mind that he might not be home for Christmas. Al put Gene in his Ford sedan headed for Council, seven miles away. Halfway to Council they saw some pheasants along the road. Al wanted to stop and shoot the pheasants, but Gene told him to get going.
They found Dr. Thurston, and he told Al to carry Gene upstairs to his office, over the drug store, then go get Ethel! Upon examination, Dr. Thurston knew the seriousness of Gene's condition and started making calls to get him into the hospital at Ontario, Oregon. Gene felt embarrassed when Dr. Thurston called the county officials to arrange for the bill at the hospital to be paid. He knew that Ethel and Will could not handle the hospital costs. It had been a little over a year since Will had given the doctor alfalfa seed to pay for him delivering Frances.
Will was working at New Meadows and could not be located. When Ethel arrived, the doctor put her and Gene in his Lincoln Zephyr automobile, wrapped blankets around them and headed for Ontario. Doctor Thurston was a fast driver in an emergency but the fog on the Mesa Hill slowed him down considerably. It was bitter cold and the fog stuck to the windshield, making it necessary to roll the window down and stick his head out, risking a frostbitten face.
As they were approaching the Arch Clark place, just a few miles northeast of Cambridge, the Lincoln Zephyr konked out, so Doctor Thurston ran into Arch's place and used the telephone to call for his backup car, another Lincoln Zephyr. Arch asked the doctor how the boy was doing and the doctor quietly replied, "I don't think he will live until we reach the hospital!". As they transferred Gene and Ethel into the backup car, the blood on the blankets indicated the seriousness of the situation.
[The Adams County Leader for Dec. 14, 1934 said the bullet "passed through the lung, the liver and one kidney."]
After consultation at the Ontario hospital, the doctors decided not to operate, thinking Gene's condition was too critical to withstand surgery. They decided a few days of intensive care might be better, so Doctor , Thurston headed back to Council and Ethel stayed alone with Gene. It was not the first time this wonderful mother had stood alone in a crisis.
When Will came home from New Meadows Saturday night (December 8, 1934) he found his kids were scattered around the community, his wife not home and his oldest son in the hospital in Ontario, near death's door. After borrowing a few dollars from his sister, May, to buy gasoline, Claude, Harold, Will and his son, Cyril, climbed into his 1927 Reo Speedwagon and headed for Ontario.
The fog stuck to the windshield of that old Reo panel wagon, making it impossible to see the road. Will took a sack of Bull Durham tobacco and rubbed it on the glass windshield, which seemed to help but he still had to roll down the window to see the road. There was not a heater or defroster in the car. Everyone was almost frozen when they arrived at the hospital in Ontario. Ethel and Will put in a tough night at the hospital, wondering what would become of their oldest son. The Elders came and administered to Gene and made arrangements for Ethel to stay at a church member's house, near the hospital. Scott B. Brown, brother of President Hugh B. Brown was one of the Elders.
As Will prepared to go back home the next day, Ethel said, "I want Cyril to stay here with Gene so that he will always remember him," Cyril stayed in Ontario with his mother and Gene. Some fifty-seven years later, in telling the story to the author, Gene said, "I never remember being awake in the hospital when Mom was not by my side." The nurses put a cot in the private room and this wonderful mother's constant vigilance was typical of the kind of person she was.
Christmas Eve (1934) the hospital staff was having a tree lighting party in the hall near Gene's room. The nurses rolled Gene's bed over by the door so he could see the tree lights. Ethel and Cyril were there as the nurses gave each of the patients a small gift and sang Christmas carols. Next morning, Christmas day, they discovered that Gene was hemorrhaging inside and had to have emergency surgery. Doctor Thurston was notified, and he headed for Ontario after calling the Fruitvale store and telling them to get in touch with Will!
Will had just sat down at the table with his kids to have Christmas dinner with Fred and Irene's family, when word came that Gene was in critical condition and had to undergo emergency-surgery. He ran over to his father's place to clean up. As he was shaving, he looked into a mirror on the wall and saw Al Bounds, speeding in his Model A Ford, pulling kids on sleighs behind his car. Will, with tears in his eyes, said, "I guess he is trying to kill someone else's son!"
Will arrived at the hospital just as they were getting ready to wheel Gene into the operating room. As they passed Ethel and Will, Gene looked at his father and said, 'I'll be tough Dad!" Alvin S. Thurston, one of the finest surgeons to ever handle a scalpel, operated on Gene, taking out half of one kidney. As Will watched, it looked to him like they would cut Gene in two, as the incision went from the middle of his stomach to his backbone. They closed the incision with two stitches. Will thought Gene had died and they would not bother sewing him back up, but the Doctor told him he did it so it would drain. Prayers were being answered on that eventful day.
[After about six weeks in the hospital. Gene stayed in Council with Claude and Alice Burt (his aunt and "uncle). Like many in the Council area, the Burt family considered Dr. Thurston to be a virtual miracle worker.] Cyril wrote, "The ability of this master surgeon and a devoted and loving mother caused Gene
to completely recover from the shooting."
Cyril continued the story: "On two occasions Carl Swanstrom, the County Attorney, came to see Will,
trying each time to convince him that Al Bounds should be arrested, or at least held accountable, for the damages he had caused. Will ages he had caused. Will said, 'To put another man's son in prison will not make my son any better.' "
2-8-01
This week's batch of photos comes to you courtesy of Arlene Waggoner Bossi (CHS class of 1948) via my history correspondent in Missouri, .
These pictures show what has not been an uncommon occurrence on the corner where Highway 95 turns onto Illinois Avenue in Council at the east end of town: an overturned truck. As near as the people who were here at the time can pin it down, this happened around Christmas time in 1950. The truck was hauling salmon. I'm not sure how it came about, but a number of Council people feasted on some good salmon meat as a result of this situation.
The only other information I have about the wreck was a question posed by Bob Hagar: "Who was it that placed a slab of fish on the under seat heater of the coach's (McCord's?) new Buick?"
And while I'm quoting Bob, he sent some memories that tie into last week's mention of Dr. Thurston. Both Dr. Thurston and Dr. Gerber had offices upstairs in the old drug store building on the northwest corner of Galena and Illinois. It's now a bed and breakfast with Bear Country Books downstairs.
Bob wrote: "I remember Doc Gerber's office, that's now the B & B where we've stayed several times over the past 10 years. The old steps up to the office still creak just like they did back then. I remember the time she broke off a drill in one of my teeth and then had to drill most of the tooth away to get the broken drill out."
"I also remember when my dog. Lou, misjudged while jumping over a barb wire fence and tore a big gash in her belly. I carried her up the steps with tears in my eyes, past the folks in Doc Thurston's waiting room. He told me to bring her right on in, and he stitched her up while the people continued to wait. And of course there was no charge. Wonder how the HMOs would handle that today?"
We now have Marguerite Diffendaffer's book, "Council Valley Here They Labored," on our Museum web site. BIG thank you's go to Troy Schwartz and Roy Gould who, between the two of them, scanned the entire book and e-mailed it to me. I have also added other family names to the existing information, and will be adding more. If you have corrections to the original book, or if you have additional information ,that would be good to have available to the public (such as info about more families that should be included), please e-mail it to me at' dafisk@ctcweb.net or mail it to me at Box 252, Council.
5 photos:
1—Looking north. The main Wayside building is in the background. This building is still there, just south of the Starlite Motel.
2—Looking southeast. The big billboard signs must have been designed to be read as drivers approached the turn from the north. Do you suppose the driver of this truck was reading the billboard instead of watching the road?
3—Looking southwest. One of the buildings in the background (probably the closest one) was originally the parsonage of the Methodist Church. It was torn down a few years ago.
4—Quite a crowd has gathered by this time. This is looking north and a little east again. The Wayside building is just showing in the left background. Looks like it was still a gas station from the looks of it. (?)
5—Arlene Waggoner in the cab. Her father, Ervin Waggoner, was probably Adams County Sheriff at this time. He was a jack-of-all-trades who was, at various times, janitor at the high school, owner of the shoe shop, and manager of the Golden Rule Store.
2-15-01
It's done! The book Don Dopf and I have written about the P&IN Railroad is rolling off the press and ready for sale. Just in case you've missed my mention of this book over the past year or two, the book consists of:
1--The History of the Pacific & Idaho Northern Railroad that ran from Weiser to New Meadows from construction to destruction
2--A mile by mile listing of facilities and points of interest along the line. (This will be handy for trail hikers) .... Comprehensive details on every locomotive that ever ran on the line (Don's a train nut) and a history of various types of equipment, including the story of the "Galloping Goose"
3--Accounts of the various products that were shipped on the line
4--Great stories of wrecks that occurred over the years
5--Stories of people who built, worked on, or ran the rail line
6- Over 130 photographs, some of which have never been published before.
The price will be $19.95 (plus 5% sales tax if you live in Idaho = $20.95 total.) Getting the book by mail will cost $4.00 more for shipping and handling = $24.95 for Idaho residents, $23.95 if you're out of state. $4.00 more for shipping and handling = $24.95. Writer's Press, a digital, on-demand printer in Boise, is printing the book. If you would like the book mailed to you, the fastest way to order is to call them at 1-800-574-1715 or Fax 208- 327-3477, or email <publish@writerspress.com >. They take all major credit cards. You can also send a check to Writer's Press, 2309 Mt. View Dr., #220, Boise, ID 83706.
The book will be available in Council exclusively at Buckshot Mary's--hopefully starting on February 20th (Tuesday).
This week I'm starting on the subject of grain harvesting in this area, plus a little about the subject in general--especially in the days of horse-powered machines. Kenny Mink was kind enough to loan me a magazine article on the subject, as well as letting me copy a few of his family photos for the Museum.
Farming in the Council area was, and is, different from farming in areas where the fields can be really large. So some of what I'll cover applies more to techniques used in other areas, but are still interesting.
A number of farming innovations have come from the Midwest or the Palouse area, where fields are sometimes measured in sections or parts of sections instead of by the acre. In order to work these huge areas, farmers were always looking for better ways to get the job done. (Unless otherwise noted, the quotations here are from "Persimmon Hill" magazine, which is a publication of the National Cowboy Hall of Fame and Western Heritage Center.)
"One of those better ways was the gang plow, pulled by multiple hitches of horses and mules. The wheat farmer in the Northwest became a skilled teamster, using six, eight, or even more horses for plowing, harrowing and seeding." These "big hitches" were usually only used on the big acreages, and were not popular in many regions, including this area.
"Farming with horses and mules was vastly different from the techniques used in today's mechanized agriculture. The day started at 4 a.m. with feeding and grooming of the work animals in their stalls." I've heard many a story from my parents of how people put in what seemed like half a day's work before breakfast
"Following breakfast, they were harnessed. If a large team was being prepared, several men would each take responsibility for half a dozen animals." "Collar pads covered with striped pillow ticking went over the withers of each animal, serving the same purpose as a saddle pad. Collar pads helped protect the draft animal from pinching and assured a snug fit. Every horse and mule had his very own collar, and there was no trading around. Hard use shaped each collar to a custom fit, and a swap could gall the unfortunate animal that had to wear it."
"Working horses and mules differed from the saddle animal, with steep, straight shoulders that made them rough gaited. Those steep shoulders allowed the collar to fit firmly in place for good
pulling power. A horse with a sloping shoulder would put excessive pressure on the points of his shoulders, causing galls and damaging his gaits if used hard."
"Size varied according to use. A medium-sized horse or mule, not weighing over 1,400 pounds, was preferred for multiple hitches, since that size of animal could work closely with another. Smaller stock did light work, like pulling a buggy or harrow. Larger drafters were used for conventional pair hitches or heavy work, such as plowing or logging. Too large a horse was clumsy and difficult to control; he was designed for pulling freight wagons on the farm roads."
I've" always found it interesting that almost all the horses in old photographs taken around here the horses in harness are not big draft horses. They look about the size of an ordinary saddle horse, and they were never fat.
2-22-01
I’m continuing with the subject of horse power, and quoting from "Persimmon Hill" magazine.
Plowing teams varied in numbers from six, able to plow about four acres daily with a two-bottom plow, to sixteen, capable of taking a four-bottom plow through eighteen aces a day. At least one farmer drove a team of thirty, in three ranks often, from the back of a saddle horse that followed the plow.
At seeding time, six horses could cover twenty-five acres with a ten-foot drill, compared to about twenty for the four-horse team with an eight-foot drill. A four-section harrow smoothed things up afterward with six horses, going over about thirty-five acres daily.
The larger the implement, the more horses or mules needed to pull it. A large implement also meant that the job got done faster--all-important when every day counted. Since horses needed periodic rests, this cut down on the amount of work done--not like the tractor that ran around the clock if drivers and spare parts were available.
Farming operations that had more than twenty head generally used mules, which were steadier and more skillful at climbing and descending hills without going sideways or losing speed. Intelligent mules wouldn't overwork themselves and stood heat better than horses. The mule also wouldn't overeat or drink too much water at once, making him easier to take care of. However, he understood what quitting time meant and would take a rest if he felt like it.
As an example of the cleverness of mules, my father recalled taking a pair out with the harrow one spring. The first trips around the field went just fine. After a couple hours, their ten-year-old driver began getting a little weary and just a little careless. Suddenly the mules bolted as one, galloping toward a deep ditch that bordered the field, not heeding the reins or voice of the youngster. The team leaped the ditch, dropping the harrow neatly into the muck and wedging it against both banks like a bridge. They stopped and rested for nearly an hour while the harrow was freed, then consented to work for another few hours. Then it was the same story all over again. Whenever they wanted a rest, they headed for the ditch.
Some horses were that smart, but not as clever as the mule in evading work. A forceful teamster could work a horse to death, or cause it to go down with heat exhaustion. Other drivers prided themselves on never galling an animal and never making one ill.
While horses and mules turned the earth in the nineteenth century inventors were busily solving the problem of steam and gas power for general use. Steam engines were first built to provide belt-driven power for threshers and other small machines, but they required a team of work animals to move from place to place. Even though steam locomotives moved goods and people from one end of the country to the other, mechanics still hadn't figured out how to move a steam engine half a mile down the road. When the self-propelled steamers came out, their primary use was plowing and threshing. From the 1870s to the 1920s, monster engines weighing as much as twenty tons performed those specialized chores on American farms before becoming obsolete.
But the work teams still did the everyday chores and the seeding, harrowing, and all the other things that had to be done between plowing and harvesting. There was no such thing as firing up the Ajax or the Peerless to run out and pick up a load of hay or clean the barnyard. They were slow, complicated, expensive, and had the uncertain tendency to explode occasionally.
Those behemoths were also unsuited to the hilly wheat country. The gasoline tractor for all-around use wouldn't be perfected until the advent of the Farmall in 1924, and the track-type crawler tractors didn't leave their marks on the hills until the late 1920s. Another problem had to be solved before tractors became practical—the development of the sealed bearing. Dust and dirt ground delicate parts to pieces.
To be continued next week.
Remember to get your copy of “The P&IN—The Story of the Pacific & Idaho Northern Railway” by calling Writer’s Press at 1-800-574-1715. For those wishing to save the shipping and handling, the book can be purchased over the counter in Council at Buckshot Mary’s, in Cambridge at The News-Reporter office, and in Weiser at Healthy Solutions on the corner of Highway 95 and 7th Street (the former Forest Service Complex).
Caption for photo:
The Wilkie family ran this steam tractor, then called a “steam traction engine” starting in about 1907. They used it primarily for powering their sawmills. Similar machines were used to power threshers in this area at least as early as the 1920s. The Case engine in the park at Council is said to have been owned by the Wilkies and used to plow on the Ridge.
Another reason inventors worked hard to come up with a gasoline-powered tractor was that it took at least two men to operate a steam tractor—one to watch the controls and one to haul fuel and water.
This is one of my favorite pictures because it was taken about 200 yards from my house, along the Ridge Road, looking southwest. Those are Joe Glenn’s hay stacks in the background. Joe sold out to my grandfather in 1924.
3-1-01
Continuing with my series on horse power.
At noon the implements were usually left in the field, and the horses where
unhitched and driven back to the barn for water and feed. In the evening, the horses were
often unhitched and allowed to return home on their own.
Once again, all quotes are from Persimmon Hill magazine.
Farmers in the wheat country did things a little differently. Some fields were too remote from the main farmstead for convenient travel back and forth. Heavy teams wore themselves out traveling most of the day to get to work. That problem was solved by building outlying barns and corrals especially for the work stock. They, in effect, lived on the job while the farmhands commuted by wagon or car. Sometimes a tiny house was thrown together for the workers to live in.
The big event of the year was harvest, a complex project that produced a show as fascinating as any circus. The combined harvester, or combine, was introduced in the 1880s to the Pacfic Northwest and big teams were essential to handle their great weight. This required a whole new set of tricks in handling, as it was necessary to make sure that every animal in the huge teams did his fair share. Thomas Keith, in The Horse Interlude, commented, "A thirty-two-horse team will not provide eight times the power of a four-horse team if only a portion of the horses in the big team are working as they should."
[As nearly as I can tell, combines pulled by horses were a rarity in Adams County. However, we have one photograph of one that was taken at Indian Valley.]
At first a "dead" hitch was used by some, in which every animal was directly hitched to the harvester. Aptly named, the dead hitch used up horses and mules at a rapid rate, with the energetic doing all the work and the lazy just following
along.
The Shenandoah hitch, also known as the cloverleaf or the Schandoney, after its inventor, made big teams practical. Every animal, usually a mule in the Northwest, bore the same load, but it was possible to re-rig things to ease up the work for one mule. The key was a metal "cloverleaf" that worked as an equalizer, and them was one for every six-horse group within the hitch. Sizes of teams varied according to whether the combine itself was ground-powered or carried an auxiliary engine. Steam initially provided the power, but the smaller gas engine soon took its place. A ground- powered combine averaged thirty-three head-- five teams of six animals plus three leaders. A forty-four horse outfit would have five teams standing eight horses wide, with four leaders. The numbers varied according to terrain, combine, and the driver's preference.
3-08-01
This is the last in my series on horse power.
If you are interested, there is a wonderful museum in Walla Walla that has life-sized teams of horses and mules hitched to combines, etc. illustrating how the huge teams were used to harvet grain in that area.
The rest of this is lifted from Persimmon Hill magazine.
Getting one of these big outfits ready to go to work was at least a four-man job. The driver, sack sewer, sack jig (who filled the sacks of grain) and the header tender all worked to get the team harnessed and assembled by 6 a.m. In addition, a mechanic might ride along with the rest of the crew atop the combine, all working like mad.
The three leaders had to be intelligent and well mannered; mare mules were preferred, as they responded best to oral commands. The driver only had direct lines to them, and had a box of rocks on his perch to attract their attention if needed. Many a teamster made good use of a box of rocks for reforming the lazy. Some drivers also had lines to the first six-horse team, just behind the leaders, so that they could use nine horses to turn the combine.
Driving a herd like this was quite a project. Animals could balk, run away, get tangled up, and raise hell the first day or so. A saddle horse was tied to the rear of the combine for emergency trips to town and in situations where a spare hand was needed to keep the team untangled and working.
Driving a group this size was made more complicated by the gullies and dips that marred the smooth hills. The leaders could be topping out on the far side of the ravine, the body of the team plodding through the bottom, and the combine itself just starting down the slope. This strained the harness and frazzled the driver, who had to keep everyone under control. Canny mules and horses learned to rush uphill, letting their co-workers in the team carry the heaviest load.
Turning was another major project. In The Horse Interlude,[Thomas] Keith recalled watching a harvest team on a steep hill from a train. The combine was nearly atop the hill, and the driver was asking his team to make a ninety-degree rum, a difficult feat on level ground. Even the train engineer was fascinated and halted the Union Pacific train so that all could watch.
Fire was an ever-present danger in the dry wheat fields, with temperatures in the nineties and the nearest water far away. A spark and a high wind could sweep a field in minutes.
One elderly farmer recalled a fire started by a malfunction on the combine. It was almost instantly covered in flame, but the driver quickly turned the cumbersome outfit into the wind. He bailed off and, with assistance, released the mules from the burning combine. The tails burned off of the wheelers before they could escape.
Everyone in the combine crew was busy—the driver guiding the header where it would neatly chop off another swath without missing more than a few stalks. The header tender adjusted the sickle, or cutter bar according to the length of straw wanted; the sack jig filled the sacks with the threshed grain. The sack sewer quickly stitched them shut and sent the full bags down a chute or conveyor to the ground, to be picked up by the outfit hauling grain to town. Large teams, thirty-three or forty-four horses, usually had a roustabout who rode a saddle horse along the left side to help control the team.
A team was usually all horses, or all mules, but seldom mixed. Horses and mules travel at different rates of speed, and a mixed team could be a real pain to regulate on hills. Some farmers prided themselves on a completely matched team, all dark. One Oregon farmer who drove a matched outfit found that one had gone lame that day, and substituted a gray mule. The photographer showed up that day, and the farmer never ceased complaining about how one gray ruined the picture.
Mares with suckling foals were hitched on the outside left. Otherwise their foals couldn't reach them for a quick lunch or a bit of comforting. If the mare was on the right side, the foal would be racing around in the uncut grain in front of the header, knocking down and wasting valuable grain.
Before the invention of the combined harvester, cutting and threshing were separate operations. A header operator drove a team to push a reel and sickle. Eight horses pushed the header along the slopes, cutting a swath twelve to sixteen feet wide, dropping the cut grain onto a draper that conveyed it up and out a spout and into the header box. Four horses pulled the lopsided header box, which had a low wall, convenient for the spout, and a high side to make a good-sized load possible. The whole operation was similar to today’s method of dumping combine hopper loads into successive trucks to be taken to the elevator. The full header boxes were driven to the threshing site, where a horse-powered separator or belt-driven separator would thresh the grain from the stems. The steam engine provided power for belt-driven outfits until the gas engine took its place in the years from 1910 to the 1920s. The threshed grain was quickly sacked, hauled to town and piled in massive stacks at the storage site.
A derrick unloaded the header boxes, using a dumping net or a pronged Jackson fork to act as a giant pitchfork, scooping the load onto the derrick table for threshing.
Both the horses and the steam engine were a thirsty lot, so one or two water wagons were continually on the road, making hauls up to twenty miles away to keep everyone watered. One water wagon was always with the engine. Portable troughs were laid out for the watering of the stock
The portable cook shack was an essential part of the operation. You could describe it as the forerunner of today’s house trailer, as it contained a stove, icebox, sink, cupboards, plus a table and benches for the help.
The number of men and animals required for a threshing outfit varied according to equipment used. Keith detailed one setup with a steam engine that needed sixty horses and twenty-seven men to keep going. More modern outfits that used gas-powered vehicles for hauling oil and water, and for the threshing itself, could get by with perhaps fifty animals and nineteen men.
Harvesting operations constantly changed as new equipment was invented, and mechanized power took over the job of the horse and mule. Few regretted that change, since it was a tremendous amount of work and expense to run the huge teams and steam engines.
Remember to get your copy of the P&IN book. They are available at Buckshot Mary’s in Council—The News Reporter office in Cambridge--in Weiser at Healthy Solutions on the corner of Highway 95 and 7th Street (the former Forest Service Complex)—in McCall at McCall Drug—in Cascade at Wheeler’s Pharmacy. To order by mail, call Writer’s Press at 1-800-574-1715.
Caption for photos:
All of these photos show Bob Mink and another (unidentified) man harvesting grain with a horse-drawn combine. The year was approximately 1919.
3-15-01
Troy Schwartz sent me a copy of a document quite some time back. It’s more relevant to the history Midvale than the Council area, but it’s interesting. It isn’t known just when this was written, but since the author was born in 1877, she has probably been dead for a couple decades or more.
My comments and additions are within brackets [ ].
Indian scare in Middle Valley told by Elizabeth Wiggins Parke.
Elizabeth Wiggins Parke, third white child born in Middle Valley, has entered a historical and genealogy record blank for the William Wiggins family who arrived in Middle Valley on June 1, 1877. Mrs. Parke, who now makes her home in Medford, Oregon, was born there on Oct. 19, 1877.
The record will be copied in triplicate and filed in historical libraries at Washington, D.C., Boise and Olympia, Wash. This is a project of the Daughters of the American Revolution and any person who was born or arrived in the Northwest before 1890 is urged to record his family’s genealogy as no birth or death records were kept before that date. Blanks may be secured without charge at the Signal-American office. The following account of the arrival of the Wiggins family in Middle Valley and the pioneer life or Mrs. Parke was taken from the record:
My parents, William and Elizabeth Wiggins and five children, Laura, Erasmus, Ann, Edward and Bertha, in the spring of 1877, came to Kelton, Utah on the train and were met there by my mother’s brother in law, John McRoberts. His family had come to Idaho about three years before accompanied by my mother’s mother, Mrs. Mary Ann Mackey and her son, William Mackey.
[Kelton, Utah was as far north as a railroad came at that time.]
They were living in Middle Valley, about 25 miles up the Weiser River in Washington County, Idaho. They traveled from Kelton, Utah through Boise Valley to Middle Valley, by team and arrived June 1, 1877. I was born Oct. 19, 1877.
I was the third white child born in Middle Valley, Charles Reed being the first white family to settle there, then the Keithleys and McRoberts families being next, then my family.
My father, William Wiggins, took a squatter’s right on what was later the Bob Jackson place. Our house stood on the riverbank close to the Roy Jackson home now.
Uncle John McRoberts house stood close to where the Golden Rule store at Midvale now stands.
My folks lived on the Jackson place during the Indian wars of 1877 and 1878. When the wars first broke out we went to the fort at the mouth of Mann Creek on the old Jeffreys place. We stayed about four days and went back to Middle Valley. We stayed at Uncle John’s all that summer and slipped out after dark and slept in the brush.
The next year they built the fort at Salubria. [Actually the fort was built in 1877.] Uncle John took his family there but my family did not go. Instead, we stayed with Truman Surdam and slept on an island in the Weiser River close by. There was a big hole on this island about the size of a house and was as good as a fort. It was here on this island I learned to walk by holding on to the brush.
My family moved to the hot springs on Keithly creek in February 1881, having sold their rights to Bob Jackson to the place on the Weiser River. My grandmother, Mrs. Mary Ann Mackey, mad her home with the McRoberts family until her death. She was the first grown person to be buried in the Keithley Creek cemetery, a small baby being buried there first.
I was a small child at the time Mr. Jackson and Mr. Towell had the fight with the grizzly bear in Reed’s grove and remember it very well. [I’ve never heard this story. I’d like any information about it anyone can give me.]
My sister, Laura, married John Tinsley and lived many years in the valley. My sister, Bertha, married John Pierce and moved to Boise valley. My brother, Ed, married Clara Brittan and my oldest brother, Ras, remained a bachelor. I married James Parke, April 2, 1896, who came to Idaho in 1888 from Kansas.
After my husband and I were married, we kept the old stage station at the foot of Middle Valley hill on the Midvale side. My husband drove stage at various times. I have six daughters, all born in Idaho and all still living.
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Don Wood.
3-22-01
This week I'm starting a short series in the form of letters from a man, Andrew Bacon,
who died in 1900 and who has been transported forward in time to 2001. Andy Bacon lived
out in the Goodrich area. Bacon Creek is named after him. He died at the old Soldiers' Home in
Boise in January of 1900. I made up the sister. Here is his first letter after arriving in 2001.
Dearest Mary,
I have been given the astounding gift in the form of being allowed to see what the
Council Valley and the world will be like a hundred years from our time. I have never felt so out
of place or so confused.
Upon arriving, I found myself in the town square. Where do I begin to describe the
surroundings. At first, I was at a complete loss as to where I was. I was told that I would be
arriving in Council, but it certainly did not appear as the town with which I am so familiar.
First, the square is nothing like it "was." I would have expected a bare plot of ground,
hitching rails with horses and wagons along them, along with fragrant piles of horse droppings.
Instead I was standing on a lush lawn of grass surrounded by tall locust trees. Beyond the trees,
the square was bordered on all sides by the most amazing streets you have ever seen. No
better could be found in the richest of cities in the world. They are absolutely smooth, hard, and
almost without flaw. My guide tells me these streets run throughout the town, and even extend
out to the neighboring towns and beyond. He tells me one can travel hundreds, even thousands
of miles across the nation without leaving these wonderful roads. And they are open the whole
year 'round. Not only that, but to wheeled vehicles because they are kept clear of snow in the
winter. These highways alone would dumbfound the people of our day who know only of dirt
roads, except in the cities where the main streets are paved with stone.
When I finally got my bearings as to directions, I realized that the old road into town
from the south is still in the same place. But it is certainly unrecognizable. It follows the same
path, but the similarity ends there.
I also began to realize that the buildings around me are in more or less the same
locations as the buildings in our day. But they are all very different. I will start on the south side
of the square. Where McMahan and Peters's store was there stands a brick establishment which
seems to be a saloon and restaurant. The blacksmith shop beside the road into town is gone.
The creek in back of Mack's has been piped underground in places.
On the east side of the square, where the Overland Hotel should sit, is a large brick
building. It says "1916" on it, and I'm told that is when it was built. And guess who built it. Bud
Addington. I thought the man was a sheep herder, but evidently he is going to go into the hotel
business and operate a "garage" for automobiles.
On the north side of the square are a row of businesses shouldered side by side, just as
the ones we know, but they are mostly made of brick. I understand that this part of town burned
in 1915, and that's when many of these brick structures were erected.
To the west of the square, the Moser Hotel, or "Plaza" as it was named last I knew, is
gone. Just south of it where Joe Carroll's old store was is a auto repair shop. The establishment
where the Plaza was is also an auto repair place to some extent, and west of it is the most
interesting business. It sells "chainsaws" and "snowmobiles" and machines that mow lawns, and
small wheeled vehicles that resemble automobiles. I'll tell more about these wonders in a future
letter.
Mary, you will not believe the things that I am going to tell you about. This world is a
combination of the best and the worst of that which humankind is capable. It truly is the best of
times and the worst of times.
I hope that this letter find you well. Until I write again, I am, your brother,
Andy.
3-29-01
Continuing with letters from Andrew Bacon, who has been transported from the year 1900 to the present. He is writing to his sister, Mary.
Dearest Mary,
Well, I have been here in this strange world for a week now, and I find myself feeling a mixture of envy and pity for these people.
I hardly know where to start, there is so much to take in. I have noticed very few people where hats compared to our day. And everyone talks in the strangest manor. They use words I have never heard, but it’s not just that; they just have a whole different way of phrasing, rhythm….and they speak so fast. Sometimes it is hard for me to understand them. I guess is stems from living in a completely different world.
People are so much taller here! The average height for a man seems to be at least six feet. You should see the high school boys! It must be the more ample diet.
Gambling is legal almost everywhere. In almost every store there are for sale, tickets on games of chance. And not only are they legal, they are sponsored by the State! It is shameful.
Another thing I noticed right at first is that people are so much fatter. Not so many of the children are overweight, but it seems the older they get, the heavier they are. And no wonder! You should see the grocery stores. You have never seen such variety and quantity. Many items are pre-packaged. The meat is cut up and wrapped in a material called “plastic” so that it stays clean and fresh, and it is kept on display in ice chests that are cooled with electricity instead of ice. It looks so very odd; no ice in the ice chests, but they are even colder than our finest. Oh, and not just the meat is put into small packages. It seems people don’t like to cook, or don’t have time, so many dishes are placed in packages in a manner in which they can be cooked or simply warmed very quickly. Many people seldom make anything from scratch. Hardly anyone makes their own bread! Hard to believe, I know.
When you enter a grocery, no one greets you. It is very impersonal. And you have to gather the items yourself. People push little wire carts in which they place the items they wish to buy as they wander up and down rows of products. There are foods in these stores that I have never heard of. They also have things such as lettuce and fresh vegetables all the year around! I’m not sure how they do it, but it seems to be due to how quickly items can be shipped great distances. I will tell you more of this later. When the customer has finished shopping, they bring the wire cart to a counter at the front of the store where a clerk shows the items to machines which read the prices and total the amount due.
One reason so many people are fat is that they have so many labor-saving machines. It seems there are few things that are not done by electricity – opening and closing windows, opening cans, opening doors…oh you should see the doors at the entrances to some stores in the larger towns! They see you approach, and open the door for you. People exert so little energy that many go to a business where they actually pay to work! I swear this is true. They drive automobiles to these businesses and then pay to have a machine make them walk. It is the craziest thing you ever saw. These people do so little work that they pay to lift heavy weights at these places!
Speaking of walking, nobody walks anyplace; they drive automobiles. And everyone is in a hurry. I am used to always seeing a few people visiting here and there around town, but this is a rare sight here. People do everything quickly.
I have been riding in automobiles – they call them “cars” – as there is no other way to travel here. There are still passenger trains, but not here at Council. If you can believe this, there used to be a railroad to Council, but it has been removed. After we put so much hope in the building of tracks up the river from Weiser, it seems strange. It is understandable, however, with the grand highways they have.
As I said, I have been riding in “cars” about the area. My first experience in these machines was very frightening. I had never seen an automobile, much less ridden in one. I had seen photographs of the ones they have back east, but they looked nothing like the ones here. When the car started rolling, I was nervous not to see a horse or two in front of me. The machine picked up speed so rapidly it took my breath away. Mary, you will not believe me, but I am not lying; we got up to a speed over 50 miles per hour! I believe the fastest trains at home are capable of speed of over 40, but I have never ridden in one going that fast. You have no idea how frightening it is to be in a tin box going at these speeds and looking out the window at the earth blurring past. I just knew I was going to die. I have never been so frightened in my life.
I have seen a few bicycles. They have changed a great deal. Now many of them have various gears to make them easier to pedal at various speeds.
Baseball is still popular, but it isn’t played locally, except in the schools. The town has no team. The adults just watch games instead of playing them.
I have been wearing clothes from this time, and I must say I like them. The first thing I noticed is that they are so lightweight. Hardly anyone wears wool anymore, except for the occasional coat or jacket. I mentioned plastic before. Many of these clothing items are made, to one degree or another, from this plastic. In some way this makes the clothes so that one does not need to iron them.
The town is much cleaner than in our time. Because horses have mostly been replaced by machines, there is no manure lying about in and around the streets. And there are no animals roaming the streets; none the familiar chickens and pigs. The only exception to this is a few dogs, but not nearly as many as I’m used to. In general, Council looks much cleaner, and certainly smells better. There are very few gardens in town, and even few in the countryside. Most people just buy their food.
The only fraternal organization left in town is the Odd Fellows. There are no Woodsmen or Knights of the Macabes. I think they had a Masons and Rebeccas organization here not long ago.
I attended a couple of churches last week. In many ways, they have not changed very much. I was pleased to join in singing some of my favorite hymns, as they are still popular.
I tried fishing also, but it is hardly worth the time. These people don’t know what fishing is. The legal limit is hardly enough for a family meal. Remember the day we caught 300 trout in the Weiser River? And there are no salmon anywhere to be found in the Weiser. This is so very sad.
Well, sister, I shall close for now. I will write again next week with more on this strange world.
I am, your brother,
Andy
4-6-01 Missing
4-12-01
Disposable diapers, disposable cameras, planned obsolescence. In a society where everything seems to be made to be thrown away, it is refreshing to see someone restore something that was made to last. Not too far south of the Indian Valley store, stands a house that has been abandoned for several decades. But it is now the scene of a flurry of activity. The process began on April 3rd when trees and brush were cleared away from the house to make room not only to restore the old house, but also to build on an addition. Bill and Robin Johnson bought the old house from Geneva Barry a few years back, and plan to renovate it as a home for Robin's mother, Mary Stephens.
The house and property here are saturated with history. The property originally belonged to Solon Hall, the man after whom Fort Hall Hill and Fort Hall Creek are named.
Indian Valley was first settled in 1868, and Solon Hall, his wife, Margaret and their sons, Edgar and Abner, were among the earliest to arrive. In July of 1874, Solon got the contract to carry mail between Indian Valley and Warren. One source says the family was also involved in mail service between Weiser and Indian Valley.
The Halls built mail cabins along the route between Indian Valley and Warren, about as far apart as a man could travel in one day on snowshoes. These cabins were stocked with supplies, and provided a welcome overnight rest for the mail carriers. For one reason or another, the structures started to be called "forts" even though they were neither designed nor used as such. One of these "forts" was at the southern base of Fort Hall Hill, which is how the hill and the creek got their names. Another cabin at present-day Tamarack was named after mail carrier, Tom Price--hence the name Price Valley.
When the Nez Perce War broke out in June of 1877, it was commonly thought that the hostile natives would head south toward the Weiser River country. After hearing this news on June 18, the terrified settlers in the Council Valley fled south to Indian Valley, and gathered with the settlers from there at Solon Hall's house. This house is long gone, but it was very close to the location of the present house. On the night of June 19th, there were about ninety men, and fifty women and children assembled in the Hall house. That night, guards were posted in case of attack. One of the group later recalled, "They put out guards, but forgot to give the first lot out any cartridges, and they stood guard for about four hours with empty guns, and were so rattled (I guess that is the right name for it) they did not think anything about it until when the relief came they asked for the cartridges."
The next morning it was decided there was too much brush near Solon Hall's house, and the settlers moved to William Monday's place. After a short stay at Monday's, the settlers built a fort in which they spent much of that summer.
The stories of how panicked the settlers in this area were during the sum mer of 1877 illustrates the incredible fear that those people lived with. According to Indian Valley lore, for Solon Hall's wife, Margaret, the stress was too much. She was left at home alone
a great deal of the time because her husband and sons were often gone carrying mail. She was hysterically afraid that Indians would attack her at these times. It seems ironic that it wasn't until August of 1877, after the tension in the region had eased, that her fear overcame her, and she took her own life. Such stories are not altogether uncommon in the history of . the West. More than a few pioneer women felt overwhelmed by feelings of being trapped and alone in the middle of nowhere. It isn't known just where Margaret killed herself, but it would be logical to assume it was at the family's home.
In 1891, America and Tilford Lindsay came west. After looking at other areas, they decided on Indian Valley as their home. They bought Solon Hall's house and property, and it has been in the family ever since. At some point soon after the turn of the twentieth century, the old Hall house burned down. The Lindsays replaced it with the current structure, which was probably built by Tilford's brother, Charlie. Charlie Lindsay was an expert craftsman and built many of the houses in the Indian Valley area early in the last century. The exact date of the construction of this house isn't known, but it was probably about 1908 to 1910.
Tilford and America willed their sizable property, divided into 40 acre lots, to their children. When America Lindsay died in 1918, Jess and Agnes Linder Gibbs moved into the house, and probably lived there until at least 1947 when Agnes died. Jess died in 1957. In the years since, a few people have lived temporarily in the old house, but it has mostly been empty.
This old building has "lived" through the influenza epidemic of 1918, two world wars, and has seen the birth of an unknown number of babies. Many of the women in the community came to Grandma Lindsay when they went into labor, as she was an experienced midwife. All nine of the Gibbs children, except Geneva Gibbs Barry and her twin, were born here. Geneva's sister, Mary Gibbs Stephens, will be moving back into the house in which she was born. It is also the' house in which Mary's second son, Jack, was born. Jack was the last child who began life here.
Now the old structure is coming out of retirement. It will hear sounds that it is not used to--the shrill whine of electric saws. It was built in the days when power tools were the stuff of science fiction. Every board in it, with the possible exception of those replaced as repairs were needed over the years, was carefully sawed and fitted by hand. It is very doubtful that the house was even built with the idea that electricity or an indoor bathroom would someday be a parts of its internal organs.
The shingles have only been replaced once, and the house may have only received one coat of paint in its lifetime. And yet the original siding will remain as part of the reborn structure. A 30 foot addition will be added to the south side, and siding will be created for it to match the original boards. The shingles will probably be replaced with metal. The original rock foundation will need very little improvement, and the house is very level.
The old locust trees that Tilford Lindsay planted around the house many years ago were removed for this renovation because they were dead or dying. One of the trees has been sawed into timbers and may be used as part of a stairway in the renewed house.
What dramas will be played out in and around the new old house, only time will tell. But even if its story were over, its legacy would always be woven into the history of our community.
Caption for photo 1: The extended Lindsay family in front of the old Solon Hall house in 1897. This house was the initial gathering place for settlers from Council and Indian Valley when the Nez Perce War broke out in 1877. It burned down and was replaced with the old house near 700 Indian Valley Road that is now being renovated. Top (back) row: Lavina Lindsay, Danridge K. Lindsay, America Lindsay (sitting), Agnes Linder (married Jess Gibbs), Ivy Haworth, Pearl Lindsay, Cora Lindsay (in doorway- later named Hutchison), Danridge Rufus Lindsay (boy with Cora), Oliver Linder, James Linder. Middle row: Tilford Lindsay (boy with chair), Flora and Frank Haworth (twins), Hannah Lindsay (sitting), Malon Haworth, Flora Lindsay Linder (sitting), Pertle Linder, Susie Linder, Prudy Linder, Jessie Haworth, Leander Lindsay.
Front: (kids) Nettie H. Haworth Manning, Silvester Kelsey (Ike) Haworth
Caption for photo 2: This is the house today.
4-19-01
Dearest Mary,
I feel as if I have written much about this strange world, but that I have just skimmed the surface. I am overwhelmed most of the time.
I have mentioned before that I don’t know whether to pity or envy these people. They have almost inconceivable scientific advancements, and yet they are in some ways the most decadent society one can imagine. I have been shocked so many times by what I have seen, read and heard that it should come as no surprise to me when it happens again, but there is just no way to prepare oneself. When I first arrived here, I was shocked to see women wearing trousers. They can them “pants.” No one thinks anything of it. But little did I know the extent to which the women of this age crudely flaunt themselves.
To broach the subject of the woman here is to open a can of worms to which there is no bottom. One would think them a whole other species than the women in our time. I hardly know where to begin. I suppose dress is the most outward and initially noticeable trait. While in our time it might cause a stir if a lady were to expose a bare ankle, members of the fairer sex here expose whole arms and legs in public without the slightest shame whatsoever. Necklines are a matter of personal taste, and seemingly subject to no public standard. Exposure of part of a breast is quite common. It is not uncommon here to see a woman out in public dressed in such a way, and having painted her face in such a way, as to surpass the most brazen prostitute of our day.
Mary, what I will tell you now, you should not share with those who are faint of heart. I am reluctant even to tell you, but I relate it to illustrate the nature of this time and its people. I have not personally seen women with most of their breasts exposed, but photographs of such attire is resplendent in almost any magazine one might inspect. Also depicted in photographs—and by the way, they are color photographs of the most realistic nature—are women clad only in the skimpiest undergarments. I am not talking about undergarments such as those worn in our time, but garments so spare and so sheer as to barely conceal the most personal parts of a woman. I have also seen photographs of men dressed thusly.
Indeed, such attire is not limited to the pages of magazines, but can be seen where public bathing is indulged. Men and women not only bathe at beaches and swimming pools without shame, wearing garments such as those I have described, but they do so together without separation by gender.
Before I persist concerning this issue, I must describe a most amazing and pervasive element in this society. Although I have only seen one in my lifetime, I had seen and heard a phonograph before I came to this time. And, although I had never seen a moving picture, I am aware that Mr. Edison has invented a device capable of producing photographs that move. The inventors of this time have advanced Mr. Edison’s inventions to a level beyond the imagination of any person in our day. I do not understand it, but in some way, moving pictures are sent out through the air and into the family home where they are displayed on the surface of a box called a “television.” These moving photographs are similar to the still ones in magazines here, being in full and realistic color. And not only is the visual image transmitted to the home, but sound as well. Both the sounds and images appearing on these televisions are so thoroughly convincing as to appear as real. It is as if the people shown and heard are actually right there in that box in the home.
Having explained the nature of television, I may now divulge what is displayed upon it in regards to the subject of women and morality in general. The disgraceful attire that I have described is commonplace. The principal subject matter in television stories is the sexual relationships between men and women. Many plays are nothing more than a series of bawdy jokes and innuendoes. Various plays and programs are financed by advertising anything under the sun, including: medications for piles, female complaints (which are discussed in the most shocking detail), devices and medications for preventing pregnancy (contraception is legal here), body odor, diarrhea, medication to enable a man to have sexual intercourse, urinary incontinence, menstrual cramps and devices to deal with menstrual bleeding, and much more involving items of the most personal and scandalous nature.
It is not uncommon to see a man and woman having sexual intercourse on television. Although the details are not generally shown, the extent of that which is shown is truly shocking. Sexual relations outside of the bonds of marriage are depicted as commonplace and without any consequences. Sexual intercourse seems to be purely recreational.
In our time I have heard of a play named "Sapho" that has implied that woman have a sexual nature—that they might even enjoy a sexual relationship. People in our time branded it as scandalous and a danger to society. If they could see into the future, they would be sickened.
Needless to say, the obsession of this society with sexual titillation has had its effects. It is common for teenage girls to give birth to a child without the benefit of marriage or means of support. Abortion is legal here, but not without controversy. Men have sexual relationships with other men, and women have sexual relationships with women.
Mary, do you remember Mrs. Johnson, the divorced woman in Council a few years ago? She was the only divorced woman I had ever known. While she lived in the area, some in the community shunned her as a threat to common decency. It was a scandal. In this time, half of all married people get divorced. Women here are not dependent upon men for a livelihood. They can now own property, and what a woman earns she can now keep as hers instead of turning it over to her husband. Women not only have the vote now, but are even elected to high offices. Five states have women governors. Why in England, a woman has even been Prime Minister!
Mary, I must close now. As you must imagine I feel very out of place here in this time, but I am holding up well. I will, however, be very glad to return to a world with its moral feet on the ground. I will write next week.
I am, Your brother, Andy.
4-23-01
Dearest Mary,
I continue to do well here in this strange world. It never ceases to amaze me how different these people are.
The children and young people here are very different from our time. One of the things I hear people say here is that there is nothing for young people to do. I am simply dumbstruck by this. Our young people are busy helping their parents a good share of the time. When they are not engaged in this, they are creative in devising games or toys from odds and ends that they find available, or they play with other children. These youngsters are spoiled beyond belief. They seldom do any productive work outside of school. They have a choice of multiple programs on television at any given time, their choice of hundreds of books to read at no cost from the local library, and electronic games of every description. Most of the children here have far more toys than any youngster of our time even dreamed of. They have radios and machines that play music at any time it is desired. They have access to more means of cultural, artistic, recreational, and educational opportunities than one can imagine, and yet they whine that there is nothing to do.
The appearance of some of these youngsters is repulsive. I see young people with strangely colored hair—every color of the rainbow. Some wear clothes so ill-fitting that one would think they were imitating a circus clown. But the most repugnant practice of some young people is to wear metal rings or studs in their noses, ears, eyebrows, navels, or even through their tongues. When I first saw a girl with a ring in her nose, I thought she must be deranged and perhaps had this ring in her snout like Jersey bull so she could be controlled.
I find the lack of respect displayed by young people toward adults most shocking. Youngsters routinely address adults by their first name. They use language that in our day was only used by sailors or ner-do-wells on the wrong side of the tracks. I have read reports of children committing the most heinous of crimes--even murder. This is so frequently seen in the news reports as to be unremarkable. I heard a news person on television say the problem was how easily children could get guns nowadays. How absurd! You are raising my nieces and nephews with a number of firearms within easy reach, and they have never so much as spit on the sidewalk, much less committed a crime.
I cannot but think these children are influenced by the disgusting music to which they listen. I heard Ragtime once and thought it to be quite vulgar and liable to incite indecency. But the so-called music here goes beyond description in the realm of indecency and vulgarity, both in the sounds emitted and the messages conveyed.
In our day, families gather around the piano and sing popular songs from sheet music. I have not seen or heard of a family doing that here. These people take recorded music for granted. Often, each person often has their own electronic music boxes to which they listen privately by means of earphones.
Much of the music here is set to the most deranged rhythms one can imagine coming from the uncivilized jungles of Africa. Of course, as with every other aspect of this society, sexual relations is the principal topic of most songs. But this is the least of the despicable characteristics. One popular form of music (if one may call it such) which is marketed to young people, is one in which murder, rape, robbery, incest and every other vile vulgarity is openly promoted in the most offensive language possible. This culture is more vile than any before it, and surely must fall as did that of the ancient Romans. I cannot imagine such a society lasting much longer.
Writing of children reminds me of another oddity here. Grown men make a living--in fact become rich beyond imagination—by playing children’s games.
On a positive note, there is no longer only one church in town. The Congregational Church is still going strong, although in a different building which was erected just west of the church’s location with which we are so familiar. And the church has changed its name to the “Community Church.” There are at least four other churches in Council. One of which is a Mormon church! This surprised me very much. I never imagined Mormonism would be allowed in Council. They have not taken over the governments of any Western states as we feared they would, and they now do not practice polygamy, but have only one wife. It seems this religion has become acceptable, and there are Mormons among the most respected individuals in the community.
A great tolerance is also shown for those from all types of foreign backgrounds--Italians, Irishmen, Arabs, and even Chinamen and Negroes. They have not seemed to create the kind of poverty and squalor here that they have in the larger cities. And even in the cities, Negroes have attained such respectability that some have been elected to positions as mayors and other high offices.
Mary it is growing late, and I am weary. I find myself quite homesick and will be glad to return home to a more civilized society. But I will stay a while longer in order to relate more of this strange time.
Your brother,
Andy
I made a mistake in my article about the old Lindsay / Gibbs house that is being renovated at Indian Valley. Tilford and America Lindsay came west in 1881 not 1891.
I would also like to thank Mary Stevens for a donation to the Museum.
The Museum will be opening on Memorial Day weekend.
An update on “Landmarks,” my book on the general history of the Council area. It will be printed very shortly. As soon as I get the price per book figured out, I will start advertising for advance orders.
5-3-01
Dearest Mary,
I continue to be amazed by this strange time. I do not know if I could reach the bottom of its oddities if I were to write for several years.
In the field of employment, these people would be considered among the privileged class in our day. Instead of our standard ten-hour day, six days per week, the standard here is eight hours, and only five days per week. I cannot help but think of your brother who is working at the steel mill in Pittsburgh, earning $1.35 per day for a 12 to 16 hour day, six days per week. Our fellow citizens in Council would be very pleased to make $1.35 per day, as the average is around $1.00 per day. Most of the time, however, they work but ten hours.
Labor unions have become respectable here. I have heard of no murders or even violent conflicts between unions and employers anywhere in the nation. In some cases, the unions have been so successful that the workers are very pampered. They often get paid for not working! It is called “paid leave” or “paid vacation.” Some get time off with pay when they are sick as well. And insurance! It seems that every contingency has been foreseen and insured against, with the premiums being paid by the employer. And I cannot see that insurance is even needed, as safety is at a high level. In our day, thousands are maimed by machines, burned by molten steel, buried by mine explosions, etc., and their families compensated not one dime.
Speaking of being paid for not working, these people are often paid if they are dismissed from employment. It is some type of unemployment insurance which is sponsored by the State. There is a concept now called “retirement,” in which a person does not work after a certain age. They remain solvent by means of a government program which pays them not to work. I do not completely understand it, but it is funded by some type of government-sponsored pyramid scheme by which the younger workers support those who no longer work. It seems that the piper is about to be paid in this game, as the scheme is no longer working.
Another aspect of being paid for not working is called “welfare.” People who cannot find employment, or simply prefer not to work, are paid an amount each month. What can one say about something so profound? As you can see, there is no need for a home for the indigent here.
As I wrote last week, children do almost no labor here. A few are industrious to some extent, but nowhere in the nation do children work long hours in factories as they do in our day.
You may have speculated as to where the money comes from for all of these schemes. There is something here called an “income tax.” People are taxed according to the amount of their income. It helps to put all of the above into perspective when one sees the enormous amounts subtracted from a workers pay check for this, and other, taxes. Compared to our day, it resembles a socialist state.
It may interest you to know that the timber industry, until recently, was a mainstay of the local economy. This was facilitated by the invention and development of machines capable of harvesting and transporting timber in great quantities. Nothing in logging is now done with horses or by handsaw. You would be astonished at the workings of a modern sawmill. I cannot begin to describe it but to say production is beyond belief.
I must say that my incredulity at all of the machines and devices in use here has been slightly tempered by knowing what existed in our day. Many of the wonders these people take for granted were invented in our time. The scientists since our day have simply developed “our” technology in many cases. For instance the motion picture is known to those of our time, although few have seen them. We have telephones, but the communications of this world have developed the technology tremendously. The same can be said for electricity. Even though these people are much more scientifically advanced, it makes me somewhat proud to know that many of the foundation discoveries and inventions were made by scientists of my day.
One area of advancement that is truly miraculous is in the medical field. You will find it hard to believe, but I swear these statements are true. These doctors can replace many body parts with artificial ones. Many joints can be replaced, and even heart valves are manufactured. Transplanting hearts, kidneys, lungs and other internal organs from one person to another has become commonplace. Cancer can now be treated, and even cured in some cases. Smallpox is unheard of. There are machines that can look into any corner of the human body and take detailed photographs. Something called “DNA” can identify a person from the smallest trace of saliva or hair, etc.
Scientists have devised a way to send rockets into space with men aboard. They have sent men to the moon to walk on its surface, and they came home safely! One of the wonders and also one of the scourges of this time is a bomb beyond the power and any bomb ever imagined. It can destroy the largest city in an instant. Many countries around the world have developed and possess this bomb. And some nations are able to send these bombs around the world to anyplace they desire by means of rockets. It is indeed a frightening reality and one more reason why I desire not to stay in this time.
I must go, dear sister. I will write again next week.
I am,
Your brother Andy
The time has finally come! After ten years or so of research and writing and rewriting, the first copies of my book, “Landmarks—A General History of the Council, Idaho Area” is coming off the printing presses this week. I don’t have any in hand at this very moment, but I am taking advance orders and the books will be shipped (or given to you) as they come in. It is over 242 pages, with 79 photos and maps, thoroughly footnoted and indexed. The price is $22.85. Idaho residents add $1.15 sales tax to make it an even $24.00. If you want your copy mailed to you, it costs another $4.00 whether it comes from me or from Writers Press in Boise. I’m not able to take credit cards, but Writers Press does. Their number is 1-800-574-1715. If you want to order from me (to get an autographed copy?) send a check to me at P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612. It may be as much as two weeks before I have a quantity of books in hand. I’ll be having a book signing at Buckshot Mary’s at some point.
5-10-01
Continuing with letters from Andrew Bacon, who has been transported from the year 1900 to the present. He is writing to his sister, Mary.
Dearest Mary,
I must tell you about the houses here. They make our homes seem very primitive indeed.
The first thing that captures one’s attention is the size of these dwellings. Although not everyone abides in such spaciousness, many of the homes here are enormous. As I mentioned previously, everyone has indoor toilets and baths. It is not uncommon for a home to contain more than one bathroom and several bedrooms. I see fewer of the two-story homes to which we are accustomed; most have a single level.
All homes are thoroughly insulated and sealed against the weather. These folks don’t insulate their walls with sawdust or shavings as we do our cellars; they use materials specifically designed for this purpose. Do you remember when we were children how the wind would come through the cracks in winter, and how we often awoke with frost on our pillows? Only those in abject poverty would inhabit such a dwelling in this time.
Mary, you would think you had gone to your heavenly reward if you had a kitchen such as these women have. Of course there is hot and cold running water from a tap at any time one wishes. This makes washing dishes an easy task, but many kitchens contain a mechanical dish washer. One places the various articles inside this machine, turns it on, and in minutes the dishes are clean.
The kitchen, as all other rooms, is electrically lighted. All one need do for light at any time is to operate a switch. Since most of the populace has no chickens or pigs, the kitchen waste is often discarded by sending it down the drainpipe below the sink. When this is done, a machine within the sink plumbing first pulverizes the waste. The drainpipes, in even small towns such as Council, are connected to a communal sewer system.
The cook stoves here burn no wood, but are generally electrically heated. This is a great convenience, as cooking can begin without advance preparation of the stove and the stove does not give off heat after the cooking is completed. Baking is very simple, as the temperature of the oven is automatically controlled. Some ovens even clean themselves!
The list of electrical devices for kitchen use seems endless. Almost any chore may be accomplished with ease.
I have mentioned the iceless iceboxes in the stores. Every home here has one of these. They have two compartments. One keeps items frozen, and one keeps food cold. All this is automatically controlled. The average icebox here contains a variety and abundance of food items that only the very rich have in our time.
These palaces are often heated or cooled by a central system that automatically keeps the temperature within the home at a comfortable level. In regions of the country where the heat can be debilitating, this has improved the lot of those citizens beyond words. Life does not change with the seasons as much as it does in our time.
Most homes have a room dedicated to the washing of clothes. This also is accomplished by means of machines in conjunction with the water system that is integrated into the house. The lady of the house fills no tubs and scrubs not a sleeve. She simply places the clothing into the machine, adds soap, and turns a switch. Everything else is done automatically. Another machine accomplishes the drying of the clothes. The women here need not dedicate an entire day of the week to washing. Oh! And the electric irons are quite the trick. Even so, many clothing items require no ironing at all! Another day of the week liberated for the homemaker.
The furniture in the average home resembles that of the wealthiest of our time: plush fabrics of all descriptions, exotic woods and expert craftsmanship. Most homes have luxurious carpets that fill the rooms from wall to wall.
Windows are often gigantic and have single panes that are up to eight feet across.
Mary, I must close for now. I hope all is well at home.
I am,
Your brother Andy
By the time you read this, I should have some copies of “Landmarks” in hand. Don Dopf and I will be signing and selling our P&IN book in Weiser on Saturday (12th) at a big railroad celebration there. I hope to also be selling “Landmarks.” The price is $22.85. Idaho residents add $1.15 sales tax to make it an even $24.00. If you want your copy mailed to you, it costs another $4.00 whether it comes from me or from Writers Press in Boise. I’m not able to take credit cards, but Writers Press does. Their number is 1-800-574-1715. If you want to order from me (to get an autographed copy?) send a check to me at P.O. Box 252, Council, ID 83612.
5-17-01 Dearest Mary,
I’ve been here three weeks now. I thought I would describe a little more about the town. There are wonderful concrete sidewalks, and of course because the streets are paved, there is no mud, even in the wettest part of spring. Council is the county seat of a county named “Adams” now. It was created in 1911. It seems odd to hear people say we are in Adams County instead of Washington County. A new courthouse was built in 1916, on that rocky knob in back of McMahan’s store. But by this time the building got too old, and another courthouse has been built on the north end of town.
Some of the houses here don’t look much different than in our day. Many of them, though, have a different style. One main difference is that so many houses now only have one story instead of two. And there are no privies in back of any of them. They have their privies right inside the house! I was appalled at first, but actually they are quite clean and odor free. I had heard of such things in the big cities, but certainly never had seen one, and didn’t imagine Council would ever have them. And Council has an underground sewage system like the big cities. And a water system too. Everyone has running water right inside the house. What is truly amazing is that they have hot water any time they want it, right out of a pipe.
Another odd thing about these houses that took me awhile to recognize is that many of them have no chimney. Quite a number of houses are heated with oil made from petroleum, and some are even heated with electricity. A number of homes still burn wood for heat. But you should see how easy it is for them to harvest firewood. They drive an auto truck out to the woods. There are roads everywhere in the hills here! And good roads too. Many are surfaced with gravel. Why at home, only the best roads had a gravel surface like these have. To fall trees they have the most amazing saws that cut down a big tree in just seconds. These saws are powered by small gasoline engines, and can easily be carried by one man. They are extremely loud. A tree can be cut into firewood-length rounds in minutes. Can you imagine what the boys at home would give for one of these?
There was something about the air here that I couldn’t put my finger on at first, but it dawned on me that there is no smell of coal smoke in the air. No one at all burns coal here. At first, I thought, “Well surely the blacksmiths still use coal.” But I realized there are no blacksmiths. Many things that we are used to being made by hand are now simply bought at a store or ordered by mail. There are some repair shops that repair automobiles. And there are places that do welding, but not the kind of welding I ever heard of. They have electric welders mostly. Some of the shops, even in Council, have tools that the blacksmith never would have imagined. So many tools are operated by electricity. It seems like electricity is everywhere and used for almost everything.
Oh, another thing about the houses; they are very well insulated and sealed against the weather, much like our cellars.
In some ways I am not surprised by the scientific advancements of this time. Visionaries in our time predict things such as air ships that will fly across the seas, and wireless telephone that could call around the world. They have both of these here. There are no air ships big enough to cross an ocean here at Council, but the town has its own air station, called and “airport.” It is not uncommon to see an aero plane traversing the sky. Sometimes they are so high up that they look like tiny, little, silver birds. I am told the biggest of these can carry several hundred passengers and travel at a rate of over 600 miles per hour!
The average citizen has many modern advancements that only the rich can dream of in our time. Of course we knew there were people who had telephone in their home in the cities. There is only one telephone in the town of Council that I’m from, and that is a new and wonderful advancement. People in this time are considered disadvantaged if they don’t have a telephone in their home, and some have several. There is a device called a “cell phone” that many are carrying here. This small device, which is no larger than a sardine tin, is carried in a gentleman’s pocket or a lady’s purse, and with it, one can telephone from practically anywhere to anywhere else in the world. When the signal is broadcast for great distances, it is relayed by means of radio machines that orbit the earth like a small moon.
Everyone is so clean here, and they often smell as if perfumed. Not only are there indoor privies, but the “bath” rooms in which they are housed also contain bathtubs or “showers.” Bathtubs I have seen; showers are novel to me. Warm water sprays out of a pipe onto the bather who stands under it. These arrangements are very popular, and are apparently the reason that people are so clean. Because of the convenience of bathing within the home with hot water available at all times, many in the citizenry bathe every single day.
5-?-01
This is the last letter from Andrew Bacon, who has been transported from the year 1900 to the present. He is writing to his sister, Mary.
Dearest Mary,
I am anxious to get home, and will be so soon. This will be my last letter before I journey back. I will try to think of the items that I have failed to reveal to you so far about this time.
Often here, both parents leave the home to work. This leaves the children unsupervised too much of the time, and is why children in some places have committed such ghastly crimes. I believe the parents both work so that they can afford the lavish life-style the people of this time enjoy. If they had to live with the amenities of our time, they would think themselves badly abused. I am thankful that we have not become so soft and spoiled.
I have mentioned transportation, but I have not given you a complete picture. Traveling is so easy here that people think little of a journey to Weiser. Instead of the two days it takes us with a horse and wagon, it takes them only an hour in an automobile. You simply could not believe the highways. Mile after mile they stretch out across the nation. They are so perfectly smooth and so wide. The equivalent of our freight wagon is a monstrosity of an auto truck that travels at speeds of up to 70 miles per hour and hauls many tons several hundred miles in a single day.
The automobile of the common man is more luxurious than any mansion of our time. They are heated in winter and cooled in summer, contain music boxes that play any music the occupants desire, and have seats that are so plush and cushioned as to surpass the finest carriages of royalty. Many autos are filled with wondrous electrical devices to open and close windows, lock the doors, turn on headlamps, etc. The lamps on these cars are a marvel. They are so bright as to light up the road and the countryside many yards ahead.
There are aeroplanes of all sizes and descriptions. These are not so much in the Council area, although the town has it’s own landing field for aeroplanes. Some aeroplanes are large beyond belief--taller than many barns and longer than a small field. I have been told, although I do not believe it, that there are aeroplanes which move faster through the air than sound travels!
Some vehicles seem to be toys more than anything. There are small, four-wheeled vehicles, “snowmobiles,” and motored bicycles. All of these that traverse at great speeds. There are boats with engines to travel the rivers and lakes. There are “motor homes” which are quite literally palaces on wheels.
There are so many roads in the surrounding mountains that one may hardly throw a stone without hitting one. They lead for miles into the forests. These forest roads are not paved, but often have a gravel surface. This is quite a luxury in our time would it not?
With all of these methods of transport, I suppose these people need no trains. There are still a few left, but none come to Council. It seems strange that trains--the great technological marvels of the 19th century--are so much on the sidelines of transportation in this time, as they are the only means of transporting so much in our time, and so central to our lives.
As you may guess, one markets goods not to one’s neighbors alone, but to the whole world.
Before I forget Mary, we must convince your father to stop using tobacco at once. It is known here to cause several fatal diseases! To think that some in our time think it a cure-all.
I mentioned the medical advancements of this time. Women here seldom worry about the death of their infant. What a salubrious wonder that would be in our world, since so many die so young.
The culture here is much more urban in its nature than any I have ever known. Popular culture is dominated by urban themes, desires and fears. The United States is the third most populated nation in the world now. There are, on average, 76 people for every square mile of land! And the population is growing at a rate of three million per year. It looks as though this year (2001) will be very dry, and with so many people needing water, there are squabbles already breaking out over which water uses shall be deemed most worthy of the scarce supply.
Speaking of water and rivers, did I tell you there is not one salmon in the Weiser River here? I am told dams on the Snake River stop them from coming this far up. The dams supply electrical generation for the populous, and more are needed to keep up with demand from so many souls.
Another issue in the news here is “endangered species” of animals. After all our efforts to rid the countryside of undesirable predators, the urban majority are working to bring them back to the area. Already, wolves have been seen in the Council area, and there is talk of returning grizzly bears. What fools these people must be!
Politics here is not enjoyed with the same fervor as in our day. People don’t even celebrate Independence Day to the extent that we do. They do not “make the eagle scream” as we say. Many here seem cynical concerning politics. One hears few debates among the citizenry about the issues or candidates. Politicians have lost a great deal of the respect they once had.
Mary, I am departing from this strange world. There are many wondrous developments that thrill ones soul, and others which strike terror or sorrow. I must say that I will be glad to get home to a world I understand.
I will see you soon.
I am truly yours,
Andy
A progress report on Landmarks, my general history of the Council area: Writers Press had 20 copies printed last Friday, but the machine that makes the covers broke down. I should have some number of books by the time this issue of the paper come out. I thank those who have paid for copies in advance. I will ship them as soon as I get them.
5-24-01
I hope you enjoyed the Andrew Bacon series. I got some good comments on it. Ferrell Crossley told me Bacon’s home was on their old place. When you drive out Goodrich Road, if you go straight instead of going up over the hill to “downtown” Goodrich, on the left side of the road after a short distance is a small hill. Bacon’s cellar is still visible on the east side of that hill.
During his stay here, Andy Bacon noticed how convenient our bathrooms are. While doing a little research on toilets and plumbing, I ran across some interesting history about those subjects.
In European cities, back in the days before sewage systems, people used to throw garbage and excrement out the front door and windows onto the streets below. The first “garbage disposals” were hogs and scavengers. Cities were incredibly vile places to live. The smell was overwhelming at times. Filth that wasn’t thrown in the street was often discarded in canals or rivers. Come to think of it, this was standard practice for sewage and other liquid waste in this country until very recently.
Over 2,800 years ago, the fabled King Minos of Crete owned the world's first flushing toilet, complete with a wooden seat. The invention didn’t catch on, and didn’t appear on the public radar until 1594. That year, Sir John Harington built a "prive in perfection" for his godmother, Queen Elizabeth, in her Richmond Palace, and one for himself at his own estate.
Harington published a book of puns and off-color jokes about this new device in 1596. It was titled, “A New Discourse of a State Subject, Called the Metamorphosis of Ajax.” "Ajax" or "a jakes” was the slang in those days for a privy. He received such ridicule and humiliation as a result of this book that he and the flush toilet were little more than the subjects of jokes for the next 200 years.
Meanwhile, people used chamber pots, which were dumped outdoors. Euphemisms such as "chaise percee" or "commode" were used when referring chamber pots. This made them sound more like respectable kitchen crockery.
Outdoor toilets (outhouses or privies) slowly came into use, but were evidently not maintained well at first. A diary entry from the time said, "Privy houses set against ye Strete which spoiling people's apparill should they happen to be nare when ye filth comes out ... Especially in ye Night when people can not see to shun them."
A family’s outhouse became symbolic of its economic status. A poor family usually had a ramshackle wooden structure. William Byrd’s 1730 outhouse was made of brick and had five holes. Byrd was chef magistrate of the colonial court and thus sat on the largest seat at the center of a raised, semicircular bench.
I’ve heard tales of two-story outhouses, but thought they had to be a joke. But they really were used in some places with cold climates. The upper story was only used when the snow got too deep to use the lower one. How waste from the upper story bypassed the lower accommodations is a mystery to me. An old two-story outhouse still stands in Crested Butte, Colorado.
You may remember Andy Bacon was amazed that indoor toilets didn’t smell as bad as he imagined it would have to. Given the unpleasant atmosphere of an outdoor toilet, most people thought an indoor privy to be merely a joke. But Thomas Jefferson, ever the innovator, devised an indoor privy at his Monticello home by rigging up a system of pulleys. Servants used the device to haul away chamber pots in his “earth closet,” which consisted of a wooden box enclosing a pan of wood ashes below, and a seat with a hole cut out at the top. Jefferson also built two octagonal outhouses at his retreat at Poplar Forest in Virginia.
I have mailed out copies of my book “Landmarks” to most of those who have paid in advance. Writers Press is still behind from their equipment failures, so I could only get 23 books on my trip to Boise last Friday. I took four copies to Buckshot Mary’s on Monday. I’ll have more in there as soon as possible.
The Museum is opening tomorrow (26th). As always, we need all the help we can get to host it for the summer. If you can spare some time, even one three-hour shift, please give me a call! 253-4582
In the early 1840s, the architect and designers of New York City's Central Park
denounced the outhouse as "troublesome, unhealthy, indelicate, and ugly."
They tried to correct this by designing little Gothic structures combining a summer-house
with a view of the garden on one side, and a two- or four-holer on the other.
5-31-01
In the early 1800s, hotels were the epitome of luxury and comfort. In 1829, and young architect named Isaiah Rogers amazed the whole country when he built indoor plumbing into his Tremont Hotel in Boston. It was the first hotel to have indoor plumbing and became the prototype of a modern, first-class American hotel. The four-story structure boasted eight water closets on the ground floor, located at the rear of the central court.
The bathrooms in the basement were fitted with cold running water, which also went to the kitchen and laundry. The bathtubs were copper or tin and probably had a little
side-arm gas furnace attached at one end. Perhaps shaped like a shoe as the French
and English models, the water in the tub would flow and circulate backwards until the
entire bath was heated.
A supply of water was pumped by a newly-invented steam pump to a metal storage tank on the Tremont’s roof. From there it flowed by gravity to where it was needed. As with other individual buildings of the time, each had its own source of water and removal. A simple water carriage system removed the excretal water to the sewerage system. None of this was possible until the advent of sewage/drainage systems in cities.
Five years later (1834) in New York City, Rogers surpassed his achievements at the Tremont Hotel. He built the Astor House with six stories, featuring 17 rooms on the upper floors with water closets and bathrooms to serve 300 guest rooms. The Astor and the Tremont
were the first modern buildings built with extensive plumbing. (In contrast, the Statler Hotel in Buffalo caused a sensation in 1908 by offering "A room with a bath for a dollar and a half.")
Central heating was uncommon in hotels and large homes. When it existed, it was generally confined to the public rooms and hallways. Guest rooms were still heated during this period by parlor stoves and fireplaces. This lack of heat throughout the home retarded the development of bathrooms because they would be so cold.
The cold was one reason our ancestors didn’t bathe very often. I’ve heard it said that the settlers in this part of the country only took a complete bath once a year or so.
In the Colonial days, bathing consisted of occasional dips in ponds or streams. More typical was a quote from Elizabeth Drinker, the wife of a highly-placed Philadelphia Quaker.
She had a shower (probably a bucket arrangement) put up in her backyard for therapeutic use in 1799. She said, "I bore it better than I expected, not having been wet all over at once, for 28 years past."
When bathing did become the rage, it was because of its promotion as a cures for various maladies rather than cleanliness. In America, this spawned the popularity of combination latrines and spas, imitating the fashion in England. One historian commented that dueling probably killed fewer people than the spas springing up in various parts of the country. If the mineral waters tasted or smelled foul enough, people believed they could cure anything that ailed them. In the latter 1770s, Colonials would soak and sip in fashion as their counterparts at Bath or Spa, England, imitating the good society of the Old Country.
A Dr. Benjamin Rush had the bad luck to have a well with horrible-tasting water in his
backyard. The whole town flocked to it to cure all kinds of ailments. When the over-pumped well went dry, the people learned too late that the well connected to the doctor's
privy!
Warm Springs, Pa., in 1775 drew people from all over, taking in the waters. Some lived in cabins, all cooking at a common fire. Gentile boarding houses and pumps were built,
and dancing rooms added to the pleasantries.
When Dr. Richard Starkey started his “sanitarium” in 1904 at what became known as Starkey Hot Springs, he was still following this same popular tradition. He advertised that his specialties were "the treatment of private diseases, all pulmonary affections, and alcoholic and drug diseases."
In the 1890s, Dr. Sherwood had owned the hot springs and gave medical treatments of some kind that involved the hot, mineralized water. The hot water especially brought temporary relief then, as it does now, to sufferers of rheumatism and arthritis. Many Council Valley people journeyed as far as the Hot Lake Sanitarium near La Grande, Oregon for "treatment."
But some thought bathing was a health hazard. In 1835, the Common Council of Philadelphia almost banned wintertime bathing (the ordinance failed by two votes). Ten years later, Boston forbade bathing except on specific medical advice. But by 1845, the installation of sanitary sewers began to pay off. With an outlet for waste water, indoor plumbing and working water closets were getting closer to fruition. Unfortunately, bad plumbing and the stench from open sewer connections made some new homes uninhabitable.
Early in the 19th century, the stack was vented through the roof, but no one knew how to properly size the pipe. Usually the size was understated. Many vent pipes were so small they would clog up with frost during the winter. Not long after, a crown vent was added, i.e., the connection was made at the top of the vent.
Although the sewers provided for runoff water, sewer gas made the home practically unlivable. Although venting was unknown in those early years, there were traps in use since the early 1800s, although they were of little use since the traps constantly lost their water seal.
In 1874, there was a tremendous breakthrough when an unknown plumber solved the problem of venting. He suggested balancing the air pressure in the system with the outside atmospheric pressure to prevent the siphonage or blowout of a water seal in the traps. He installed 1/2" pipe at the traps and extended the pipe outside. It worked for a little while, but then the vent clogged and the stench returned. Through trail and error, the plumbers learned to increase the size of the pipe.
Boring Business: Early settlers knew nothing of lead or iron pipe - they knew only to build with wood, the country's bounty. Water pipes were made of bored-out logs, preferably felled from hemlock or elm trees.
The trees would be cut into 7 ft. to 9 ft. lengths, their trunks around 9-10 inches thick. Wooden pipe laid below ground created several problems, however, especially in larger settlements or towns. Uneven ground below the joists would cause sags in the log where water would stagnate, infest with insects, and generally leave a woody taste.
The borers themselves were colorful characters who usually traveled in pairs from town to town bringing news and gossip of the area as they went about their job. With a five-foot steel auger between them, a handle at one end, they would fix the log by eye, size it up with a point of the ax, and drill or bore out the center. Ramming one end to make a conical shape, they would jam the logs together in a series, using a bituminous-like pitch or tar to caulk the joists. Sometimes they would split the log and hollow it out, put it together, connect the logs with iron hoops or get the blacksmith to caulk the logs with lead.
They would set up a gravity water system, starting from a spring or stream on high ground, allowing water to flow downhill to the house or farm. It would cut a path to the back of the house, through the barn, and flow into a catch basin.
In 1652, Boston incorporated the country's first waterworks, formed to provide water for
firefighting and domestic use. As fire was a common hazard in those days of wood-framed houses and stores, and chimney fires always a risk, it was imperative that a ready supply be on hand.
The line supplying water to Boston's wharves and other buildings ran from Jamaica Pond to the Faneuil Hall area, the meeting place for the Massachusetts rebels who held their Boston Tea Party in the nearby harbor on Dec.16, 1773. Just recently a section of a wooden water main was removed from that same vicinity. The log measured 22 feet long, the bore a 4" I.D. for the lower half of the tree, and 2 1/2" in the upper. Common with early wood pipe, the tree's natural forks branched out in wyes and tees.
In 1795, the Jamaica Pond Aqueduct Corp. followed through with 15 miles more of 3" and 5" wooden water pipe of bored logs, again using hemlock trees for construction. Since open wells provided easy access to contamination from nearby privies, the new supply of fresh water contributed to a lower death rate.
Sewers, Please: Although Chicago is credited with having the first comprehensive sewerage project in the country (designed by E. S. Chesbrough in 1885), the already teeming city of New York provided the general model for the development of water supply and sewage disposal systems across the country.
Water was always at a premium in Manhattan, from day one of its purchase from the Indians in 1626. A bucket of water had to be hand-drawn and carried from springs or wells. Those too far away relied on peddlers who made rounds selling water by the bucket, off water carts or barrels. Later, water would be rationed at street pumps or
hydrants which would operate infrequently during the day.
Waste and garbage thrown onto the streets created abominable conditions, though people were merely following centuries-old customs. They were compounded by privy stations set against buildings whose "cleanup" presented even more problems. As early as 1700, concerned officials passed an ordinance prohibiting scavengers from dumping "tubs of filth" in the streets.
But driving wells and digging cisterns to collect rainwater were still the primary means of procuring water throughout most settlements. However, water was not a popular beverage during those early days. A little girl from Barbados boarding with her grandmother in 1714 while the eight-year-old attended school in Boston, complained to her father that grandmother was making her drink water. Dad wrote back and insisted that she get beer or wine as befitted her station.
This distaste for water probably harkened back to the medieval notion that water caused the chills, ague and all sorts of ailments. The more likely reason was that the privy and the local well were too close together and spawned cholera and typhoid instead of good taste and purity.
In the early 1700s, New York, as did Boston, had constructed a wooden pipe system under the roads, and sold water at street pumps or hydrants. It would take New York another 25 years to lay underground sewers for storm water as well.
New York's first real system of water supply consisted of a reservoir fed from wells and ponds, and distribution from wood piping. It was a crude operation and operative only a short time. It took another 50 years before New York constructed a truly viable public waterworks system. In this plan, well water was pumped to an above-ground reservoir
and distributed via water mains of cast iron. The main carried the water to fire hydrants along the narrow streets. But five years later, the system broke down in the chaos of the great New York fire of 1835, which destroyed 530 buildings. The water supply could not cope with the demand of the firefighters.
In response to the needs of its firefighters and to provide potable water for the already teeming population, the city revamped its designs and developed a more sound, pressurized system. Completed in 1842, the Croton Aqueduct System transported water from a huge reservoir in Croton, 40 miles north of the city, to a secondary reservoir on 42nd Street, and to another in Central Park. They fed into a network of underground mains. Now
it was possible to supply buildings with running water. However, except for a simple water carriage operation, there was no provision for wastewater.
6-7-01
I'm continuing with the series of columns about the history of toilets and plumbing.
By 1845, sewer system; were becoming more common in cities. As a result indoor toilets and other plumbing amenities were found in more and more homes. Unfortunately, bay plumbing and the stench from open sewer connections made some nee homes uninhabitable.
At this time, the home' plumbing system were vented through the roof, but no one knew how to properly size the pipe. Man vent pipes were, small and would clog up wit] frost during the winter Drain traps in use since the early 1800s, although the, were of little use since the traps constantly lost their water seal. Problems wit] venting sewer gas sometimes ran people out c their homes.
In 1874, there was breakthrough when air unknown plumber solve the problem of venting. H suggested balancing the at pressure in the system wit] the outside atmosphere pressure to prevent the siphonage or blowout of ; water seal in the traps. H, installed 1/2" pipe at the traps and extended the pipe outside. It worked for a little while, but then the vent clogged and the stench returned. Through trial and error, the plumbers learner to increase the size of the pipe.
Metal pipes didn't exist in the early days; pipes were made from wood -- prefer ably bored out hemlock o elm logs. The trees would be cut into 7 to 9 foot lengths, about 9 or 11 inches thick. Wooden pips laid below ground creates several problems, however especially in larger towns Uneven ground below the joists would cause sags in the log where the water supply would stagnate, infest with insects, and generally leave a woody taste.
The men who bored out the logs were colorful characters who usually traveled in pairs from town to town, bringing news and gossip of the area as they went about their job. With a fivefoot steel auger between them, a handle at one end, they would fix the log by eye, size it up with the point of the ax, and drill or bore out the center. Tapering one end into a conical shape, they would jam the logs together in a series, using a bituminous-like
, pitch or tar to caulk the joists. Sometimes they would split the log and hollow it out, then put it together with iron hoops or get the local blacksmith to caulk the seams with lead. They would set up a gravity water system, starting from a spring or stream on high ground, allowing water to flow downhill to the house or farm. Aside from windmills, Council's water system was strictly gravity flow, supplied by the spring on the hillside east of town, for many years.
The first U.S. city to establish a water system was Boston, in 1652. One of the main motivators was to provide water for fighting fires. As illustrated by Council's history of burning half the town every few years, fires were very common before the advent of electricity.
A section of a wooden water main was unearthed recently in Boston. The log measured 22 feet long, the bore was four inches in diameter in the lower half of the tree, and 2 1/2" in the upper. As was common with early wood pipe, the tree's natural forks branched out to form wyes and tees.
Because water sources were often contaminated in the early days, water was not a popular beverage. In 1714, a little girl from Barbados living with her grandmother while she attended school in Boston, complained to her father that her grandmother was making her drink water. The father wrote back and insisted that she get beer or wine as befitted her station in life.
When piped water supplies replaced open wells with privies nearby, the death rate in a community declined.
I'll have more on this subject next week. Once again, no "Landmarks" books this week. I'll just have to put the word out when the printer catches up. Sorry. Those who have paid in advance will be the first to get a copy.
If you get a chance, please stop by the Museum-if for no other reason, to give an encouraging word to the volunteers who are serving our community by being a host at the Museum.
6-14-01
I’m continuing with my series about toilets and plumbing.
The advent of piped water systems in cities was very helpful to firefighters. In the earliest days, since there were no pre-established hydrants, firemen would simply punch a hole into the wooden pipe along the edge of the street where the fire occurred. They inserted a smaller pipe, which was pre-sized to fit the newly bored hole, and ran a hose to their fire wagon—a two-man pumper. After the fire was out, they plugged the hole in the pipe with a pre cut conical stopper that was driven into the opening. The plug was on the end of a wooden pole. The pole was left sticking up out of the ground, marking the “fireplug,” so it could be used in the event of another fire near that location.
Wooden pipes were common until the early 1800s when the increased pressure required to pump water to a rapidly expanding population began to split the pipes, and a change was made to iron pipe. Up until at least the early 1900s, towns like Council used wooden pipes. These were made by assembling individual boards into a round shape and held in place by metal wire or bands. The Museum has an 8” diameter section of this pipe (about 12 feet long), which was reused by the Gould family on their ranch after it was removed from the Council system. Many of you have seen the section of wooden pipe from the Mesa flume on display in the Museum. It is three feet in diameter and held together by half-inch-thick metal bands. The individual 2”X6” boards in this pipe are interesting. They were planed into an arched shape with a tongue on one edge and a groove on the other. If you haven’t seen it, you should visit the Museum. The pipe is an interesting example of ingenious engineering. I’m told this type of wooden pipe is still manufactured.
In 1804, Philadelphia earned the distinction as the first city in the world to adopt cast iron pipe for its water mains. It was also the first city in America to build large-scale waterworks.
On the frontier, on farms and in small towns, windmills and simple hydraulic pumps provided the most efficient means of pumping water. A storage tank, large enough to hold two or three days' supply of water, would sometimes be mounted on the upper floor of a barn or home, then piped to individual locations.
Sales pitches printed by the Aermotor windmill company exploited the tendency for a farmer’s sons to be lured to the bright lights of the city: "Many a farmer's boy has been content to remain home through the great assistance rendered him by the Geared Aermotor. This tireless worker not only pumps water, but turns the grindstone, saws the wood, shells corn, churns and a dozen other things that are most disagreeable to the boy, and that would tend to discourage him and make him discontented."
Photographs of Council taken between about 1900 and 1920 show numerous windmills around town.
Metropolitan cities required some way to pump massive amounts of water. Prior to steam power in the 1800s, water wheels harnessed the flow of a river to pump water.
Big, steam-driven engines drew water from Lake Michigan to supply Chicago in 1869. People were astonished that the pumps injected 15 million gallons per day into the city's water mains. The system today uses six massive engines to supply 72.5 million gallons on an average day.
Since the invention of modern pumping methods, large underground aquifers have been taped to supply previously unimagined quantities of irrigation and drinking water. It has become evident that these aquifers are being depleted faster than they can be replenished. The Ogallala Aquifer, which lies under the American Midwest, is one of the largest in the world, and has been used so heavily to supply an exploding population that it is slowly running dry. This situation is being duplicated around the world, especially in other principal food-producing nations such as India and China. (The water level in the most vital aquifer in China is sinking five feet every year.)
More on plumbing next week.
I called Writers Press this morning (Monday), and they said they have printed 50 copies of my general history book, “Landmarks.” So, one way or another, I will have some at Buckshot Mary’s, and in the mail to those patient people who have already sent checks, by the time this newspaper hits the streets.
For those who have forgotten after all this time, “Landmarks – A General History of the Council, Idaho Area” costs $22.85. Idaho residents add $1.15 sales tax to make it an even $24.00. If you want it mailed to you, add $4.00. Copies can be ordered with a charge card from Writers Press at 1-800-574-1715. To order from me, send a check to me at Box 252, Council, 83612.
6-21-01
I’m continuing with my series about toilets and plumbing.
Engineer Julius W. Adams pioneered the first standards for sewer systems in the U.S. In 1857 he was commissioned to build a sewage system for the city of Brooklyn, which covered 20 square miles. There were no established standards for sewer design, so he started from scratch. Adams was the first to publish the results of his project, and by 1900 others had followed in his footsteps. Soon reference books for such systems became available.
Through the efforts of Adams an others, the best combinations of venting and piping were worked out, and indoor bathrooms started to become what every homeowner wanted. The new concept of mass production also brought down the cost of materials, so bathrooms became more affordable.
The evolution of the toilet as we know it began in England. The first models consisted of a conical shaped bowl that was set onto a lead trap under the floor. The way in which the flush valve was connected directly to the bowl turned out to be unsanitary.
Next came the “pan closet,” consisting of an upper earthenware basin and a shallow
copper pan containing three to five inches of water as a seal at its base. It could be tipped to discharge the contents into a lower, large, cast-iron receptacle connected to the drainage system. The metal pan operated on hinges, activated by a lever.
The “washdown closet” followed the principle of pan closets. The water was flushed by a direct line from a storage tank in the attic. A pull the handle opened a valve at the top of the chamber, and water flowed into the bowl until the handle was released.
An American named John Randall Mann developed a “siphonic” toilet in 1870. Three pipes delivered water into the bowl: one fed the flushing rim around the bowl's edge, one discharged about a half gallon rapidly into the bowl and started the siphonic action, and the third provided the after-flush.
Thomas Kennedy, another American, patented a siphonic closet that required only
two delivery pipes--one to flush the rim, the other to start the siphon. William Howell improved it in 1890 when he eliminated the lower trap without detriment to the action.
Ten years later, Robert Frame and Charles Neff of Newport, R.I., produced the prototype of America's siphonic wash-down toilet, although it sometimes failed to develop the
necessary action and the contents overflowed. Another decade passed before a an improved design motivated the production of siphonic toilets in America.
In the early 1800s, toilets made in America were inferior to those made in England, so most toilets were imported. By 1873, 43 British firms, including Twyford, Doulton and
Shanks were exporting high-quality toilets to the U.S. By 1900, U.S. manufacturers caught up with the Europeans, and American products began to swamp the market.
Because people had been accustomed to buying imported toilets, it was hard to convince Americans to buy ones produced in this country. For this reason, one American maker carefully stamped each toilet with an English-looking lion and a unicorn, and inscription: "Best Stafford Earthenware made for the American market."
Early toilet bowls were made of brick, stone or lead dressed with pitch, resin or
wax. It became obvious that stoneware, earthenware, fireclay and vitreous enameled porcelain were more sanitary. Salt glazing was an early breakthrough; the process covered the materials with an impervious glaze that resisted stains.
At first, a wooden exterior surrounded the toilet bowl. As bowls became for self-supporting and self-contained, the wood was eliminated and bowls began to be more artistically designed.
Pedestal models proved most popular, highlighted with elaborate patterns and fanciful
names. Popular examples were the English Lion and the Dolphin models. The Dolphin model had a bowl shaped like a seashell, with an S-shaped dolphin incorporated into the design. The origin of this dolphin motif may have been the fact that carvings of dolphins had separated the seats used by the Roman soldiers in the privy at Timgad, an ancient Roman city in what is now Algeria. A Dolphin water closet made by Edward Johns & Co. won a Golden Award for design at the Great Philadelphia Exhibition in 1876. The company today, now called “Armitage Shanks,” has reproduced the original "Dolphin Suite," complete with mahogany toilet seat, vanity doors and polished brass taps and fittings.
I’ll have more on this subject next week.
I finally got a batch of “Landmarks” books in, and they are at the Museum and at Buckshot Mary’s in Council. The book is a general history of the Council area. Some of the subjects covered are: local Indians, early explorers, early settlement, mining, outlaw Hugh Whitney, early roads, and a history of the town of Council. There is a small section for each small community that existed in the area. This is the first, and only, comprehensive history of this area.
The price of my book is $22.85. Idaho residents add $1.15 sales tax to make it an even $24.00. If you want it mailed to you, add $4.00. Copies can be ordered with a charge card from Writers Press at 1-800-574-1715. To order from me, send a check to me at Box 252, Council, ID 83612.
6-28-01
I’m continuing with my series about the history of toilets and plumbing.
Benjamin Franklin is said to have imported the first bathtub to America from France in the 1700s. It was made of sheet copper and shaped like a shoe. More common models were in the shape of a mummy's tomb, all wood and six feet long. They were filled by heating containers of water on a stove and dumping them into the tub.
America’s first bathtub with faucets was commissioned by a Mr. Thompson of
Cincinnati, Ohio. It was encased in mahogany and lined with sheet lead. It measured 7' x 4', and weighed nearly one ton. The faucets were connected to two pipes running from a water tank in the attic. One pipe carried cold water; the other coiled down the chimney to supply heated water.
Grander bathtubs of the 1800s were encased in paneled or embossed wood. Big, brass fixtures were bold and showy. George Vanderbilt's 1855 bathroom boasted a porcelain tub, and featured exposed pipe for all to admire. Those with money tried to emulate Queen Victoria's bathroom where, it was said, the controls looked like those for a battleship.
As time passed, cast iron tubs eventually replaced sheet metal and lead linings. These, in turn, were superceded by the enameled iron tubs that we have today.
By 1900, luxury bathrooms were auspiciously large and equipped with a 5-foot enameled tub, a “shower bath,” sitz bath, foot bath, pedestal sink and siphon jet toilet. Including all the fittings, trim and traps, the average cost was $542.50. Heavy tasseled drapes, stained glass windows and a large carpet were extra.
The popularity of tub bathing grew as the population of the U.S. expanded. Even so, a bathtub was not a part of every day life for most Americans. In 1871 the town of Tucson, Arizona had a 3,000 residents and one bathtub. The situation was similar in Council in 1911. In his barbershop advertisement in Council Leader, Frank Weaver boasted, “I have the only public bathtub in town.”
After the First World War, builders could not keep up with the demand for housing. The average home became smaller and included a small bathroom. Pedestal sinks disappeared as space-saving vanities with storage cabinets below became popular.
The growth of plumbing in America was phenomenal. In one 25-year period, from 1929 to 1954, sales by distributors of plumbing products and heating equipment rose 367% from $498 million to $2.33 billion.
In the 1800s, plumbers used plain or tin-lined lead piping for cold-water service, but they also had a choice of tin-lined, galvanized, enameled or rubber-coated wrought iron piping. Copper tubing was added after World War I, and now plastic is used under certain conditions.
Al Moen is credited with designing the first single-handled faucet (a double-valve faucet with a cam to control the hot and cold water valves) 1937. Stainless steel is a relative newcomer to the plumbing materials market, appearing in the 1950s. Flexible water lines under sinks are fairly recent developments as well. They were pioneered by Robert M. Zell the founder of Brass-Craft Mfg., in 1939.
It was not until after the Civil War that scientists proved the link between germs and disease. With waves of cholera, typhus and typhoid fever sweeping the country, people turned to the government to investigate the causes and impose regulations.
The idea of sanitary plumbing systems within buildings was an American development
that soon spread throughout Europe. Over the next two decades and more, plumbing health codes expanded its coverage to envelope examination, training and licensing.
Trade associations were formed, spearheading plumbing ordinances and laws for
regulations and examination. Wholesalers banded together, too, starting programs to prod manufacturers into standardizing such things as sink and basin outlets, faucet drilling, trap gauges, etc. The Central Supply Association started working toward standardization in 1894. But it would take another 30 years to accomplish the uniformity that we take for granted today.
One example of why plumbing standards need to be regulated by law was an outbreak of amoebic dysentery in Chicago during the 1933 World's Fair. The illnesses were traced
to faulty plumbing in two hotels. Tragic results were 1,409 cases of dysentery and 98 deaths.
One year later, Major Joel Connolly, Chief Inspector of the Chicago Bureau of Sanitary
Engineering, spoke these prophetic words: "One of the lessons to be drawn from the amoebic dysentery outbreak ... is that plumbing demands the very best, painstaking effort that thoroughly qualified, certified plumbers can give in every building, and especially where the systems are complicated and extensive, and where large numbers of people may be affected by contamination of water."
Next week: the legend of Thomas Crapper.
7-5-01
First I want to acknowledge a painting by Henry Daniels that now hangs in the Museum. The paining is on the wall near the projectile points and the story of how Council got its name. It shows a view of the “council trees” area as seen from the hill north of downtown, complete with Indians, teepees and horses. Come on in and see it.
Now, as I promised, the story of Thomas Crapper.
Although Crapper was a real person, there have been a few false stories about him and his association with the toilet. Thomas Crapper was born in England, probably in 1836. He was a plumber and had a successful career in that industry in England from 1861 to 1904.
Thomas Crapper operated two of the three Crapper plumbing shops in his
lifetime, but left the business three years before the final and most famous facility on
Kings Road in London. When Crapper retired from active business in 1904, he sold his
shop to two partners who, with help from others, operated the company under the
Crapper name until its closing in 1966.
Thomas Crapper did not invent the toilet, but he was awarded nine patents for plumbing items: four for improvements to drains, three for water closets (toilets), one for
manhole covers and the last for pipe joints.
The most famous product attributed to Thomas Crapper wasn't invented by him. The "Silent Valveless Water Waste Preventer" was a siphonic discharge system that allowed a toilet to flush effectively when the cistern was only half full. The patent for this device was awarded to Albert Giblin. Giblin may have worked for Crapper and authorized Crapper’s use of the product. Another scenario is that Crapper may have bought the patent rights from Giblin and marketed the device himself.
Thomas Crapper did serve as the royal sanitary engineer for many members of England's royalty, but contrary to popular myth, he was never knighted, and thus wasn’t entitled to use the term "Sir" before his name.
Several of London's current plumbing companies trace their trade roots to Thomas
Crapper. One, Mr. Geoffrey Pidgeon of “Original Bathrooms” (Richmond upon Thames,
Surrey, Great Britain), continues the trade of his great uncle and grandfather, both of
whom apprenticed under Thomas Crapper.
The date of Crapper’s death has also been a source of confusion for many years. For example, "Chase's Annual Events," the authoritative book for listing special days and dates, has listed January 17 as Thomas Crapper Day and January 17, 1910 as the date of his death. After much research, Dr. Andy Gibbons, historian of the International Thomas Crapper Society, was certain that Chase's was 10 days off. The actual date of Thomas Crapper's death was January 27, 1910. The error probably resulted from an honest typo in "Flushed With Pride," by Wallace Reyburn, says Gibbons, "but I waged a 10-year battle with Chase's to get them to change the date." He finally won his battle this year after supplying them with a photo of Thomas Crapper's tombstone, notes from a living descendent and a copy of the man's official death certificate.
The origin of the term “crapper” to mean a toilet, came after 1918. World War I doughboys passing through England saw the words “T. Crapper---Chelsea” printed on the toilet tanks and coined the slang "crapper" meaning toilet.
Although it might seem an obvious link, the origin of the word “crap” is not thought to be associated with Thomas Crapper. The real source of the term is still being debated, but possible starting places include the Dutch “Krappe”; Low German “krape,” meaning a vile and inedible fish; and Middle English “crappe.”
I would like to thank all the volunteers who give so generously of their time to keep the Museum open. You are truly doing a service for the community. Thank you.
7-12-01
This week I’m getting around to a subject that I meant to cover several months ago. Bob and Lila Coates let me copy the picture of Evergreen store shown here. Bob’s father, Clarence Coates, bought the property from Cliff and Evelyn Ayers in 1958. A man named Chapman probably owned it before that. Marvin and Lillian Imler built the original buildings. The Adams County Leader for May 21, 1937 announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Marvin Imler are building a new service station and tourist camp at Evergreen.”
When Clarence Coates ran the establishment, he sold gas, beer and hamburgers. There was a juke box that people would play and sometimes dance to. There was also a bowling machine.
This picture of the Evergreen buildings was taken sometime before Clarence bought it. He took the roof off of the “porch” on the front of the left building, and built on the present back portion of the building. At some point, the two buildings were made into one by a joining structure between them. The door on the right building is now just to the left of where it is shown in this photo, about where the right part of the window is shown.
I’m sure this picture won’t be as clear as it could be by the time it is printed in the newspaper, so I’ll describe some of what is not easy to see in it. The sign on top of the left building reads, “SHELL.” The gas pump is about impossible to see, but the price of gas on the sign near it is just under 24 cents per gallon. A sign on the door of the right building reads, “Golden Shell Motor Oil – 25 cents.”
There is a water fountain on the near side of the highway at the bottom left of the photo. I just heard from a woman who remembers stopping at the store for a root beer whenever the family came through here from down below. Her father had her convinced that the fountain beside the highway was the source of the root beer.
I would appreciate hearing from anyone who can tell me more about this picture. When was it taken? Can anybody identify the logging truck or tell me what year it was made?
I remember when I worked on the green chain at Tamarack in the summer of 1970 that we stopped in at Evergreen for cold drinks, so it was open to some extent then. I’m not sure when it stopped being a “store.” It now is the home of Bob and Lila Coates. They would also like to know more about the photo and the history behind the buildings, etc.
I have to thank my cousin, Randy Fisk, for finding the other photos. He found them on the internet. They may not come out too clear in the paper. They show Tamarack in the late 1930s I believe. I lost the exact year. By this time, there was only one sawmill at Tamarack; there were four at one time in the immediate area. J.O. Nord may have still owned the mill at this time. It has changed hands a number of times since those days, and is now about the only remaining sawmill between Grangeville and…where, Boise? Many of us remember that the old mill operated on the east side of the highway. I believe the new mill on the west side was built sometime in the late 1980s.
About the time these pictures were taken, the road to Lost Lake also probably left the highway near Tamarack. I’m not sure when the present road was built from Pine Ridge. If anybody knows, please let me know.
7-19-01 There was a time when the United States went to war in Southeast Asia. At first, only a few soldiers were sent to fight. At one point, the president was told by his generals that they could subdue their barefoot opponents with 20,000 men. Then the generals asked the president for 20,000 more. But even 40,000 soldiers were not enough. Soon 60,000 American troops were fighting 7,000 miles from home, and the War Department was calling for another 2 divisions. For years, the enemy had fought off a European country, and now they were prepared to fight Americans if they had to.
The President knew that his chances in the November election could hinge on a war he didn't want to fight, and didn't know how to win. All through the winter following the election, Americans read of devastation and horror half a globe away. Time and again they were assured that the war was all but over.
As more and more American boys lost their lives, anti-war sentiment was growing. Many saw the war as "a monstrous perversion of American ideals." Most Americans knew little about the country in which the U.S. was fighting. Many thought of the people there as being ignorant and backward, and sometimes called them “gooks.”
Sound awfully familiar? If you assume the above is about Vietnam, you are a few hundred miles too far west, and about 70 years too late. The war I’m writing about took place in the Philippines in 1900.
In 1898, America had gone to war with Spain and defeated the 400-year-old Spanish Empire in just 113 days. The United States became a world power almost overnight, and the ideals of the American Republic were tested by the temptations of newfound empire.
All at once, America won control of Spanish colonies on both sides of the globe, including the Philippines -- a chain of more than 7,000 islands and the gateway to the markets of China. But the Filipinos wanted their own independent country. Some argued that President McKinley should give it to them. Others said he should annex the Philippines.
McKinley reportedly told a group of Methodist Church leaders how he had decided what to do: "I walked the floor of the White House night after night until midnight," McKinley said, "and I am not ashamed to [say] that I went down on my knees and prayed to Almighty God for light and guidance. And one night it came to me: that there was nothing left to do but take [the Philippines] and educate the Filipinos, and uplift and civilize them... And then I went to bed, and went to sleep and slept soundly."
This is an entertaining story, but most historians don’t believe it. It is much more likely that McKinley had thought about the Philippines long before the War of 1898, and he had decided that he needed the islands as a base from which the United States could make sure that Asian markets were open to American products. China alone had 500 million potential customers.
The president had hoped the Filipinos would willingly become part of the new
American Empire. But the Filipinos were ready to die for the right to govern themselves. For years, they had fought the Spanish, and they were fully prepared to fight Americans. In January 1899, they established the Philippine Republic. By 1900, Americans were fighting a guerrilla war 7,000 miles from home.
Americans looked down on the Filipinos as being uncivilized. The term "gook" was coined during the fighting. The U.S. looked at this war as a superior power fighting an inferior people who deserved their inferiority because they had not been able to "uplift themselves," as McKinley liked to say. This sounds very much like the mentality that destroyed American Indian culture.
It was an excruciatingly brutal war. One soldier's letter told the story of an American soldier who was found murdered outside a village with his stomach slit open. The American commander immediately ordered the execution of everyone in the village. According to the young man’s letter, there were a thousand men, women, and children murdered in retaliation for the death of this one American soldier.
It wasn’t long before many Americans began to wonder whether even all of the possible profits this empire might offer were worth this kind of brutality.
To be continued next week.
7-26-01
The story of America’s involvement in the Philippines in 1900, continued from last week.
For the people of the U.S., the military’s involvement in a war so far from native soil was a totally new experience. Other wars had been promoted as defending our American way of life, or at least our national honor. (Even though too often they were not.) This takeover of an unwilling people in order to rule them was an old story, but the U.S. was supposed to be above the standards of the “old days” of imperialism.
As more and more American boys lost their lives, anti-war sentiment was growing. Many saw the war against a people seeking independence as "a monstrous perversion of American ideals." Multi-millionaire, Andrew Carnegie, became the leader of a small but important anti-imperialist movement. He offered to buy the Philippines for $20 million and set the island nation free. (The U.S. had paid that amount to Spain for the islands as part of the peace agreement to end the Spanish American War.)
All of this entered into the presidential election in the fall of 1900. William McKinley, the Republican incumbent, knew that his chances in the November election could hinge on a war he didn't want to fight, and didn't know how to win. His Democratic opponent, William Jennings Bryan, drew huge crowds across the country as he lashed out at the president for trampling the rights of the people of Asia. He believed that American foreign policy was immoral and that the United States had no business fighting this kind of war. "We dare not educate the Filipinos," Bryan said, "lest they learn to read the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States."
Theodore Roosevelt served as a mouthpiece for McKinley’s point of view. He was the perfect man for the job, being a veritable symbol of American imperialism -- the Rough Rider of the War of the 1898, and the person who had written more about the glories of American expansionism than probably any other person at the time.
"Every expansion of a great civilized power," Roosevelt wrote, "means a victory for law, order, and righteousness." He said charges made by the Democrats, that we were using force to impose American values on other races in the Philippines and in China was absurd. He pointed out that this is exactly what we had done with the Indians and he hadn't known too many Democrats who objected to this. And, he said at one point, "If we are going to turn the Philippines back to the Filipinos, then we should turn Arizona back to the Apaches."
As if the war in the Philippines wasn’t enough to deal with, in June the Boxer Rebellion in China reached a crisis point. For years there had been secret societies in China that opposed the influence of foreign ways on their country. The name they used translated literally as, “Fists of Righteous Harmony.” Taking their cue from this, Europeans called them “Boxers.” Over time, the Boxers became more violent; adopting the slogan, “Destroy the foreign devils!”
In 1899 the Boxers began to persecute Christians, both the native converts and the missionaries themselves, near Shantung. Their armed attacks became more frequent and finally, under their influence, the Chinese empress ordered all foreigners killed. Hundreds of foreigners were murdered, and some fled to the British embassy in Peking where they were under siege for weeks.
On June 13, the Boxers cut the telegraph lines connecting the British compound with the rest of the world. With American soldiers already dying in an unpopular war in the Philippines, McKinley was being forced into a difficult decision whether or not to send US troops onto the mainland of Asia. Here is another place where the story relates to modern political dilemmas. McKinley ordered American troops into China without consulting Congress. This set a precedent that gave future president a handy excuse to do the same thing.
By the end of June, 2,500 American soldiers had left Manila and entered China along with an international army composed of forces from England, Germany, France, Japan and Russia. Their mission was to put an end to the Boxer Rebellion and liberate the hostages. Almost overnight the U.S. went from never having been in war outside the Western Hemisphere to fighting two at the same time. To many, it was unimaginable.
On August 13, after more than a month of fierce fighting, the international army at last reached the Chinese capital and routed the Chinese. After fifty-five days of fear and waiting, the siege of the British compound was lifted and the hostages freed. After order was restored, the Chinese government apologized and paid a large amount of money to the foreign nations involved.
Meanwhile, back in the Philippines, the U.S. defeated all the native forces except the Moro people who continued to wage a guerrilla war for almost ten years. The U.S. invested large amounts of money in the nation’s infrastructure, and appointed William Howard Taft as the first civil governor of the Philippines (1900 to 1904). The Filipinos were eventually allowed to govern themselves, gaining final independence on July 4, 1946.
The political landscape in the Philippines was in turmoil before the U.S. got involved with it, and it still is today.
I got a letter from Caroll Parsons at Fruitland. She said:
“My folks, Jack and Alice Chapman, owned Evergreen Station when I was born in 1942. They were still living there when my brother, Larry Chapman, was born in 1945. I don’t know when my folks moved to Evergreen (around 1940, I believe) but Mom told me we moved to Council in June of 1945.”
“Mom said they couldn’t get gas to sell during WWII and used the station as a home. Jack Chapman built the little cabin across the highway for a rental during that time. Lots of people used to stopped to drink the water and gather the watercress that grew there.”
History Corner 8-2-01
For those who have read “The P&IN” history book, I have a couple photographs to supplement the story of the wreck that happened just north of Fruitvale in 1933. Clarecie Ivie Abbott sent these to me. In case you haven’t read the book or have forgotten, the wreck happened at the railroad crossing about a mile north of the old Fruitvale post office / store where Scisms now live. The snowplow, being pushed by two steam engines, hit the ice over the crossing, derailed and turned 180 degrees to the left.
Photo 00259 of the men with the shovels shows the west side of the wreck. The men are standing in front of the snow plow which has turned completely around to face south. You can just make out a couple of old cars parked up on the highway (now the Fruitvale-Glendale Road) in the background. The men are (left to right): Harold Burt, Pete Robertson, Glen Burt, and Ike Glenn. Harold was the one who wrote the account of the wreck that I quoted in the book.
The other photo (00260) shows local people who came to see the wreck. They are, left to right: Bill Burt at left edge, his wife Ethel Burt, unidentified woman with back turned, Hazel Burt, Nellie Ivie, Florence Burt, Clarecie Ivie (Abbott), Jim Fisk, the others are unidentified. Garland White was crushed and killed on this side of the train, between the coal tender and the engine as it jackknifed.
Speaking of Fruitvale, I found an interesting item or two in an old Adams County Leader from 1944. One is a quote from the “POW-WOW—News and Views from Council Hi School.” The first one reads:
“Senior Biography—June Harrington was born May 10, 1926 at Council. She went to school at Lower Dale and Fruitvale and to high school here at Council. Her favorite food is chili con carne. Her favorite movie stars are John Wayne and Rlice [?] Faye. Her favorite author is Louisa May Alcott and her pet peeve is boys.” Of course she later overcame her pet peeve and married Mel Ryals.
June’s little brother made the news too: “The last game of the football season was played with Midvale. The score was 12 – 6 in favor of Midvale. The only score was made by Everett Harrington.”
In the same issue was an ad for the movie coming to the People’s Theater. It was Irving Berlin’s “This is the Army” starring, “Men of the Armed Forces and George Murphy, Joan Leslie, Lt. Ronald Reagan, George Tobias, Alan Hale, Charles Butterworth and Kate Smith.” Admission was 55 cents for adults and 25 cents for children.
I got an interesting letter after my article about the old Gibbs house at Indian Valley. Ruth Gentry Raney wrote to say:
“My folks, Sam & Reba Gentry, purchased the Indian Valley store in March 1941 from Phil Ware. They ran the Mesa store prior to the purchase. Mesa was in its prime, with many people employed there.”
“Their first trip to Indian Valley, they drug bottom over a muddy road much of the way. The power was installed the next year, bringing a new item to the already sagging shelves of anything and everything. The “light bulb” was in demand. Due to the war, many items were rationed, such as gas, sugar, and shoes. Lots of eggs were traded for gas. (We ate a lot of eggs.)”
“The store was sold to Donald & Marie Corriell in 1949, and has changed hands many times since. Nice to see it still in operation today.”
Ruth included a newspaper clipping that gave the prices for items in her parents’ store in 1942: flannel shirts, $1.29; Levi overalls, $1.89; flour 48 lbs. for $1.49; bacon, $.32 / lb.; potatoes, $1.59 per 100 lbs.
8-09-01
Over the past year or two there have been a number of letters to the Record editor concerning forest management. A couple of the letters caught my attention because there was such an obvious answer to them, but no answer was given. The letters soundly condemned the Forest Service for intentionally setting fires and burning up our forests. I thought surely someone from the Forest Service would respond to these letters, but no one did. I certainly don’t want to speak for the Forest Service, but the issue has roots in the history of the area.
Back when the first explorers came through what is now Idaho, they noticed the Indians had an interesting way of “managing” the forests. They burned it. They very intentionally set it on fire. And they didn’t just do it once in a while; they did it every year or so at the driest time of year. When Captain Benjamin Bonneville came through the northwest in 1832 and ’33, he witnessed vast areas in flames, with smoke covering the sky as far as the eye could see.
So what did the forests look like back then? Were they nothing but blackened stumps? Not quite, but they looked a lot different than they do now. There were fewer trees, but they were bigger and older. In between the trees, instead of the tangle of brush now so pervasive, there was mostly grass. In other words it looked like a park…well, except the grass was probably pretty tall, and by the end of the season quite dry. This was the fuel for the fires—that and any brush that dared to attempt and appearance…and some of the smaller trees. The trees weren’t as crowded together as are now, so if a fire did climb into them the flames spread more slowly and went out sooner.
As I wrote in my book, “Landmarks,” early settlers were able to take their wagons through the forested areas near the headwaters of Hornet Creek and Crooked River by simply picking their way between the trees. After a trip along this route to the Seven Devils in 1890, a Walla Walla newspaper man said, "Mile after mile the road passes through it, the trees standing like columns out of a carpet of green, and free from obstructing underbrush." Ed Schroff once said, "People used to be able to drive a wagon about anywhere they wanted to on Pole Creek, but now you can't drive a jackrabbit through the brush with a sledge hammer."
My theory is that once the Indians were imprisoned on reservations (more or less by 1880), there were a lot fewer fires. By 1910 much of the forests had been given 30 years to build up fuel—brush and small trees, all crowed together. Settlers had no way to combat the fires that occurred, and the government probably didn’t have a clue as to what was happening. (Imagine that.) But in that fateful year of 1910, it all came to a head.
It only took two days for the fires of 1910 to kill 85 people and burn 3 million
forested acres in western Montana and northern Idaho. And for the
finger-pointing to begin.
The Use Book that had guided Forest Service rangers from the agency's birth in
1905 envisioned small fires in a forest patrolled by solitary guards on
horseback.
Congress wanted an explanation, but also an assurance from its fledgling forest
agency that the nation's timber reserves would, in coming summers, be
protected from fire. That 1911 would not bring another such disaster.
"To save the forests," timber magnate F.E. Weyerhaeuser told a congressional
committee, "the main thing is to make laws to prevent fires."
And while there were suggestions – from as high as Interior Secretary Richard
Ballinger – that the intentional burning of forest land "at a seasonable period"
could reduce the magnitude of the inevitable summer wildfires, the notion found
little favor among those who survived the fires of 1910.
1910 --Congress passed a $1.1 million appropriation to cover costs of the fires in
Montana and Idaho.
In sounding the "note of progress," Koch said, the Forest Service "opened up
the wilderness with roads and telephone lines and airplane landing fields. It
capped the mountain peaks with white-painted lookout houses, laced the ridges
and streams with a network of trails and telephone lines, and poured in
thousands of firefighters year after year in a vain attempt to control forest fires."
But has "all this effort and expenditure of millions of dollars added anything to
human good?" Koch asked. "Is it possible that it was all a ghastly mistake like
plowing up the good buffalo grass sod of the dry prairies?"
In 1943, Bureau of Indian Affairs forester Harold Weaver "threw the curtains
wide open," Arno said. The exclusion of fire from the Western forests was
creating "deplorable" forest conditions that would eventually produce more and
fiercer fires, Weaver wrote in the Journal of Forestry.
The 11 Western states did not have another 3-million-acre wildfire season for
78 years after 1910. From 1946 through 1978, less than a million acres burned
each year. Fire suppression worked. For a while.
Then along came 1988 and the fires in Yellowstone National Park; 3.59 million
acres burned in the West and firefighters reported their first encounters with a
frightening new breed of fire. "We call them white-ash fires," said Arnold
Hartigan, a spokesman at the National Interagency Fire Center in Boise, Idaho.
"Normally, fire would scorch a tree. These fires burn trees down to white ash."
Now, despite the best efforts of the best wildland firefighters in the world, huge
acreages burn in the West each summer: 3.1 million acres in 1994, 2.1 million in
1995, 4.29 million in 1998, 2.95 million in 1999, already more than 5 million
acres this summer. With weeks, at least, left in the wildfire season.
Now, the fires burn entire watersheds, whole forests. They damage soil, water,
wildlife and biodiversity. They kill people; people who live in the forest or in
small towns near forests are about twice as likely to die in a fire as are city
dwellers. They cost millions and millions of dollars to fight, and even then often
cannot be contained.
"Fires burned through these stands for centuries and centuries, and only rarely
were they destructive," said Mick Harrington, a research fire ecologist at the
Intermountain Fire Sciences Laboratory. "Not until we came along."
Because pines love sun and open spaces, they thrived in the open stands. With
just 50 or 75 trees per acre, moisture and nutrients were plentiful. Insects and
disease were not welcome. Everything in the ecosystem worked because of fire.
Eight, maybe even 10, fire cycles have passed since foresters decided to keep
fire out of these fire-dependent forests, Harrington said. Now nothing in the
ecosystem works as it should.
"Now there is nothing to eliminate the young trees," he said. "We've had just a
tremendous increase in the number of trees per acre. On some research sites,
we are measuring 500 to 700 trees per acre. And they're new species –
shade-tolerant trees like Douglas fir and grand fir."
So the same old pine that once competed for sun, water and nutrition with 49
other pines must now compete with 500, 600, even 700 shade-loving firs. And
there isn't enough to go around.
"The whole stand is under stress," Harrington said. "The young firs aren't
healthy, and the long-lived pines aren't reproducing because there's too much
shade. And you start getting disease, and then the beetles come in, and
eventually the firs take over the forest."
Now when fire comes through the forest, it burns hotter – white-ash hot. And
the thicket of Douglas fir gives flames a ladder into the crowns of the tallest
pines. "So you get these major runs through the crowns," Harrington said.
"There's a continuous fuel bed in the canopy that just keeps the fire going and
going."
On the forest floor, the deeper layers of debris keep the fire burning. Immense
amounts of heat go into the soil, causing root damage and killing many of the
seeds in the below-ground "seed bank." Soil nutrients are released into the
atmosphere or incinerated down to ash. What remains washes downslope
during the first drenching rain.
"By excluding fire, you've created a whole new fire regime," Harrington said.
"Now the fires that burn are extremely difficult to control. They're basically
beyond the capabilities of our firefighting crews, especially when they occur in
such large numbers as we've seen this year."
"We are not going to stop fires from burning in the forest," he said. "But we can
take a lesson from the past six or seven centuries. Fire thinned these forests and
kept them healthy."
The evidence, Harrington said, is irrefutable. The trees write the story
themselves. They've written them across 40 million acres in the West.
But most people don't know the stories, and don't think of densely stocked
forests as either unhealthy or unnatural, said Williams, the Northern Region fire
manager. "The more trees, they think, the healthier the forest."
"People want to see a whole hillside of solid green," said Harrington. "When you
tell them that's never happened before in the last 500 or 600 years, that this is
new to the past century, they have a lot of questions. It's confusing. They like
these thick forests. They want them to stay like this."
But this is a fire climate, he said. "Fires always have been here and always will
be. We can do a certain amount year after year, putting fires out when they're
small, keeping their severity down. But there will be a time, and all of the West
is in that time now, when huge amounts of acreage burn."
Fire, Harrington said, will reclaim its historic place on the landscape. And we'll
have no one to blame but ourselves.
8-16-01
This is the second half of the article on forest management and fire.
After the fire of 1910, some people—Interior Secretary Richard Ballinger for one—said that intentionally burning forest land "at a seasonable period" could reduce the magnitude of the inevitable summer wildfires. But the idea found no supporters among those who survived the fires of 1910.
From time to time, others raised the subject again. In 1943, Bureau of Indian Affairs forester Harold Weaver said the exclusion of fire from the Western forests was creating "deplorable" forest conditions that would eventually produce more and fiercer fires.
Weaver’s predictions were dead on. In 1988 almost 3.6 million acres burned in the West. In spite of desperate efforts and billions of our tax dollars, the trend has continued: 3.1 million acres burned in 1994; 2.1 million in1995; 4.29 million in 1998; 2.95 million in 1999, and more than 5 million acres in 2000.
Recent fires are not only burning larger areas, they are much more intense because there is so much fuel. A frightening new breed of fire has appeared. Arnold Hartigan, a spokesman at the National Interagency Fire Center in Boise has called them “white-ash fires." A “normal” forest fire generally only charred most of the trees; these new fires left nothing behind but white ashes.
The damage caused by these intense fires is also evident below the surface. On the forest floor, the deeper layers of debris keep fires burning. Immense amounts of heat go into the soil, causing root damage and killing many of the seeds in the belowground "seed bank." Soil nutrients are released into the atmosphere or incinerated down to ash. What remains washes away during the first hard rain.
Slowly a concept has crept into the minds of those in charge: “This isn’t working.” A different approach seemed self-evident to some. "Fires burned through these stands for centuries and centuries, and only rarely were they destructive," said Mick Harrington, a research fire ecologist at the Intermountain Fire Sciences Laboratory. "Not until we came along."
Before we suppressed fires, sun-loving pine trees thrived in the open stands. With just 50 or 75 trees per acre, moisture and nutrients were plentiful. Insects and disease were not a problem. Everything in the ecosystem worked because of fire. Now, with as many as 500 to 700 trees per acre in some spots, nothing in the ecosystem works as it should.
One of the problems is an overabundance of shade-tolerant trees like Douglas fir and “grand fir” (otherwise known as white fir or other names I’d rather not print).
According to Mick Harrington, “"The whole stand is under stress. The young firs aren’t healthy, and the long-lived pines aren't reproducing because there's too much shade. And you start getting disease, and then the beetles come in, and eventually the firs take over the forest." Now when fire comes through the forest, it burns hotter—white-ash hot. And fir trees give flames a ladder into the crowns of the tallest pines. "So you get these major runs through the crowns," Harrington says. "There's a continuous fuel bed in the canopy that just keeps the fire going and going."
So, the problem is obvious: 1—The lack of regular, low-intensity fires in our forests has resulted in a diseased and dysfunctional ecosystem. 2—Modern fires are extremely harmful and beyond human ability to stop them. The solution, at least this late in the game, may not be so obvious.
The Forests Service has started a policy of “prescribed burns” to restore the old ecosystem. This seems only reasonable to me, but there are several problems that plague the practice. The most obvious is that so much fuel has built up over the past 100 years that even small fires easily get out of control and cause immense damage.
Another problem is public perception. It seems to me the Forest Service has dropped the ball on this one. I’ve seen little evidence of a program to educate the public on the need for prescribed burns. Most people don't know the history of fires, and think more trees mean a healthier forest. They are used to the forest looking like it does, and may not like changes.
One of the changes that would result if our forests were brought back to its old state would be the impact on wildlife. In general, deer were scarcer in this area in the early days of settlement. Whitetail deer were almost unheard of. The present status of deer populations can be linked to changes in fires. Mule deer eat significant amounts of bitter brush. Whitetail deer like dense cover—lots of brush. Lack of fire has resulted in more bitter brush (more mule deer?) and more dense-cover type brush (more whitetails). Other wildlife changes resulting from less brush, more grass and fewer trees might be less predictable.
Since the first part of this article was printed, I’ve received comments from a couple people about fire and forest management. Several objections were raised concerning the Forest Service’s prescribed burn methodologies:
They burn when it is too dry, and fires get out of control.
The fires are initiated over such a large area that wildlife too often can’t escape.
The government can’t be sued if one’s property is damaged by their negligent fire practices.
The resulting smoke causes health problems.
Some have commented that logging reduces fire danger and improves forest health. If brush were killed in the logging process, fire danger would be reduced. If this has occurred, I haven’t seen it. Even many clear-cuts in this area are choked with brush in addition to the surviving trees. If large trees were removed and smaller or less desirable trees and brush were left, more harm than good would be accomplished. I don’t have the answers; I’m only pointing out the history of this situation. I would encourage anyone with knowledge on this subject to write a letter to the editor. More public discourse and information on this important issue is overdue.
8-23-01
I’m a little to young to remember the Black Bear Inn. In fact, most of you are too young to remember it, but you may have heard of it. The Black Bear Inn was a hotel that stood along the road at Round Valley north of New Meadows. Round Valley is that valley west of the highway just as the schizophrenic Little Salmon River changes from a lazy series of slow-moving pools into a wild white water plunge down through the canyon.
The two photos shown here were sent to me by Rita Blevins. Her husband, Louie, took them in 1928. The building burned not long after that. Writing on the back of one of the photos mentions that the Inn was a well-known resort. That’s about all the information I have on this establishment. If anyone has more, I wouldn’t mind hearing from you.
Rita also related a story about Louie, relating to my series on the Thunder Mountain gold rush:
My husband knew an elderly man who said he took the first prostitutes into Roosevelt, and as they crossed Monumental Creek, the horses had to jump a high bank onto the trail. One of the fine women fell from her horse, landing face down in the rocks, sustaining cuts and bruises that definitely hurt her looks. She got up, and (these were his words) cussing and bawling and said, “How in the hell can I compete with you bitches and make any money looking like this?!”
Rita also mentioned that she found the articles on the war in the Philippines interesting because her father, Tim Barton (1872 – 1938), was a veteran of the Spanish American War. He was 26 years old when he sold his sheep and enlisted with the First Idaho Volunteers in May of 1898. Several other young Weiser-area men also enlisted at that time: Edward F. Harper (hotel clerk), Ellet Hitt (“bronco man”), James W. Jeffrey (clerk), Edwin Patch (stockman), Joseph L. Pope (teacher), and Charles Galloway (farmer).
The Spanish American War was the shortest war in American history, lasting only 114 days of actual fighting. This was in the days when the U.S. was not used to being a world power, and when it started down a long road of involvement in foreign conflicts. The trouble started very close to home—in Cuba. For a number of years, the U.S. had watched Spain mistreat the people in its colony of Cuba. When the citizens there revolted in 1895, the Spanish reacted with alarming brutality. Many Cubans were put in concentration camps where they died from disease and starvation. Public sentiment in the U.S. was with the Cuban people.
On February 15, 1898 the U.S. battleship Maine blew up after visiting a Cuban harbor. In this explosion, 266 men were killed.
It is a little-known piece of information that William Randolph Hurst almost single-handedly started the Spanish American War. At the time, Hurst ruled an empire composed of most of the major newspapers in this country. He was always looking for ways to sell more papers. (After all, the poor man was probably hard pressed to supply his pets with enough caviar or some such.) In those days, newspapers were not as skittish about printing wild stories as news. Hurst started printing incendiary articles accusing the Spanish of blowing up the Maine. The American public took it as gospel, even though there was no evidence to this effect. As a result, young American men gave their lives to put gold in the already-gilded pockets of William Randolph Hurst. Nice guy.
Council had no newspaper at the time, but in the spring of 1898, every issue of the Salubria Citizen contained debates about whether the U.S. should go to war with Spain.
Neither the Spanish nor President McKinley wanted war. The Spanish even agreed to an armistice in Cuba. But, as a result of Hurst’s “Remember the Maine!” campaign, the American public demanded blood. The U.S. started pushing Spain around until Spain finally declared war on the U.S. on April 24. Like little kids on the school yard, Congress replied, “Oh yeah? Well, we’ve been at war with you since April 21…so there!” (Well, OK they probably didn’t actually use those words.)
The first fighting started not in Cuba, but in the Philippines on May 1. It was on July 1 that the “Rough Riders” under the command of Colonel Leonard Wood and Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt made a name for themselves in a battle in Cuba. There was a certain amount of fiction surrounding that famous battle too. If I remember right, Roosevelt supposedly lead a charge up San Juan Hill when the battle actually took place somewhere in the general vicinity. I just sounded better that way. No doubt Hurst had a hand in that myth as well. Anyway, when the dust cleared, there were 300 American boys lying dead, and a thousand wounded or missing.
A truce was declared on August 12, but word didn’t reach Manila where General Wesley Merritt captured the city after six hours of fighting. A total of about 400 men died in this war from battle wounds, and 5,000 died from disease. After paying Spain $20 million, the U.S. had possession of the Philippines. More lives and dollars were spent over the next few years trying to keep the Filipinos from governing their own country.
Tim Barton and the rest of the Idaho volunteers left San Francisco June 27, and arrived in Manila on July 31. There were a total of 32 officers and 677 enlisted men aboard. It makes me wonder what that many restless young men did to pass the time for over a month on that ship. Knowing the military, they were probably given an abundance of mops and brooms and spent more time with them than they ever would with a rifle.
Rita didn’t relate any stories of fighting, but I would assume they got in on the post-armistice fighting at Manila. Barton and the other men came home about a year after they had left. Rita said her father was “always proud of is service in the Philippines, and felt they needed to be freed of the tyranny imposed on them by the Spanish.”
About a year after the war ended, the paper reported that Seven Devils Johnson was "canvassing for two books…The Illustrated New Testament and a history of our war with Spain.” I assume canvassing means selling door to door, more or less.
I would like to thank Bob Whiteman for a donation to the Museum in memory of Ted McGown.
The news on getting more copies of my Landmarks book is grim at the moment. Writers Press is in serious financial trouble and is not able to print books right now. For those of you who have sent checks, I haven’t cashed them yet, and I’ll hold them until I get more copies…or if you want them back or want me to tear them up, let me know. I don’t know when I will be able to get more copies, but I will at some point. I’m really sorry for this; it’s beyond my control.
8-30-01
The Community Church (formerly known as the Congregational Church) is celebrating its 100th year in Council, so I thought I would add my two cents worth to the history surrounding the church.
Although saloons were often the first public facility to appear in frontier communities, churches were often close on their heels. Small communities were often too small at first to support the erection of a church building, so services were held in a home, a school, some other available building, or even outdoors. A circuit-riding preacher who covered a large area usually conducted these services.
A traveling Methodist minister named Sylvester Shrieve conducted the first services in the Council Valley in 1879. One source says the first sevice was held in the old Council fort northwest of the present town. I have to wonder about this because the fort wasn’t in use that year, as the Bannock War (for which it was built) had ended the previous fall. The first school classes were conducted in the fort the summer before (1878), but a new log school was built in 1879.
The first regular services were conducted by a Reverend Hopper who came up from Midvale once a month in the late 1880s.
The discussions between the congregation attending these meetings, and the realationship between them and the minister must have been interesting. Since the people who attended the services were not all from the same “school,” theologically speaking, they would not necessarily have seen eye to eye with the preacher when it came down to details.
In the mid 1890s, a Sunday school was organized by Lucy McMahan and Miss Minnie Peterson. Lucy McMahan was the wife of Isaac McMahan. Isaac operted a store in Council, and although her name was not usaually mentioned in relation to the business, I get the impression that Lucy was an assertive woman and probably influenced business decisions.
The Sunday school that was organized was called the “Mayflower Sunday School.” Naming Sunday schools in those days was apparently not unusual custom for many years. Even as late as 1938, when the old Cox blacksmith shop was converted for use as a Sunday school at Fruitvale it was called the “Union Sunday School.”
The Sunday school was held in the school, which was located about a mile north of town, near the old fort. By this time, the original log school had burned and had been replaced by a frame building on the east side of what is now Galena Street. At the time, it was the only road through the valley, and the present location of Council was occupied only by the George Moser family’s cabins and barn.
By 1901 the town of Council had sprung up and was booming. The P&IN Railroad arrived that spring, along with hordes of new people.On July 21 of that year, Reverend Foster (pastor of the Indian Valley Chruch) and Reverend H. S. Lee (Superintendent of the Sunday Schools of Idaho) organized a church here. There were 13 charter members: five were Congregationalists, two were United Bretheren, two were Methodists, and one was a Presbyterian. Three others joined by “confessing” to the theology that was evidently agreed upon as doctrine for this church. All but two of the charter members were women. One of the men was Dr. Frank Brown, who had just arrived in Council that year, but served as Council’s doctor for many years.
With members from so many backgrounds, it is no surprise that the church had no name at first. But on August 2 the members unanimously voted to name the church “The Congregational Church of Council.” The church was officially incorporated under the laws of Idaho two days later, on August 4, 1901. At the time, there were also Congregational churches at Indian Valley, Weiser, and New Plymouth.
Plans to build a church were underway immediately. By the spring of 1902 the church received a $500 grant from the Congregational Building Society, and construction started. The church was completed and dedicated in a ceremony on January 18, 1903. It was the only church in town.
9-4-01
The parsonage for the Congregational Church was actually built in 1902 before the church building was erected. It sat just to the west of the church.
The Weiser Signal reported the news in Council in its March 30, 1904 issue: "The new bell for the Congregational church arrived Friday." The bell cost $122.60. I wonder what it cost to ship it.
Guy Foster, the pastor of the Indian Valley church, became the first pastor of the new Congregational church in Council.
From the Council section of the Weiser Signal, October 14, 1905: "Rev. Stover and wife arrived here [Council] last week and will take charge of the Congregational church work."
Stover was an interesting character. (Dick Parker gives a colorful account of him in his church history.) He was quite a horseman, and liked his horses to have speed and energy. According to Dick, Stover was such a wild buggy driver that people couldn’t tell whether the horse was out of control or if the reverend was just in his usual hurry to get someplace. He is said to have worn out one buggy each year (not counting the ones he wrecked).
Reverend Stover seemed have had the same type of energy that he liked in his horses. In 1907 he married 9 couples, presided over 7 funerals, preached 171 sermons in Council, Meadows, Indian Valley and the “Mackay District” (wherever that is), made 517 visits and brought 17 new members into the church. With nothing else to do, he also painted the church.
The Council Leader newspaper for March 4, 1910 said, "The Congregational church has decided to install a regular pastor in the valley." It also said that a meeting had been called to decide on a site to build a new parsonage. I’m not sure what to make of the part about the parsonage if one had already been built.
Two months later, the Leader reported, "Prof. B.J. Dillon came up from Cambridge and occupied the pulpit in the congregational church Sunday evening." He had also preached at Cottonwood during the week. Benjamin Dillon was an interesting character. His main occupation was school teacher, as was his wife Lena’s. Lena was the sister of Art Wilkie’s wife (the former Lillian Wiffen). The Dillons were living in Council as early as 1903. He was elected as Adams County’s first prosecuting attorney in 1912, and held that position until he resigned in 1921.
In the Council section of the Weiser American, Apr 27, 1911: An addition to Congregational church is being built.
Council Leader, April 18, 1912: Rev. Stover purchased a new organ for Congregational church. That pump organ still works; it’s sitting in the Council Valley Museum.
Council Leader, Jan 23, 1914: Rev. Stover is about to resign and move to Colorado for his hay fever. The congregation "implored," and persuaded him to stay by giving him a paid vacation to the coast during hay fever season.
An ad in the Council Leader, Oct 30, 1914 announced that Rev. Stover was selling all his household furnishings and leaving Council.
Council Leader, Nov 20, 1914: Reverend Stover will conduct his last service here next Sunday. He is moving to Salem, Oregon.
Council Leader, Dec. 4, 1914: Rev. Stover left for Salem. He was here nine years, and will be missed.
At his new post in Salem, Reverend Stover was reported to have driven automobiles just as recklessly as he had driven his horses.
Council Leader, March 19, 1915: Rev. C. Edwin Cox, his wife and baby arrived from San Francisco. He is to be the new Congregational church minister.
Council Leader, Jun 4, 1915: Reverend Cox set out 20 shade trees around the Congregational parsonage and church. (I’ll bet those are the trees that are still growing there.)
Reverend Cox stayed about one year. Next came J.S. Edmonds—an elderly married man. He also stayed about a year before retiring.
More next week.
The Museum season is now officially over. My sincere thanks goes to the wonderful people who helped by volunteering to be hosts at the Museum. Special thanks go to the people who took on a three-hour shift each week: Stan and Bobbie Matthews, Alice Deeds, Jan Hill, Doris Harrington, and Gayle Dixon. An even bigger thanks goes to June Davis who took on all of Tuesday of each week!
Our faithful fill-in people were: Mary Owens, Sarah Schwartz, Margaret Renwick, Fred McFadden, Margaret Merk, the Masters family, Dick Thompson, Michael Richardson (before he defected to Russia), Eleanor and Cheryl Riggin, Alma Fisk, Blaine Fisk, Phyllis Yates, Jim and Laura Camp, Marti Eich, the Stoker family, Bob Spear, Adam Schmoeger, Marion Feil, Nelma Green, Mary Sterner, June Derie, Frank and Betty Smith, Breanna Horn, Alyssa Horn, Kathy Norton, Kathy Ashley, Erica Schmoeger, Cheryl Barker, Sarah Diggs and Alice Hutchins. And I’m ALWAYS looking for more volunteers.
THANK YOU!!!
9-11-01
In the spring of 1918 Emil Iverson became the church’s pastor. It was that fall that a disastrous influenza epidemic hit the world on the heels of the First World War. Twenty million people died from it—sixteen of them in the Council area. At the peak of the epidemic, the church—along with other public gathering places—was closed temporarily. During this time, Reverend Iverson was credited with nursing the sick and helping with home chores “far beyond the line of duty.”
Adams County Leader, Jan 24, 1919: The Congregational church will resume services "now that the flu epidemic is about over."
During his time in Council, Reverend Iverson married Maude Gregg, the widow of George Gregg who died in 1914. Maude was the daughter of John Peters, the man who established the first store in the Council Valley in 1888. Another thing the father of this preacher’s wife was known for was his brewery in Weiser. (The building still stands at 135 East Commercial Street and is now occupied by the Matthews Grain & Storage.) At the time she married Reverend Iverson, Maude was Adams County’s Superintendent of Schools which was quite an important position at a time when dozens of schools were located in every little community in the County.
Adams County Leader, Sept 5, 1919: "After months of hard work by the Rev. E.L. Iverson the Congregational community recreation ground is now ready for use by the community. Two lawn tennis courts have been arranged for and also ground space for playing croquet."
Adams County Leader, April 18, 1919: A Boy Scout organization has been started at the Congregational church. (This was very probably the first in the area.)
In 1921, Reverend Iverson left for a vacation and didn’t come back. A couple months later, his letter of resignation arrived. Silas Hagler then took the helm of the church. In March of 1922, Reverend Hagler had to temporarily suspend services at the church close the church again because of another flu epidemic.
Adams County Leader, March 17, 1922: There have been no public gatherings in Council for the past week because of the flu.
Adams County Leader, Jan. 12, 1923: Rev. S.P. Hagler, formerly minister of the Congregational church, has been appointed chaplain of the House of Representatives in Boise.
Adams County Leader, April 13, 1923: Rev. Thomas Gordon is the new Congregational church pastor. (At this time, the church had 68 members.)
Adams County Leader, Feb.19, 1926: Rev. Gordon, Congregational church pastor, is leaving.
Adams County Leader, Sept 10, 1926: Rev. J.E. Sears to pastor Congregational church.
During Reverend Sears’ tenure, a room that housed a kitchen and cloakroom was added to the back of the church. Reverend Sears stayed until 1933.
Next came Arthur Horton who resigned in 1934. A Reverend Roberts was pastor during 1935 and ’36. Adams County Leader, Aug 2, 1935: The Congregational church parsonage has "undergone a complete rebuilding..." with a new bathroom, etc.
When Reverend Roberts left, he recommended Miss Eunice Trumbo who lived in the coal country of West Virginia. Miss Trumbo was hired for three months, but the church and the community loved her so much that she wound up staying for 20 years.
Adams County Leader, Aug 30, 1940: "Our town library is in the Annex of the Congregational church and is open on Wednesdays from 3:30 to 4:30 and on Saturdays from 2 to 4 P.M. A small rental library of new books is maintained a the parsonage where books rent for 3 cents per day."
In 1945 the church’s bell took part in the most joyful occasion ever celebrated in Council. Adams County Leader, Aug 17, 1945: (Headline in two-inch letters) "IT'S ALL OVER - President Informs Nation of Peace Tuesday" "Just shortly after 4 o'clock Tuesday afternoon, the word came. The old fire bell was the first to ring out the big news. It was shortly joined by the fire siren, the church bell, the mill whistle, locomotive whistles, auto horns, guns firing, and such other noises as could be conceived with the instruments at hand." "It seems unbelievable that the anxiety and the waiting is over; that our fighting men will return home; that we can again return to good, normal American living, and go about our daily tasks without the haunting fear that we or a neighbor will receive the word that someone dear has been reported missing or lost in action, or taken prisoner."
By the halfway point of the 20th century, the old church was showing its age. The cost of remodeling the old building was analyzed, and it looked like starting a new building from scratch would be a better idea. The Adams County Leader for September 29, 1950 reported that work had started on the erection of a new Congregational church. It was to measure 30 X 50 feet and built with cinder block. A basement for the new church was built just west of the old church.
When the 50th anniversary of the church rolled around in 1951, there was a big celebration. One of the highlights was the appearance of Howard Stover, who had last addressed the congregation 37 years earlier.
The first service was held in the new church before it was completely finished on Easter Sunday of 1952. The new church was officially dedicated in October of 1954. A photo on the front of the dedication programs showed the new and old churches standing side by side. Unfortunately nobody seems to have the original photo, and the one on the program is pretty poor. The old church was soon torn down and the space where it stood is now used for parking. (If anyone has one of the original photos of both churches standing together, I would very much like to get a copy for the Museum.)
After Miss Trumbo retired in 1957, John Brooke became the pastor. In 1959 a building was constructed south of the church to provide more room for Sunday school classes and recreation. To finance the building, the church sold the land on which the Post Office now stands. The church purchased one half of a dormitory at Oxbow dam for materials. (Russell Evens bought the other half.) Members of the church dismantled the dormitory and moved the materials to Council. The Council Hardware furnished the materials at cost to put up the cement blocks, lay the cement floor and build the roof. Russell Evans donated his time to build the structure, only charging labor for his employees. Volunteers from the church did the finish work.
I’ll end my history of the church here, but there is much more that could be told. If the walls of that church could talk, they could tell stories of both heartache and joy. Countless gatherings inside those walls have bid tearful farewells to people who loved, and were loved by, this community. And many couples have started their lives together here.
Now the old church has a new name. It’s a little hard for some of us to call it the “Community Church” after calling it the “Congregational Church” all of our lives.
9-20-01
Once again I am indebted to Gayle Dixon for the material for the next few History Corners. I’m basing them on a paper written by R.E. Clabby who worked for the Forest Service for many years. About the only tidbit of information I can find on him at the moment was that he married Genevieve Robertson, the daughter of William T. Robertson of Bear, in 1915.
Clabby begins:
A lot of water bas gone under the bridge since September, 1906 when I began my first assignment on the Weiser Forest Reserve. Many changes took place, during my time and since, from what it was when first created. Vast areas of non-timbered lands were eliminated, homesteading under the act of June 11, 1906 reduced the acreage considerably, and slices were cut off for administration by other forests, even the name has been changed. While it may seem to the "old timer" that some of these changes should not have been made, I feel that they have all been made after due consideration and .have all been for the best interests of management and progress.
My first assignment was as laborer (two dollars per day and board) on the survey of the west boundary of the Weiser [Forest], beginning at the mouth of Wild Horse Creek and extending north along Snake River .
J.B. Lafferty was Supervisor and Johnnie Jorgenson was his assistant. John H. Clark, a Civil Engineer was in charge of the work. Jorgenson accompanied Clark and myself from Weiser to Council where we outfitted for the work ahead.
Our crew when we started out consisted of John H. Clark, Basil Hinkley, Dan Bisbee, Harold Taylor, George Coffin (Cook), Charles Dennison (Packer) and R.E. Clabby.
[Clabby listed himself as a member of the group. Dan Bisbee was a Wildhorse resident and carried the mail to that community for a while.]
Our progress was quite satisfactory until we reached the mouth of Kinney Creek, where the line crossed Snake River, had we followed it, as shown by the Proclamation Map we would have been working in Oregon. As it happened we discarded the map and proceeded to meander Snake River.
We experienced a lot of difficulty and hardship in running the line from Kinney Creek north; none of us knew the country. Camps were made on the main ridge along the roads, and our work was on Snake River about 5,000 feet below. Our camp was established at the old town of Helena from where we ran the line as far north as Eagle Bar. That was quite an endurance test, walking down to Snake River to do about 4 to 6 hours work and then climb back to camp.
On one occasion, we failed to connect with our camp, so we made our way to John Eckles' Big Bar Ranch, where be put us up for the night. Getting an early start the next morning we projected our line to a point about the mouth of Kinney Creek. About 4 o' clock we started to climb up to the "White Monument,” the landmark where camp was supposed to be. For several reasons—the long hard climb, getting lost in the cliffs after darkness set in, six inches of snow on the ground, and sheer exhaustion—we built a fire and laid out from about 11 o’clock until daylight, when we resumed our search for camp. We found that we had come within about a ten-minute walk from Al Towsley's Cabin, where he had plenty of accommodations for all of us. How those sour dough biscuits disappeared after we began to satisfy our hunger after a 24-hour fast.
From Helena our camp was to be moved down towards the mouth of Granite Creek. Having no airplanes in those days, and just outlines of trails to follow, it was necessary for the pack string to travel by way of Landore, Smith Mountain, Black Lake, Iron Springs, Carbonate Hill, Horse Heaven, and hence down to the river. It was planned as a two-day trip, but no one knew the country. However the packer, cook, and one of the crew were to make this trip, while the balance of the party was to continue the line down the river to the mouth of Granite Creek.
Taylor and Hinkley found the work too strenuous and had quit, being replaced by the Holbrook brothers. Our first night out we laid around a campfire in the head of Brush Creek. Consumed the balance of the food we started from camp with, for supper.
[According to an article in High Country Magazine (Sept 1979 p. 18) the work of climbing up and down the 5,000 foot difference in elevation so exhausted the crew that they adopted the practice of surveying one day and then resting the next. Clabby doesn’t substantiate this claim in his account.]
I’ll continue Clabby’s story next week.
History Corner for 9-27-01
The second day we marked a line down the ridge between Granite Creek and Snake River, arriving at the Mark [Mart] Hibbs Cabin on Granite Creek about sundown. There was no one home, but it appeared that the cabin was being inhabited. With some hesitation we pulled the latch string and entered the cabin. Our next thought was to get something to eat. Clark agreed to make the bread the other fellows began washing up dishes, peeling spuds, etc. Having but little knowledge of domestic science I volunteered to get some milk from the cow up in the corral. We were just nicely organized for supper when Hibbs rode in; he wanted to know who we were and what we were doing. Upon being told, we were welcomed to the best he had, glad to have us and glad also, that the cow had been milked.
Hibbs had killed two buck deer back in the "Dry Diggins Basin," and the next day he packed them down to the cabin. He left a good supply of the venison with us, after which he left for Joseph or some point in Oregon where his wife and children were living on account of school for the children. From there he was going to pack in his winter supply of food and salt for his cattle. I well remember that his larder was pretty well depleted in some articles of food. We were out of tobacco and there was no salt, sugar, or coffee, but plenty of flour, spuds, carrots and venison. Of course we were going to make out fine as our packer would be in right away with everything we needed—even a pair of shoes for myself, as I was absolutely barefoot.
Day after day went by but the pack train failed to arrive, and no word from the packer. That venison and bread became harder to eat each meal. During this waiting period, we continued the line down the river to a point below Three Creeks, and the Hilsley Bros. Ranch. I had to borrow Leon Holbrook's shoes to keep on this last piece of work.
After waiting about two weeks for the pack string with our camp to arrive, we decided to abandon the project and return to Landore. Dan Bisbee, who had been assigned to help the packer, arrived at the Hibbs ranch the night before, making the trip from Landore in two days. Our trip out to Landore was quite an endurance test also but uneventful otherwise. From Hibbs' to the cabin on Oxbow Creek required about 15 hours travel time, as we had to climb back to the head of Brush Creek, about 5,000 elevation, to get around the Box Canyon of Snake River. [Now known as Hells Canyon.]
Upon Clark's recommendation, after returning to Weiser, Snake River was proclaimed the boundary of the forest from Kinney Creek north.
My first ranger district assignment was on the Hornet Creek District, spring 1910, with headquarters at the present administration, but this was only for a few weeks, when I was transferred to the Bear District to take over the job being held by Ranger Robertson. [Arthur Robertson was one of the first forest rangers in the Bear area. The Hornet District headquarters that Clabby refers to was just north of where the Council-Cuprum Road turns north from Hornet Creek. At the time Clabby is writing about (1910) there was probably only a frame house and a barn here. Other buildings were added later. Use of the facilities were discontinued about 1990.]
It was about July 1, 1910 that I went to Bear. I had a fairly good knowledge of the country, while on the above-mentioned survey and also for a few months the season before as Forest Guard under Robertson.
There were no administrative improvements on the district. The Rocky Mtn. Bell System had a line from Council into Landore, making telephone communications available at Bear and Cuprum also. Landore consisted of a general store and post office, hotel, livery stable, a doctor, Wm. Brown, and about 15 families. Pete Kramer, an old pioneer mail contractor—carried the mail from Council. The Bear P.O. was located at the Wm. T. Robertson ranch. The route from Bear followed the old Landore road past the Bear Ranger Station and the Frank Shelton Ranch. Mining interests had built a road into Black Lake and Iron Springs—as well as from Landore to the old Peacock Mine at Helena and also down to Ballard's Ferry on Snake River.
Continued next week.
Photo 98323 Caption: Bud and Charley Groseclose at the Bear Ranger Station—date unknown.
History Corner 10-4-01
A few weeks ago I wrote about the role of fire in the forests. In describing the way the Indians burned the countryside, I neglected to address the role of lightning, which undoubtedly caused many fires. In R.E. Clabby’s account of his experiences in this area, he gives us a small window onto the nature of fires before our present buildup of fuel, and on the way the Forest Service responded to them.
I received my first fire fighting experience on a fire on Boulder Creek in 1909. I
discovered it from the Pollock Mountain Ridge. Being a little afraid to take my horses down through the windfalls, I turned them loose and took off on foot to suppress the blaze. Conditions seemed to be just right that hot afternoon and it had spread over quite an area before I reached it. Right there I received 16 days practical experience in fire suppression, which was to be to my advantage later.
In June 1910 I attended a joint meeting between the personnel of the Weiser and Idaho Forests at McCall. This, and a previous meeting I had attended in Boise, consisted largely of round table talks, the reading and discussion of the Use Book, etc. Timber cutting was given high priority on the program. At that time a ranger could issue free use of timber to settlers for improvement of their claim up to fifty dollars, but were unauthorized to make sales of any kind. The Forest Supervisor could make sales up to a certain amount.
I recall at this meeting the subject of fire fighting brought out the feasibility of fighting fire at night. I stated that providing that a fellow had a lantern or kindled small fires along the line so as to see where to go and avoid pitfalls in the dark, it was a good idea, but I got the laugh for advancing such an idea.
Soon after, I took charge of the Bear Creek District, which embraced Wild Horse, Lick, Boulder, and Round Valley Creeks and the country west to Snake River, about July I, 1910. Lawrence S. Wallace, Forest Guard from Des Moines, Iowa reported for duty. He was a congenial fellow about my own age. He was enthusiastic about the work but unfamiliar with the mountains and lacking in experience. He was to act as a smoke chaser and work on trails in the vicinity of North Star Butte.
It was about the 28th of July we established his camp at Indian Springs—just got his tent pitched and things assembled inside, when one of those old fashioned electric storms occurred. The thunder roared and lighting flashed, but the down pour of rain failed to materialize. However, we weathered the storm in good shape and thought nothing more about for the time being, as it never occurred to us there was any possibility of fire resulting from lightning.
The next morning we packed up and went down on Boulder Creek, located quite a section of trail for him to work on as time permitted. We also did a little fishing that evening with good results. The next day we packed up and made our way around Pollock Mountain to the Indian Grave, where we camped.
[This “Indian grave” is somewhat of a mystery. It is a grave, or at least appears to be, and is marked on the earliest Forest maps as such. Pollock Mountain is six miles, by air, southwest of Pinehurst. The grave is on the Rapid River (west) side of the mountain, in the Fry Pan Creek drainage. Gayle Dixon researched the site for the Forest Service a while back. She found a photo of the grave that was taken in 1935, studied the background in the photo, and found the site by using old maps and looking for the features shown in the photo.
Knowledge of just who is buried there has been lost. One would assume that one or more Indians are buried there. One local resident told Gayle there was one account of there being four Indians interred there. Other rumors say an old time miner may rest in this grave.
The 1935 photo shows an Alpine Fir tree growing up through the grave which is surrounded by a rail fence. Today the tree has grown until it virtually hides the remains of the fence. An ancient horseshoe lies embedded in the bark where the tree has grown around it. Could this be a clue to the occupant of the grave? There is a campsite at a spring below the grave that has been used for many years. This is probably the place where Clabby mentioned that he and Wallace camped.]
The following day was Sunday. We kind of slept in. After breakfast we shaved and cleaned up a little, then went out to look after our horses. From the top of the ridge we discovered two fires off toward the head of Squirrel Creek. [Squirrel Creek is just northeast of Pollock Mountain and drains toward the Little Salmon River.]
We immediately got busy and made our way to these fires where we worked until Monday night when we considered these to be safe to leave. From our camp at the Indian Grave we thought we could see the smoke of a fire on the ridge between Fry Pan Creek and Rapid River. The next day we made quite a thorough search for this fire but failed to locate it. It was agreed that Wallace should return to the Squirrel Creek fires again before returning to his base camp at Indian Springs.
I continued across Rapid River and up to Black Lake Mill. This camp was running with about 40 or 50 men. The foreman, Gus Lapke, told me there was a fire on Lick Creek. [Gus Lapke was an old timer in the Seven Devils Mining District, and probably worked a good share of the mines there.] As is was late in the evening then, I stayed at the camp until morning and then continued on to Bear to find there had been five fires in that locality, all of which were out but one, located above the Carrick Diggins on Bear Creek. [The Carrick family had a gold mine north of Bear.]
Nick Phelan, who was then in charge of the Hornet Creek District, had been fighting these fires and was there to help me on this one, but it had gained a pretty good size, so it was decided to go to Landore and pick up a crew of the miners there. Only a few "second raters" volunteered. The others contended that 35 cents per hour was not enough money. This fire kept spreading and it required several days to get it under control. In the mean time a forest guard, C.E. Favre reported for duty, and in the matter of a few days we had this fire under control.
Continued next week.
10-11-01
R.E. Clabby’s memoir, continued from last week.
Through some means of communication it was learned that there was a big fire in the bend of Boulder Creek, further on in Round Valley Creek, and one on the ridge between Fry Pan Creek and Rapid River (the same fire Wallace and I had hunted for) that all were under control with the exception of the latter one, but it was reported that Wallace and three men were working on it.
It was on August 20th that I went on to this Rapid River fire. I arrived at Wallace's camp about 8 o'clock in the evening. He had 3 or 4 men with him. They all were of the opinion they had this fire pretty under control and should have it safe early the next day. Early the next morning we took up work where they had left off the night before. It was easy trenching in the light lodge pole litter, but no one knew how much trench was necessary to enclose the area.
After eating my lunch, about 11 o'clock, I set out to make a thorough investigation. A lot of the burned over area was dead and I could walk right through it. However, there was a lot of smoke in Rapid River below the forks, and I wanted to make sure the fire had not crossed the river, but I thought it impossible for such an occurrence as the river was 40 feet wide. I had gotten out of the burn and was descending the steep slope of Rapid River fast. From a commanding point I sat down to watch for a break in the smoke to see if the fire was burning on the other side. I was soon rewarded, as I could see the fire was spreading rapidly on the other side. I also discovered that the flames were leaping up the slopes below me. It was there that the race began. That fire gave me the best race for my life I ever had. The air was full of smoke and dust and the wind was blowing a gale, it was blinding, dry standing trees were being blown over on all sides of me. The heat was becoming intense. However, I managed to out run it and reach the burn just as the flames were licking at my heels.
Wallace and his crew were in camp with the horses, packing up getting ready to pull for the open country for safety. They were relieved that I had gotten back safely. This fire spread over an area estimated at 20,000 acres. Two bands of sheep belonging to Holt and Rhoades of Rig gins were trapped; about 80% of then were suffocated. We estimated that embers from this fire were carried for a distance of 5 miles.
C. E. Favre (now chief of grazing R4) was in charge of a crew in the vicinity of Iron Springs. Wallace and I with a crew of about 30 men worked the Boulder and Squirrel Creek section. Snow and rain which occurred September 17 put an end to this fire. The men on this fire usually put in about 15 hours a day. There was no night work. Ed Brown ("Dirty Shirt") was the cook. He, Wallace and myself slept together in the same bed. John Roui, a homesteader from "Windy Ridge" built the fire for the cook about 3:30 each morning, for which he was allowed an extra hour. After getting the fire started, water on for mush and coffee, he would call for Brown. At the camp on Lonesome Creek, the fireplace was about 50 feet down the slope from our bed. Roui had built the fire and it was blazing up nicely. He went to the Creek below to get some water. Wallace raised up in bed, then dashed down the slope to the fire in his bare feet. He picked up a water sack full of water and extinguished the fire completely---came back and crawled back into bed. He had done this in his sleep, and knew nothing about it the next day, but he had bruised his heel which became sore and bothered him the rest of the fall. You should have heard Roui, the fire builder, he thought it was a joke, but he did not take it as such. However, he never found out who had played the joke. Some of the old timers who worked on this fire were as follows: Joe Saulsbery, Sam Stephens, Frank Luzoun, Ed Brown, Dan Moore, Charles Anderson, Mel Hubbard, Howard Elliot, Frank Laib and others which I fail to recall.
I don’t know much about Joe Salsbery except that he lived in or around Cuprum for about 20 years. He moved to Missouri in 1925.
Sam Stephens was first a Seven Devils miner, and in the 1920s married Pete Kramer’s ex-wife, Martha, and ran the Stephens Hotel in Cuprum. After that, they operated the Pomona Hotel for awhile.
Frank Lauzon was another one of those Seven Devils miners who seemed to have a finger in every mining operation in the district. He was known for his wild, entertaining stories.
There is no way to know for sure, but the Dan Moore mentioned here may well have been the Dan Moore who shot and killed Sam Harphan in Council ten years earlier. Moore was calling the dances at a new hotel, and Harphan (who was drunk) attacked Moore for calling the wrong kind of dances. (The whole story starts on page 69 of my book, “Landmarks.”)
Ed “Dirty Shirt” Brown drove Kramer’s stage between Council and the Summit stage stop four years after this fire story. How he got the nickname, I don’t know, but it’s not hard to make a guess. I’m sure he was a miner as well.
Charlie Anderson (1856 – 1943) was one of the earliest miners to explore the Seven Devils mining district, and filed the earliest claims to several mines there. He was a life-long bachelor, and raised cattle and ran the Lick Creek stage stop (now the OX Ranch Lick Creek headquarters) from1898 to 1900. He bought a half interest in Kramer’s stage line in 1899.
I know nothing about Mel Hubbard. The only information I can find about Howard Elliot is that he graduated from the 8th grade in Council in 1906. And I have nothing about Frank Laib.
Next week—the last section of R.E. Clabby’s memoir.
Update on “Landmarks” and P&IN Railroad books: Since the Boise company who was printing both “Landmarks” and the P&IN book went bankrupt, Don Dopf and I have been in touch with another printer in Denver. We hope to have copies of both books in a few weeks. Everything seems to take longer than planned, and I apologize for the delay.
10-18-01
This is the last installment of R.E. Clabby’s writings about his experiences as an early Forest Service employee in the Council area.
Deer were plentiful, but I do not recall that they were any more numerous than during later years. Blue grouse were in abundance. During August and September, a fellow riding along the trail would be within free shot of grouse all day long. We never made it a point to hunt them. We would make our camp where wood, water and horse feed were available and the grouse would be there. It was not uncommon to shoot them from our bed early in the morning.
L. F. Kneipp made the first grazing inspection of the Weiser in 1909. It was he who established _________ allotment boundaries between the sheep men. I do not recall
any controversies that resulted. Of course there was a little dissatisfaction with some of the operators who thought they should have been given a larger area. Gifford Pinchot visited the Weiser in 1908. I met him at the old Evergreen Station. This was the terminus of the P & I. N. Ry. at that time.
[The railroad ended at the open flat east of the Weiser River just down stream from the present Evergreen Park. Construction continued to New Meadows in 1909-’10.]
I worked under the following supervisors: [J.B.] Lafferty [1906-‘20], [Lyle] Watts [1920-22], [W.B.] Rice [1922-?] and [John] Rafael. All were fine fellows to work for with the exception of the latter who wanted to plan your work for you and know your innermost thoughts and actions. He thought nothing had been done or accomplished on the forest until he arrived on the scene. The following deputy supervisors worked on the Weiser during this time: Campbell, Pearson and Kogiol, and forest Assistants C. G. Smith and A. E. Oman. I knew and worked with all the old pioneer rangers who were as follows: [E.B.] Snow, Irwin, [Arthur] Robertson, Rawson, Evans, Phelan, Thomas, Paddock and Rutledge, and I had charge of the following districts at different times, Hornet, Bear, Indian Valley and Price Valley.
The following trails and improvements were constructed under my supervision: the Lonesome Ridge Trail from the Indian grave to Rapid River; another trail from a point below the Paradise Creek Crossing on Rapid River to the Pollock Mountain Ridge near the head of Hell Creek, the Squirrel Creek Trail from the head of Squirrel Creek around the east slope of Pollock Mountain to Smoky Campground and the section of (Trunk or French?) Trail from Mill Creek Station, up the little Weiser to Pegmatite Junction on the Middle Fork.
Pegmatite Junction was a name given to the forks of the trail after an old mica prospector, Gil Rhinehart, living a short distance below on Mica Hill, who was always talking about pegmatite. Echols Mountain was named after a Virginia sheepherder, Minor Echols. Joes Gap, a point between Deep Creek and Six Lake Basin, was named after another sheep owner, Joe Allen who had an allotment in Six Lake Basin and the head of Granite Creek.
A great many changes have taken place since the Weiser was first placed under administration with J. B. Lafferty, the one ranger in charge, who laid the corner stone. I don't claim that my work was outstanding or even average but I do claim to have been instrumental in bringing about many of these changes.
That’s the last of Clabby’s writings. It’s too bad more old timers didn’t record their memories of the way this area used to be and the things that happened here.
I have sent the digital files of my Landmarks book to another printer in Denver. I’m hoping they will be able to start printing soon. It seems like everything takes forever to get done.
I just put the finishing touches on a new historic video. The process started several years ago when Sally Thurston Clark brought me a video made from movie footage shot by her father, Dr. Thurston, in the 1930s. Then Beth Van Hoesen brought me a video of 1920s and ‘30s movie footage filmed by her family when they owned Mesa. Finally Roger and Pete Swanstrom brought me video footage of their family movies from the 1930s and ‘40s. I combined all three to make a video that is a little over an hour and a half long. It has some amazing scenes on it: the Circle C Ranch, 1936, branding calves and shipping cattle; glimpses of the road to New Meadows before it was paved; Gene Perkins and Dr. Thurston playing around with their “snowmobiles” at the east end of town; Mesa Orchards in the late 1930s showing the tramway in operation, loading RR cars, farming between the trees, and more; raising the Lost Valley Dam in 1929 with horse-drawn scaper and Fresno; parades in Council, and more. The Museum is selling the video for $15.00. They are available at Buckshot Mary’s in Council. For those of you out of town, I can mail you one if you send $17.00 to me at Box 252 Council.
10-25-01
I should finally have more copies of my Landmarks general history book in a week or so. I know you’ve heard that before, but this time the word comes from a different printer.
Speaking of my book, as I was editing the first draft from the printer, Gayle Dixon brought me some information that caused me to change something that I had written it. It had been my impression that the Nez Perce and Shoshoni tribes had a fairly peaceful coexistence in this area, but was I ever wrong. In the main text of my book, I mention a battle between these tribes just north of present-day New Meadows. The article that Gayle brought me made me realize that this was just the tip of the iceberg, so I added more information in a footnote.
The article describes the work of Alice Fletcher, the first anthropologist to study the Nez Perce Indians. Fletcher spent four seasons, from 1889 to 1892, working among the Nez Perce as a Special Agent of the U.S. government, allotting land. Using information that she gathered, she created a map showing 78 locations of old Nez Perce villages and campsites in west central Idaho and eastern Oregon.
Fletcher worked with a number of Nez Perce people, but her main source of information was a man named Kew-kew’-lu-yah, whose English name was Jonathan Williams, although he was usually called Billy Williams. Billy was a tribal elder, born about 1815, and raised in a time when first hand accounts of Lewis and Clark were still being told around winter campfires.
Occasional feuds broke out between the Nez Perce and other tribes to the north and west, but for the most part relationships with these tribes were peaceful. To the east, across the Lolo Pass in northwestern Montana, was the territory of the Blackfoot tribe. They stand out as one of the most aggressive and violent Indian tribes in American history. They pretty much terrorized their neighbors, and made bloody raids—murdering, robbing and taking slaves--far in every direction. I think it was a Blackfoot war party that captured Sacajawea from the Lemhi Shoshoni in eastern Idaho. When the Nez Perce journeyed east to hunt buffalo, they had to be careful to avoid the Blackfeet. If they could make it through Blackfoot territory to that of the friendly Crow tribe, they could hunt buffalo in peace.
The Shoshoni tribe occupied the area just south of the Nez Perce, including the Council area. The Seven Devils Mountains and the Salmon River formed a general border between the two tribes. The Shoshoni seem to be the only exclusive enemies of the Nez Perce. During the 1700s, the Shoshoni frequently invaded Nez Perce territory, causing many bloody battles. Seven Nez Perce villages were totally destroyed, and four others depopulated, in these wars.
As a rule, Nez Perce villages were situated on the banks of a stream, and the inhabitants considered themselves as kindred. Marriage between the people of a village did not occur. Each village is said to have been governed by hereditary chiefs, and in every group of villages one village was the acknowledged “leader,” regulating the time for hunting, fishing and digging roots. All of the villages of a group hunted together, generally in a specific area. They also fought together if warring against an enemy. If one village was attacked, the others of the group came quickly to its defense.
The southernmost Nez Perce group (band?) is labeled in Fletcher’s writing as “Group 1.” The name of this group has been lost. All of its villages were near the Snake River and became extinct before about 1800. Their names and locations were described by Billy Williams, and are shown as numbers 1,2,3, 73,74,75 and 76 on the map Fletcher made. The Nez Perce of this group sometimes hunted, fished, and camped in the Seven Devils and the upper reaches of the Weiser and Little Salmon Rivers. There is even evidence of Nez Perce habitation as far south as the mouth of the Weiser River. The members of Group 1 were considered as mixed with other tribes (probably mostly Shoshoni). The locations of the villages described here are disputed by some anthropologists.
Village #1: Kaus-pa-ah-loo. Situated on the creek they called Kaus-pa-al[Pine Creek], which empties into the Snake River from the Oregon side. It leads up to a bench, or prairie, where kaus (also spelled cous) grew plentifully. The village was said to have been large, but from continual fighting with the Shoshoni, who wanted the kaus grounds, all the usual inhabitants had been killed or driven off, and the place was deserted before 1800.
Village #2: Tak-in-pal-loo. Situated on the creek called Tak-in-pa-al [also in the Pine Creek basin]. The village was located near a deep, quiet place in the stream where the salmon were thick during spawning. “Tak-in” is the Nez Perce term for such a place in a stream. Deer were plentiful along this creek, and because of this and the valuable fishing hole, the village suffered constant attacks from the Shoshoni, and became extinct. It is said that about 1800 there was one old man still living who had belonged to this village.
Village #3: How-pa-loo. The name comes from the name of the stream they called How-pa’-al [this part of Pine Creek] along which the village stood. [Hown = a hole. Pa-al = leading to.] The stream was full of rapids and holes where fish hid. This village was the “leader” village of its group, and is said to have been the largest and most important. Members of this village directed the time of hunting. The village was completely destroyed before 1800.
Village #73: Ky-yah-pos-poo. From ky-yah-pos, a bush, the wood of which was used for making baskets. This village had been extinct for so long that only its location was known at the time of the Lewis and Clark expedition.
Village #74: Ko-sik’h’-poo. Near this village [probably on Sheep Creek or Granite Creek] a soft, workable stone was available.
Village #75: Ko-sik’h’-poo. Bearing the same name as #74, both village sites became extinct so long ago that it is not known whether or not they were both inhabited by the same clan. Tradition says they were a very brave people.
Village #76: Ko-lat’-pa-loo. Nothing is known about this village on Wildhorse Creek except that it is traditionally said to have belonged to the same group as the others listed here. In talking to Bruce Addington last summer, he mentioned seeing depressions that he thought were the remains of Indian house pits somewhere in No Business Canyon along Wildhorse. Does anyone else out there know about these? I would really like to see them. It’s really sad that there has been so little archaeological exploration in this whole area around Council that we really don’t know much about the native use of the land here.
Caption for map:
This map shows the part of Nez Perce territory west of Council along the Snake River as drawn by Billy William and recorded by Alice Fletcher in 1891. It isn’t very accurate or to scale, but gives a fair idea of the locations of former Nez Perce villages.
11-01-01
This is kind of a follow up on last week’s article about Nez Perce villages along the Snake River.
Dick Parker called to tell me about some house pit impressions that were along Kinney Creek before the dams were built and flooded the location. He remembers them being about 12 feet across with a few remnants of charcoal from long ago fires. He also mentioned an Indian grave that was exposed on a hillside at Kinney Creek. The grave was not far up the creek from the Snake, and was across the creek from a cabin. The grave had been dug into a rockslide. The body was curled up in a fetal position, and the only artifacts in the grave were a few beads.
Last week I mentioned Billy Williams, the Nez Perce man who provided much of the information for a map of old village sites. Billy told a story of four Nez Perce men who made a journey to St. Louis in 1832.
The men were: 1) Tip-ye-lak-na-jek-nim (Speaking Eagle). He was an old chief who had met Lewis and Clark on their return trip. 2) Ka-ou-pu (Man of the morning, or daylight). He was a Flathead and nearly as old as Speaking Eagle. 3) He-yonts-to-han (Rabbit-skin leggings). This young man was the nephew of Speaking Eagle. 4) Ta-wis-sis-sim-nin (old or worn-down horns of the buffalo). This young man was the son of Billy’s father’s eldest sister.
The motive for these men to make a journey of a couple thousand miles seems strange to the modern mind, but illustrates a mind set common to Native Americans at the time. They wanted to find out if the sun was the father and the earth the mother of the human race. Some English trappers had told him that this was the case, but he had his doubts. He wondered how the sun could make a boy. This teaching also contradicted some things that Lewis and Clark had said. The men decided to follow Lewis and Clark’s trail to the east and ask them questions concerning the sun and the earth.
Billy was about sixteen years old when the men left on their journey. He, his mother and his siblings went to see the men off when they departed. It was early summer, and the four men went over the Lolo Trail just after the snow had melted enough to make it over. They reached the Salish (Flathead) country where two men of that tribe joined them. One of them traveled with the group for two days, then decided he was too old to travel that far and turned back. The other kept going for another few days, but also decided he was too old, and turned back. The men were in a hurry, and hardly stopped to hunt for sufficient food. They discarded their weapons to avoid trouble with tribes along the way. The trip took several months, and the leaves were falling by the time they reached St. Louis looking gaunt and worn out.
No one in St. Louis could communicate with these men, as none of the Indians spoke English and no one there knew sign language. The men recognized the name “St. Louis,” so they knew they were in the right place. If they walked anywhere, they became lost, so they stayed in one place, sitting down. They wanted to find Lewis and Clark, but were afraid to search, and were baffled as to how to go about it. In an effort to communicate with people, they made a sign by putting their hands over their eyes as if blind, and pointed to the west, making a movement like the sun slowly going to the west. Then they made drawings to try to show that they came from the west.
Speaking Eagle became depressed and cried constantly. He said, “I am not crying about my body, but about my people who must still sit in the darkness.” He became sick, and died with his hands over his eyes. The Flathead man never spoke after Speaking Eagle died, and he died soon afterward. The two younger men slowly began to be able to communicate with the white people by sign language. After this, people began take an interest in the purpose of their visit, and someone wrote down the story they told of their journey. The famous painter, George Catlin, came and photographed them, and later wrote an account of his encounter with these Indians.
The Indians caused quite a stir in St. Louis, and many people came to see them. The white people called them “Nez Perces,” and this was the first time these men has heard that name. The two surviving Nez Perce eventually started their journey home, living on berries much of the way. After crossing the Rockies, Ta-wis-sis-sim-nin died and was buried in the mountains near the headwaters of the Clearwater River. He-yonts-to-han was unwilling to return to his people. He cut his hair, wore white men’s clothes and lived with trappers.
The story of the four Indians who came to St. Louis looking for answers to life’s mysteries spread in the eastern U.S. and was used to arouse the zeal of missionaries. It motivated Henry Spaulding and Marcus Whitman and their families to travel to what would later be northern Idaho and eastern Washington as missionaries in 1835. Their journey showed that the Rocky Mountains were not an impassible barrier to settlement and encouraged the idea that the western part of the continent could become part of the U.S.
Billy Williams eventually attended the Spaulding School at Lapwai. He later acted as a scout for the army units sent to avenge the Whitman massacre of 1847, and continued as a military scout and messenger for several years. After this service, he returned to his home in the Kamiah Valley. His oldest son became a Presbyterian minister and was the pastor at Kamiah until his death in the late 1800s. Billy’s other children all became Nez Perce tribal leaders.
Don't forget about the video that is available by mail or at Buckshot Mary’s. It shows some incredible local footage from the 1930s and ‘40s.
11-08-01
Finally! I have books! I got a shipment of my “Landmarks” general history of the Council area. They are available at Buckshot Mary’s in Council or from me. (P.O. Box 252, Council, 83612---208-253-4582 or dafisk@ctcweb.net) Price: $22.85, plus tax if in Idaho ($24.00 total). If shipped, add $4.00.
This is the last of my series taken from the manuscript about the Nez Perce—just a few interesting odds and ends.
The Nez Perce name for themselves in their language is Nim-me’-poo (nim-me = our own; poo = people). The Flatheads in Montana called the Nez Perce Sa-hap’-tin, and the Nez Perce called the Flatheads Sa’-lish. The custom of nose piercing was common among the Indian tribes along the Columbia River (and teenagers today) but had died out in the Nez Perce tribe years before Alice Fletcher came on the scene. Even the oldest people didn’t have a personal memory of their fellow Nez Perce having pierced noses. How they were assigned this name, I don’t remember exactly, but it was a mistake by some white person(s) who should have known better.
The territory once occupied by the Nez Perce can be roughly described as a basin between 100 and 150 miles across, with the Bitterroot Mountains at the east edge and the Blue Mountains to the west. The northern part of their area extended to the divide between the Columbia and Salmon Rivers. The southern “border” could roughly be described as the divide between the Salmon River and any other branches of the Snake River drainage (including the Weiser and Payette Rivers). The Nez Perce territory was (and is) broken by deep canyons with steep sides, including the most dramatic of all—Hells Canyon. Camas was a major food source and grew on the upper plateaus, such as around the Grangeville area. The name of the Clearwater River seems to come from the Nez Perce name for it, Ey-ky’h-kinneki, meaning “coming from the clear or white side.” This was to contrast it from the Snake River, which they called Na-ka-la-ka-kinneki, meaning “from the muddy side.”
The villages located on Fletcher’s map, as indicated by Billy Williams and other tribal elders, were occupied only during the winter months when the Nez Perce were not traveling to gather various food items. In April and May the kaus was ready to dig. June was occupied with fishing, camas roots were harvested in July, and hunting began in August and continued until the winter snows.
The winter dwellings of the Nez Perce were longhouses, built over a place where the soil was excavated two feet or more below the surface. Long poles formed a framework over which reed mats and rushes were bound. The main poles were arranged in groups of three, and each group marked a family section of the longhouse. Fires were kept in the center, and between every two firs and entryway projected from the lodge. A mat hung at each end of this hallway to keep out the cold. Outside of each section was a kind of shed used for storage of wood and other belongings. Some longhouses were as much as 200 feet long and housed 15 to 20 families. The discipline of children in a village was delegated to certain men appointed by the chiefs. They were called “whippers,” and there was one or more for each longhouse.
All the marriageable women lived together in a semi-subterranean structure roofed with heavy timbers. It was entered through a narrow hole in the dome-like roof by way of a “ladder” made from a small tree. The tree’s lopped off branches formed the steps. The ladder was only put in place when it was in use. This house was called Al-we’-tas, meaning “the abode of those without husbands.” The young women and widows living in the Al-we’-tas went every morning to the longhouse and helped their families with household chores such as preparing food and hauling wood and water. When these jobs were done, they returned to the Al-we’-tas to weave mats, make clothing and other chores. Every village had an Al-we’-tas, which was always respected by all the men. The custom of the Al-we’-tas disappeared about the middle of the 1700s.
11-15-01 Since the article about the four Nez Perce men who went to St. Louis, Mrs. George Johnson (Leona, a former Council resident) sent me a flier related to those four men. It says, “One hundred and sixty-nine years later the Bible they should have received then has shown up. It will be shown and can be viewed in Lapwai, ID November 16-18, 2001 at N.A.M.E. Church, Main St., Lapwai, ID, 7:00 PM—With Pastor Lockly Bremner & Dean Buffalo.” Leana’s son, Chris Johnson, was somewhat involved in this Bible venture.
Rita Blevins wrote to add some interesting sidelights on the P&IN book:
“My parents farm at the mouth of Manns Creek where I was born, sat on a hill overlooking the valley and the Pin line. Rebecah was about a quarter of a mile from our house, and we were so accustomed to the trains that we could almost set our clocks by them.”
“After I was married and lived in town, I would ride in the Galloping Goose to Rebecah to spend the day with my parents. The fare was a dime each way. Louie and I knew most of the men who worked on the line and socialized with them and their wives. Sig Welker and Warren Lewis were steady employees on the Main U.P. line and only worked on the Pin for a short time. [You may remember the story in the book of how Warren Lewis rode the runaway log car from Glendale almost to Council.] Sig left Weiser in the late ‘60s and passed away a few years later. Warren Lewis, whose home was in Nampa, came to Idaho from the deep South and brought with him a true Southern drawl. He passed away about a month ago at age 97. Both men were well liked and nice to know.”
Now for another one of those questions that I throw out to my readers occasionally and hope for some feedback. Rita wrote: “Have you ever heard of Lucille Cave that was located on the east side of the Salmon River below Riggins? When I was a young girl I visited the cave—a fascinating place with some stalactites, one dripping water into a perfectly formed standing bowl. In the north end of the cave was a beautiful little lake that went back underground. In later years I had hoped to see it again, but found the site heavily covered with brush so I did not go up the hill to where I thought it was. I wonder if there is an old timer in the area that could tell us about it?” So…there it is. I have never heard of this cave, but it sure sounds interesting. If you have information about this cave, please let me know. (P.O. Box 252, Council 83612…dafisk@ctcweb.net….208-253-4582)
While I’m at it, Afton Logue Fanger sent me a photo about a year ago. It shows the old feed store in Council. She said her uncle, Harvey Jones, ran the store in 1945 and ’46. Guy Renolds took it over after that. If I’m not mistaken, I believe that is the old Congregational Church in the background on the left. This feed store stood on the southeast corner of Galena and Illinois until it burned in…what, the early ‘70s?
The other photo shown here came from George M. Winkler who lives in Oroville, California. It shows the old George A. Winkler homestead three miles north of town. The Winkler house in the background sat near the spot where Abraham Beckstead later built a large ranch house later occupied by John and Myrtle Gould. The camera seems to be looking west, and the fence on the right seems to be in about the same place where the present fence spans the creek. Just outside the back door of the Gould house there is still an old well that is said to have been the Winkler’s. There is some speculation that the “smoke house” shed still standing just northwest of the Gould house was part of the original house shown here. The Gould family has tried to match up features in this photo to the shed, but can’t see that the buildings share enough features to say they are the same building.
Caption for feed store should probably just say something like “The old feed store in Council on the southeast corner of Illinois Ave. and Galena St.”
The other photo: “The George A. Winkler homestead, established in 1878. The date of the photo is not known.”
11-23-01
A couple of people called me about the Lucille Cave. I’m told it’s located about 100 yards above the highway about a half-mile this side of a little restaurant or store at Lucille. It’s more or less visible from the highway. After living here all my life, it seems like I would have at least heard of just about all the interesting places within a couple hour’s drive of Council. But that’s far from the case. I just heard about a defunct coal mine somewhere north of Monday Gulch at Indian Valley. A shaft is said to have gone down a considerable distance and then branch into a tunnel or tunnels. It’s all closed in now, but a few pieces of partially formed coal chunks are still lying around.
I’d like to learn and write about more interesting spots in the area. For instance, what’s the real story on the Devil’s Inkwell on Cuddy Mountain? How deep is it really? What is the geologic phenomenon behind it?
This week I’m going to start a series about the lost “Blue Bucket Mine.” When I was running around the West playing music for a living, my band played at the Blue Bucket Restaurant lounge in Umatilla, Oregon a couple of times. (The smokiest bar I’ve ever been in.) It was there that I read a short synopsis of the Blue Bucket Mine story for the first time. Actually there is more than one version of the story. I have run across two of them in the Adams County Leader—one printed in 1927 and one from 1936. I’ll start with the 1936 story from the August 28th issue. It was evidently copied from an Oregon newspaper.
How a honeymooning couple participated in the rediscovery of Oregon’s fabulous Blue Bucket mine was revealed here Tuesday by Leon Starmont, mining journalist, just returned from the scene.
Franz Heartburg, young farm boy of Cottonwood, Idaho, took his bride Louise Andrews of Grangeville, on a motor trip thru eastern Oregon. At the ranger station at Dale, south of Pendleton, they ran across two prospectors, C.W. Curl and Bart Crisman of Canyon city, who appealed ton them for transportation.
The party turned eastward toward Granite where the prospectors had been engaged in following up traces and clues to the Blue Bucket discovery made by members of a covered wagon train in the 1850s. On Desolation creek, 22 miles west of Granite and 18 miles east of Dale, they located gold ore running as high as $18,000 a ton. Six claims were located, the number being later increased to 16. The Heartburgs set upon housekeeping on the spot, living in a tent in a jack pine grove only a few hundred feet from the highway. They stumbled onto the opportunity for which Crisman and Curl had been searching for 35 years.
Since the original discovery, three weeks ago, other samples assaying as high as $70,000 a ton have been taken. Surface stripping has also revealed value in lower grade gold and manganese. The richer rock has been described by metallurgists as “phrenite,” a gold ore common in Australia, but hitherto almost unknown in the United States.
Close by the discovery, an old ox yoke was found. Similar indications had led Curl and Crisman to the spot. The nuggets of rock and gold somewhat resemble hard, dark bread thickly spread with butter. The locators believe their long search for the elusive Blue Bucket has been ended.
The fable runs that a party of immigrants bound for the Willamette Valley wandered off the old Oregon Trail and camped beside a mountain stream. Two children took a blue bucket to search for berries and came back with a number of “pretty yellow pebbles.” The pebbles were not identified as gold until the party reached Oregon City several weeks later. Efforts to retrace the route failed, and hostile Indians made the search difficult.
Every years since the 1850s, parties of prospectors have combed the hills, canyons, deserts and valleys of eastern Oregon trying to rediscover the source of the “pretty yellow pebbles.” The location has been placed all the way from Malheur Lake to the Grand Ronde Valley. Different theories have been advanced to account for the route the party may have taken. Hundreds of prospectors have tried to follow the old Oregon Trail from the point where is its supposed to have crossed the Snake, in an effort to reconstruct the situation of eighty years ago and come upon a creek that might answer the meager descriptions handed down by the members of the original party. Crisman’s grandfather was amember of the party that located the origianal gold, but failed to find it on its return.
I’ll have another article on “this” mine next week.
11-29-01
The October 9, 1936 Adams County Leader contained an article following up on the Blue Bucket mine story it had printed in August (the one I quoted last week):
Gold, said to be literally hanging in sheets from the walls of the open cut in the Blue Bucket mine near Dale, Ore., was described by R.H. Russell, president of the company. An armed guard has been placed at the cut and nobody is permitted to approach unless accompanied by a company official, Russell said.
The forest service was to start today on construction of a mile of road, using CCC boys. It will be finished in about ten days.
The contents of a pound of ore now on display in Spokane is estimated to be about two ounces of gold. Value of the samples from which this pan was taken is estimated at $140,000 a ton.
Oregon newspapers are carrying historical articles debating whether the recent discovery is actually the fabled Blue bucket found and lost by members of a wagon train in the ‘50s.
Now I’ll take you back to June of 1927 to another story of “the” Blue Bucket mine. It was taken from the Bonners Ferry, Idaho Sentinel newspaper and printed in the Leader:
The true story of the Blue Bucket, fabulously rich lost mine discovered by early immigrants, has at last been revealed. W.H. Witt, local plumber who has followed mining as a sideline most of his life, was prevailed upon last week to tell the story of the Blue Bucket as he learned it from his grandmother many years ago.
In his story, Mr. Witt tells of is visit to the location of the Blue Bucket and what he found. Lost mines are legendary throughout the West, but none has been so recurrent as that of the Blue Bucket. Mr. Witt’s interesting story follows:
Since early days, stories have gone around all over the Western states of a fabulously rich gold deposit found by immigrants somewhere in the west along one of the main ox trails or on some of the cut offs of these trails. The finders of this rich gold deposit name it after a small tin bucket found by children of the immigrant train, who went a short way up small stream from the camp site, playing in the little stream, splashing about in the waters, picking up small pebbles and stones. There the children found a small tin bucket painted blue, lost by children of an earlier train, no doubt. These youngsters of the latter group prized their find, filled it with shiny pebbles and little stones and proudly trudged back down the little stream to the ox team camp of their elders.
My grandfather, James C. Hall and his family and the families of numerous of is relatives and friends, composed a large proportion of the party, one of his daughters, a girl of 13 years of age at that time in 1843, was one of the children finding the small blue painted bucket. This young lady later became my aunt, and in 1916 at a ripe old age in the town of LaGrande, Oregon where she then lived with on of her daughters, told me the true story of the Blue Bucket. A few years later, in 1920, she died in Walla Walla, where her daughter, Mrs. Henderson and family had gone to live.
I had never given much thought to making the true history of this now famous legend public until now, when again literally thousands of persons are again in the search of gold, no doubt many of whom, having heard the story of the Blue Bucket, might be led astray or on their course, looking for a rich lost gold deposit, which has long since been found and subsequently worked out.
In the early spring of 1845 at St. Joseph, Mo., there was organized one of the large immigration parties to cross the plains by ox teams to the Oregon. The immigrant party spent many months in crossing the plains that spring and summer, coming at last to Fort Boise, where they rested and met a man by the name of Meek (not Meeker) who professed to know a short cut across the mountains to the Oregon country, and induced them to allow him to pilot them over this new road, which has gone down in history as “The Meek Cut Off.” After spending three months wandering about over the hills, plains and rolling country in Central Oregon, they became convinced Meek was himself lost and ran him out of camp retraced their steps, came again to Fort Boise, rested and late in the fall of 1845 struck out over the main trail which is now known as the Oregon Trail.
On the second day on the trail toward Oregon they came to the regular camp of the immigrant trains, called Ox Bow Bend, which is on the Payette River. Here was found The Little Blue Bucket by the children. As my old aunt had directed me, I went over the Old Oregon Trail in 1916-17 to try to find the Blue Bucket Mine. I found it where she told me it would be, “at the second camping place of the immigrants on this side of fort Boise, near the Big Bend in the river.”
The mine, I found, had been a placer or at least worked principally as such, and was worked out. It was called The Iron Dike Mine at the time it was worked and records show a production of over $4,000,000 taken out by the operators. [The Iron Dike Mine that many of us have heard of was someplace across the Snake River west of Council, so I have to wonder about this name used here.]
My grandfather and others after having reached and made settlement in the Oregon Country concluded to return and try to reach Ox Bow and recover some of the gold, but were driven back by Indians who were on the War Path, as you will recall from history. About that time was the Whitman Massacre. I was raised as a boy about 25 miles east of the site of this massacre and have been on the spot many times in the past.
My aunt informed me the immigrants did not recognize the yellow metal found by the children was gold. She said the men folks hammered it on the wagon tires, and noted its weight and were suspicious of what it might be, but none of them knew for sure—until later, in Oregon, it was positively identified as gold. Hence their attempt to return to the camp across the mountains where it was found. Such is the true story of the now famed Blue Bucket.
A writer in Denver, Colorado this summer wrote a short sketch of the Blue Bucket, which was printed by Mining Truth of Spokane. This sketch was true in numerous respects as told him by one of the old immigrant party, but wrong as to location. The Blue Bucket was found as I have outlined and not during the period when the immigrants were lost on the infamous Meek Cut Off.
Owing to this loss of time, of three months on the Cut Off, it required over nine months of ox team travel from St. Joseph, Mo., to Oregon City. Imagine how much further one could travel today in the same length of time over present roads and conditions in a good car.
12-06-01 I got a letter from Eileen Free some time back, with memories of her days at the Council Hospital during the late 1940s and early ‘50s:
I believe Dr. Edwards came to Council in 1948. [Actually the Adams County Leader for April 4, 1947 announced, “Dr. and Mrs. John Edwards arrived from Vermont to join Dr. Thurston in medical practice.”] I had a baby that year and started my OB [obstetrics] care with Dr. Thurston, and Dr. Edwards delivered the baby in August 1948. At that time he had only been there a short time.
I was hired as a secretary-bookkeeper at that hospital in 1950. Dr. Edwards always referred to me as “Miss Blue” (Amos and Andy’s secretary on the radio). Dr. Edwards was a serious-minded person and very kind. I started to work without having a medical terminology class and he took the time to helped me learn the spelling and meaning of medical words. That helped me for the rest of my working years, as I worked for doctors until I retired. Dr. Edwards worked day and night for that community and also went to Riggins to see patients. Some people would ask us why he seemed so grouch, not knowing that he had been up all day and all night without sleep. He was very dedicated and died at an early age.
David Campbell was administrator at the hospital, and Bernard Strouth came into the practice a little later. He also was a real nice doctor. I think there was a Dr. Rice too, but I can’t remember him.
Bud Grimes worked with these doctors. He did lab work, x-rays, ran errands and worked in surgery. George Scott, a local teacher, filled in part time as a lab tech. Jennie Palmer and Mabel Muller were the cooks, and Ethel Stewart later worked in the kitchen and went from there to the office. Lester Palmer later became administrator while I worked there. The song, “Lili Marlene” was popular at that time. The war was on in Korea, and my husband was over there. When he came back to the states, I left Council.
Eileen and D.V. Cole came up with a list of people they remembered working at the hospital in those days: Ruth Erickson, Zona Bollar, D.V. (Bradbury) Cole, Margaret Fry, Eileen Free, Barbara (Largent) Young, Jessie Cameron, Dorothy Zimmerman, Leona Reid, Lorene Slabaugh, Alma (Merk) Fisk, Dorothy Dahl, Leona Hunter, Della Jean Jones, Ada Fern Jones, Fern Cole, Joanne (Burt) Ham, Joyce Jacobsen, Dorothy Burton, Lorraine Gilmore, Jill Gardner, Mrs. Edmonson, Ella Ellis, Dolly Hiroo, Irene Burt, Eva (Taylor) Fry, Florence Madden, and Edith Herrick.
Registered nurses: Irene Bell, Jessie Baldwin, Dale Mitchell, Marcella Mathews, Jean Beardsley, Edith Blanc, Ella (Camp) Weed [If I remember correctly, she was Dr. Thurston’s first nurse, and was the first manager of the hospital], and Dorothy Lakey. Eileen said, “The nurses looked very professional with nurses caps and starched white stiff uniforms that rustled when they walked down the hall. We probably have left out some of the staff, as 50 years takes a toll on our memory.”
My mother, listed above as Alma (Merk) Fisk came up with a few more names: Sue (Roeder) Hoffman, Genevieve Lee, Ruth Fate, and head nurse Haldeen Chapman.
Caption for photo:
This picture from Janie Cole was featured in the paper a few weeks back. It shows the first hospital in Council, established by Dr. Thurston in 1939. The original section (shown closest to the camera) was converted from a farmhouse owned by people named Branson. It stood just across the parking lot, west of the present hospital, which was completed in 1962.
Just inside the door (and to its right) was the waiting room. The near corner contained the nursery. The corner out of sight to the right was the surgery. Next to it, down the hall, was the lab, then the delivery room. The window to the left of the front door probably looks out of the office. The next window (or two) was for the kitchen. The doorway just past the board fence led out of the dining room onto a board sidewalk leading to the laundry. There was a door on the opposite side that went out to a couple “cabins” that served as hospital rooms (rooms 12 to 16?). The rest of this middle section (which was probably built on to the original, closer part) contained rooms for patients. A hallway went from one end of this section to the other, and had a large door in the hall that separated the patient rooms from the dining area, etc.
The larger section at the far end was probably moved to this location from near where the Bible Church is now. It contained more patient rooms (21 thru 25?) and was the “men’s ward.” It had a couple rooms upstairs for nurse’s quarters. The original building (closest) also had nurse’s rooms upstairs.
This building saw many people enter and leave this life. A lot of births occurred here during the time Eileen wrote about—including mine and a bunch of other baby-boomers—in the delivery room that was approximately on the opposite side of the building from the front door. My grandfather, Jim Fisk, died in a little room in the nearest corner of the men’s ward in 1955.
12-13-01
This week I’m continuing the hospital theme with Sue Hoffman’s memories of the Council Community Hospital, going back as far as 1948. Sue's last year at the hospital was 1996, and this was written around that time.
I started work as a nurse’s aid at Council Community Hospital when I was a junior in high school. At that time our doctors were Drs. Thurston, Edwards and Rice. Dr. Strouth came later. Some of the employees when I started working there were Alma Merk (Fisk), and Jesse Cameron. Also two RNs were Miss [Irene] Bell and Miss Baldwin. They were the ones who taught me how to give "shots." Also there was Azie Lindsay. She was an LPN.
I started on a Saturday morning working 7:00 to 3:00. Two RNs taught me how to give "shots" that day. I was oriented to face and hand washing of patients and bedpans, and urinal carrying. I enjoyed the work. I worked after school weeknights from 4:00 to 7:00 or 9:00. If I worked 4:00 to7:00, I helped get patients ready for supper, carry trays, and give back rubs to all the patients. If 4:00 to 9:00, I also helped get patients ready for bed.
At that time there were 4 private rooms--4 semiprivate rooms and the five-bed men’s ward. Also there were two cabins out back. One was used as a postpartum ward with 4 beds, and the other had two beds. To transfer a delivered mother to the postpartum ward we put her on a stretcher and wheeled her out a narrow boardwalk to her room— both winter and summer— being careful not to run off the narrow board sidewalk with the stretcher. This was especially hazardous in the winter with snow and ice on the sidewalk. Before 1952 a hallway connected the two cabins to the hospital, and they became the O.B. postpartum ward. Two private rooms, and then another wing, were added later, and two more private rooms were added. They even had a connecting bathroom and there was a bathroom and autoclave room added to the hallway. We ended up with a 25-bed hospital before the new on was built in 1962.
All baths were bed baths. The hospital had one shower in the nurse’s staff bathroom. There were no bathrooms or sinks in the patient's rooms. All fresh drinking water was carried from the utility room in the kitchen.
The delivery room, nursery and ER were in the front of the hospital. The office for the bookkeeper was a little cubbyhole under the stairs of the front lobby. The lab was a room probably no bigger than 6X8 feet, if that big, off the front lobby. Also there was a doctor's dressing room off the front lobby where they changed their clothes for surgery. It had a sink in it also. Occasionally, this room was used for a patient if all the other beds were full.
In the spring of my senior year, 1949, when our class was gone on our senior sneak, that Dr. Thurston died while I was gone and how upset the staff was by this occurrence. Dr. Edwards and Dr. Strouth continued on without him.
Haldeen Chapman was the Director of Nurses at that time, and I remember that her husband, Harold Chapman, had surgery for appendicitis and as a result kept developing adhesions so badly that he had over twenty-some surgeries from adhesions and bowel obstructions over the years at Council Community Hospital. Haldeen was a graduate of St. Alphonsus Hospital in the early 1900s and encouraged me to get my training there, which I went into the fall of 1949 and graduated the fall of 1952. By that time Jeanne Beardsley (Westfall) was Director of Nurses. Lester Palmer was administrator when I started, and then David Campbell was administrator for a while.
When I got out of nurses training in the fall of 1952 I started to work as a graduate nurse at $180.00 a month plus room and board. There were nurse’s quarters over both ends of the hospital. I lived at the north end where there were two bedrooms and a living room and bathroom and shower. One bedroom had room for two beds. When I passed state boards my salary rose to $200.00 a month.
I’ll have more of Sue Hoffman’s memories next week.
12-20-01
This is the second part of Sue Hoofman’s memories of the hospital.
Some of the other people I worked with at Council Community Hospital over the years were Marcelle Matthews, Mary Amundson, Arminda Horton, Mary Edmundson, and Dorothy Lakey. Ella Weed came up from the doctor's office and helped with surgeries sometimes. I also assisted Mary Amundson with surgeries and we took turns on surgery call after I graduated from nurses training. Thelma Whitaker and Florence Madden used to “special” patients that were acutely ill. [If a nurse “specialed,” they were more or less a private nurse that took care of one patient.]
I remember one incident when I was a nurse's aide particularly well. I was supposed to take care of a postoperative patient coming out of anesthetic in the men's ward. He was a big, heavy man who weighed over 200 lbs. In those days the beds did not have bed rails attached. We packed bed rails from bed to bed and tied them on to the bed with two or three inch rolled gauze. I was sitting with this man and he started waking up. He was deaf—could read lips, but couldn't hear. He was threshing around in the bed, which was next to a wall on one side. He reached out and with one finger broke the several layers of rolled bandage holding the bed rail. I rang for help, and Mr. Lester Palmer came down to the ward and helped me keep the patient in bed until he was awake enough to understand us.
I quit working the first of April, 1955. I was expecting my first child and didn't go back to work until March 12, 1962. At that time the new hospital was being finished, and I spent the month of March setting it up to move into and be ready to go. The day we moved was March 30, 1962. I stayed at the nurse’s quarters that night so I could be called for a surgery or delivery or if the nurses couldn't find something they needed. Starting the first of April I started working full time 3:00 to 11:00 on the floor as charge nurse. Harold Whitaker was administrator at that time and Arminda Horton was Director of Nurses. I remember Ivis Hopper was Director of Nurses for a while, also Glenna Mavencamp, until the hospital closed in December of 1973 when Harold Whitaker was arrested in the late fall for embezzlement of funds, and. Dr. Pogue and Dr. _?_ left.
In the summer of 1974 Dr. Monger and Dr. Jones, D.O. started, and the hospital reopened in July. I was Director of Nurses then, and our first patient was Connie Kesler when she had her first baby with Dr. Monger and I happened to be there on duty that day. Ethel Stewart was temporary administrator at that time and then Gary Hart and staff from McCall became administrator. In 1978 I took a six-month leave of absence and Jane Curtis became Director of Nurses until the end of January 1988.
The hospital closed in April of 1985 until October or November of 1985. I went to work at Weiser Memorial Hospital and returned in October of 1987 to Council. Since then I have worked full time nights. We changed the RNs to twelve-hour shifts when we became short staffed some time in 1988 or '89. We almost closed again but raised $150,000 and obtained help from a hospital organization.
Dr. Richard Forney came from Boise and did surgeries with Dr. Edwards for several years and then Dr. __?_ came and did surgeries. We used to do one to 5 or 6 surgeries a day. Jane Curtis scrubbed and I circulated. Anesthetists came from Boise, Weiser and Ontario. Judy Cullinane, Roberta Bolles and several different men from the lower country.
Now we do no surgeries. Our surgery room is the emergency room, and we have sold quite a few instruments to Weiser Memorial Hospital. We still have some instruments left. Our emergency room now covers acutely ill patients, which we ship out either by Life Flight plane or ambulance. Minor injuries such as lacerations, etc. and minor illnesses are seen and covered by Dr. Wehman.
D.V. Cole came up with a few more names of people who worked at the hospital over the years. I apologize for spelling errors: Bonnie Bonner, Laura McGuinness Paradis, Donna Ray Shaw Faucett, Ann Stewart Tomlinson, Ruth Baker, Alta Frances Bradbury, Loraine Selby, Edna Wykoff, Thelma Whitaker, Beulah Gilman, June Benzen, Joan Armstrong Whitlow, Genevieve Smith, Genevieve Winkler James, Ivan Baker (handyman), Walt (?) Ivie (handyman), Eva Taylor (cleaning), Edith Wykoff (cleaning), Paul Hoff (a manager before David Campbell), Ruby Vieths, Joyce Jacobsen. Last week I listed Dorothy Zimmerman and Dorothy Lakey as two people, but I’m told Zimmerman was Dorothy Lakey’s maiden name.
Betty Smith added Mary Madden and Margaret White (kitchen) to the list.
If you’re looking for a last minute Christmas gift, there are copies of “Landmarks—A General History of the Council, Idaho Area” at Buckshot Mary’s. I’m sorry to say that we haven’t been able to get the P&IN Railroad book reprinted in time for Christmas in spite of diligent efforts to do so.
12-27-01 I’ve been forgetting to thank Shirley Wing, a former Council resident who now lives in Boise, for a generous donation to the Museum. Thank you Shirley!
A small tidbit of curious information came my way from Afton Fanger. In her Abundant Life seed catalog she found this description of “Nez Perce “ beans: “Nez Perce (80 days) small, yellow-brown seeds on productive half-climber bushes. From Daphne Denny’s family way back. It sustained their family in Council, ID for generations. Relatives think the bean may have come from the Nez Perce people nearby.” So, who is Daphne Denny, and what is the story behind these beans?
Here’s another request for readers of the History Corner. The photo with the column this week shows the Fruitvale school. The year must be 1926 or ’27. The teacher—the white-haired lady on the far left—is Katie Marble. This is the old “McMahan” school, which was located a half mile or so toward town from the old store. My guess is that the camera was facing north, but I’d like someone to tell me for sure. Also, what is the white building in the background? If any of you with email would like a clearer look at this photo, let me know and I’ll zip it off to you. (Zip may not be the right word, as it will take a little while considering the speed of my connection.) I would like any info about who these kids and adults are, or stories you may have about the McMahan school. Please contact me at 208-253-4582 / P.O. Box 252, Council / dafisk@ctcweb.net.
Since I’ve been featuring memories of the hospital, I thought I delve into a little about medical methods and attitudes of the past. It’s amazing how recently medicine advanced beyond very primitive knowledge and practices. Many of the discoveries that led to modern medicine came in the late 1800s when there was an explosion of medical and scientific knowledge.
In the days before germs were understood as the cause of many ailments, “physicians” often attributed disease to an imbalance of fluids in the body. This led to the “remedies” of bloodletting and purging. You may remember the story of Robin Hood and his death as the result of a bleeding treatment that was taken too far. Vestiges of these early practices lingered through the early 1900s. Thankfully most were not life threatening. Dr. Starkey, like many healers of the day, offered the curative effects of hot mineral water. Ads for quack medicines of every description filled the newspapers. Some contained cocaine or other addictive drugs that are now controlled.
In early America it didn’t take much to become a doctor. Sometimes it required the attendance of a two year lecture series at one of the medical colleges associated with universities in the eastern U.S. Another alternative was to take a few courses at a local school of medicine and apprentice to a local physician for a few years. After all, there wasn’t really a lot to learn because no one knew much about the human body compared to our present awareness. In the late 1800s germ theory gained adherence, and all forms of medical practice improved dramatically. Publication of the highly critical Flexner Report in 1910 led to standardization of medical education and requirements for doctors.
I’m reminded of the Civil War when the “treatment” for a serious wound of the arm or leg was amputation. Sometimes, especially in the southern armies where supplies were desperately short, amputations were performed with no anesthesia of any kind—just a few strong men to hold the patient down. After a big battle—in which thousands of men were left wounded or dead—large piles of arms and legs accumulated outside the surgeon’s tent. It was very common to see a man with a missing limb in the years after the war. Speaking of war, the horrors of the First World War probably led to more surgical advances than any other twentieth century event because methods had to be found to deal with wounds in numbers and of types that had never been seen before.
Doctors were not held in high esteem in the early days, and doctor could seldom make a living from the practice of medicine alone. Health care was primarily a family concern, and patients were treated at home. The first hospitals were established to care for the poor, who were an especially serious problem in the crowded cities where sanitation was lacking. Benevolent societies, appointed city physicians, “pest houses” and almshouse infirmaries were early attempts to help the poor and to isolate them. Eventually, doctors realized that even the well heeled sometimes needed care beyond what was practical in the home, and hospitals added luxurious, private rooms to accommodate more affluent clientele. Gradually, clinics and dispensaries helped the middle class who could, for small fees, receive treatment that allowed them to continue working. The establishment of hospital insurance during the Depression finally made hospital stays affordable for every economic level.
As I’ve mentioned before, the first hospital in Council was Minnie Zink’s large house on the northeast corner of Railroad St. and Central Ave. Mrs. Zink attended the indigent and ill there for at least the first two decades of the twentieth century. From the mid-twentieth century on, federal aid for local health care, particularly from the Commonwealth Fund and the Hill-Burton Act, encouraged small communities to build, equip, and staff their own hospitals. Of course Dr. Thurston established Council’s first hospital before this federal involvement, but I would imagine it played a role in building the present hospital in 1961-‘62.
END 2001
1-3-02
My Aunt, Amy Glenn, who attended the old McMahan school at Fruitvale, tells me the photo in last week’s column is not that school. My guess is that the picture was taken later than my 1926-27 estimate. Katie would only have been 38 years old in 1927 and she looks older than that in the picture. She taught at Fruitvale from 1943 to 1953, so the photo probably dates from that time. The clothes look more like from that era as well. It may not have been at the school, but by her home or someone else’s house.
Jane Gabbert sent me an email saying, “I read the Council paper every week with interest. I have been meaning to write to you for some time about a cabin that is on a piece of property I own at Bear. The property is behind, beside and across the road from the Bear Guard Station. On the part that is across the road from the Forest Service buildings sits a small log cabin that is deteriorating from time and weather. I wonder if you have any knowledge of whose building it was or what it was used for?”
Does anyone out there have any information about this old log building? Please contact me if you do. The only information that I have is that J.B. Lafferty had a Ranger's house built here in 1909. This was the first building on the site. A Ranger's office was built in 1919, remodeled in 1928, and finally converted to a bunkhouse in 1935. The spot was used as a District Ranger Headquarters until 1931, when it became a fireguard headquarters. In 1934, the first house was torn down by CCC crews, and replaced with a small three-room house. They also built a two-stall barn, a cellar, a woodshed and a warehouse about that time.
Jane also wrote, “Incidentally, in reference to your column in the 12/20/01 issue, Sue Hoffman was unable to recall the doctor who left about the same time as Dr. Pogue. I believe it was Dr. Bill Doyle. He and Dr. Pogue delivered my son in November of
1972 and I remained good friends with Bill and his wife Kaye in the Boise Valley.”
I ran across a few Adams County Leaders from 1966 that thought I would wrangle a few bits and pieces from.
In the January 27 issue:
A wedding photo of Harry Williams and Laurel Phillips Williams. Ralph (Andy) Finn was transferred from the Cache National Forest in Utah to the Cobalt Ranger District in Idaho and promoted to District Ranger.
“The Retail Trade Committee of the Council Chamber of Commerce met Wednesday night of last week, with express and freight operators concerning service in the entire loop area. Jim Jackson of Weiser reported that express and passengers were transported one trip each way, daily, making connections with Greyhound and the railroad at Weiser and with Northwest Stages at New Meadows. He also stated that cream shipments were being handled by U.P. on the logging train to make connections at Weiser. “
At the High School, “This month Donna Moyer and Mike Otter were chosen outstanding pep club members of December.”
In the February 3 issue: A wedding photo of Mr. & Mrs. Russell Byers. Funeral services held for Fred Burt of Fruitvale, born 1902. Idaho Governor Robert E. Smylie proclaimed February as “Heart Month, and urged Idaho citizens to support the Idaho heart Association in its battle against heart and blood vessel diseases that will take the lives of more than half of the people now living in Idaho.” A photo of the future site of the Hells Canyon dam on the Snake River. An ad for Jenkins T.V. and Radio.
February 10 issue: Funeral services for Rollie McMahan of Fruitvale, born in 1885 at Durke, Oregon. A photo of the High School basketball team: Larry Bacus, Doug Woods, Gary Pierson, Rick Ritter, Dean Harrington, Bud Greer, Ron Smith, Richard Cheverton, Terry Welker, Clifford Crossley, Lee Flower, Mike Otter, Mike Curtis, Darrell Moser and Coach Larry Derie. Those pushing for improvement of the Council airport were Dr. John Edwards, Harold Whitaker, Clarence Steelman, Art Middleton, H. R. “Fearless” Fisk, and Dr. Clyde Johnson. Miss Linda Kay Lappin married Robert Warix in Las Vegas. Carol Lee Strickfaden married Burdick Hines.
I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas and have a great new year. (I don’t know about you, but anything starting with 200 doesn’t look like a year to me.) That’s all for this week from the notorious “dashing, young, well-fed history columnist gentleman in Fruitvale.”
1-10-02
Last week I mentioned that a 1966 issue of the Adams County Leader showed a picture of the future site of the Hells Canyon Dam. The story of the dams on that section of the Snake River, and of one dam in particular, is one of legal and political battles that changed the way the whole nation thought about rivers, dams, and development in general.
One might say the story started thousands of years ago with man’s instinct to alter nature for his benefit. The settlers who came to this country and transformed it, considered it their “manifest destiny” to conquer, subdue and develop this vast wilderness and its inhabitants. “Manifest” means obvious, clear or evident. It was simply an unquestioned truth. The term “manifest destiny” actually seems to have originated in 1845 when the United States was considering the annexation of Texas as a state. The first known time that this expression appeared in print was when John L. Sullivan, editor of the “Democratic Review” and the “New York Morning News,” wrote that it was the “right of our manifest destiny to overspread and possess the whole of the continent.” Over the years it has become associated with the attitude that man—particularly the white man— was put on earth to dominate it and increase his numbers.
The incredible technological changes that took place in the late 1800s and the first couple decades of the twentieth century—electricity, automobiles, radio, telephones, refrigeration—helped to foster the idea that man was omnipotent and had no limits. In 1900 the editor of the Cambridge Citizen said, "Science has achieved wonderful results within the past half century. Electricity and steam are making a new world of this old world of ours, and man is demonstrating that he is but a little lower than the angels."
When the Great Depression hit in the 1930s, the Roosevelt administration dipped into the well of manifest destiny, beginning a program of dam building to improve the economy. The Water Power Act of 1920 and its re-enactment in 1935 as Title I of the Federal Power Act gave the Federal Power Commission broad authority to dam interstate rivers. This was the era of the Tennessee Valley Authority and the construction of the Hoover and Grand Coulee dams, among many others. Environmental concerns were raised, but a combination of the manifest fact of man’s omnipotence and the need to overcome economic disaster took priority.
Then came the Second World War. Almost everything took a back seat to the war effort. After the war, the country jumped back to its feet in a frenzy of expansion. There was a dramatic increase in babies and building projects, including dams. At the time, the Federal agency in charge of approving dams followed the traditional rut of manifest destiny. The important thing was more electricity for more people for more production for more money.
Not everyone was wearing those blinders. Some people recognized that deeper values were being trampled in the mad rush to build dams. As early as 1934 the New Deal Congress passed the Fish and Wildlife Coordination Act which said whenever a dam was approved, anadromous fish had to be taken into account and fish ladders or other devices constructed. But other sections of the bill gave the Federal Power Commission discretion to ignore this provision if they wanted to. And they always wanted to.
A decade later, in 1946, Congress passed amendments to the 1934 Fish and Wildlife Coordination Act to better balance biology and electricity. The epitome of what they were trying to prevent was dams like the Grand Coulee. After it was completed in 1940 without fish passage facilities, over 400 miles of large rivers and uncountable tributaries in Washington and two Canadian provinces were forever devoid of salmon and steelhead. The 1946 amendment mandated that both private and public dam builders were to mitigate fish habitat destruction by building hatcheries and relocating entire salmon runs to undiminished watersheds. But once again the momentum and power of manifest destiny prevailed, and dams appeared like spring flowers all across the nation without the slightest consideration of anadromous fish or non-power producing issues.
Next week: how a Supreme Court decision about one dam in Hells Canyon changed history.
1-17-02
I got a call from a former Navy man who served with Harry Morrison of Council in WWII. He wants to locate Mr. Morrison if possible, or get some information about him. I know I’ve heard the name, but don’t have any information except that a Harry Morrison who was born in 1900 is buried in the IOOF cemetery. It must have been the father because he would have been much older than the one who served in the war. If someone can help, please contact me.
Now the second half of the story of dams in Hells Canyon.
In the early 1950s, six dams were proposed on the Snake River in Hells Canyon and in the area just upstream (south) from the Canyon. The first was the Pleasant Valley dam, about 37 miles down river from the present site of Hells Canyon Dam in 1954. The next was the Low Mountain Sheep Dam, 20 miles farther downstream, just above the mouth of the Imnaha River, in 1955. In 1958 the Federal Power Commission denied licenses for these dams because it thought a dam below the mouth of the Salmon River could create more electricity. Apparently this dam was never seriously considered, but it’s interesting to imagine a dam backing up miles of water in the Snake and Salmon Rivers.
Meanwhile, the Eisenhower administration managed to peek past the blinders. The House of Representatives Committee on Merchant Marine and Fisheries dared to advocate measures to “offset the increasing pressures of [human] population on the habitat of wildlife.” (Since then the world’s population has nearly tripled, and become clear that human overpopulation is the number one destroyer of wildlife habitat.) The 1956 Fish and Wildlife Act and 1958 Fish and wildlife Coordination Act amendments started to take real steps to shift the balance between kilowatts and salmon.
Immediately after applications for the Pleasant Valley and Low Mountain Sheep dams were denied, the Pacific Northwest Power Company applied to build the High Mountain Sheep Dam. It was to be located between the mouths of the Salmon and Imnaha Rivers about 47 miles from Lewiston, and would raise the level of the Snake by 670 feet. A fight between the Corp of Engineers and private power companies for the right to build it slowed approval of the dam. At the time it was a forgone conclusion that a dam would be built in the canyon; it was just a matter of deciding whether it would be a private or public venture and just where the dam would be located.
While the High Mountain Sheep dam was in contention, two other dams were completed upstream on the Snake River: Brownlee Dam in 1958 and Oxbow Dam in 1961. In 1961 the Nez Perce Dam was proposed. Nothing ever came of it.
After years of legal battles, the High Mountain Sheep issue was taken to the U.S. Supreme Court in [Stewart] Udall v. Federal Power Commission. By this time dozens of state agencies, tribal governments, and private conservation and fishing organizations were aggressively using the Federal Power Act to oppose the dam. The 1967 decision of the court shocked the nation. After decades of dam projects being rubber stamped for approval, for the first time in history the Supreme Court denied the licensure of a new hydroelectric dam! It said the highest public good would be that the dam not be built. National history was made right in our back yard. This was the first time a federal court had seriously taken into account anything other than the purely economic factor of power production, and it set a precedent that changed the way things were done from then on.
In the meantime, the Hells Canyon dam was completed in 1968. Futile attempts were made to install fish passage facilities on it and the two dams just above it, but since 1959 not a single salmon has been seen in tributaries of the Snake from Brownlee Dam all the way to the river’s headwaters in Wyoming.
In 1968 Idaho Senators, Frank Church and Len Jordan introduced bills calling for a ten year moratorium on Snake River dam building. To agree on the bill, the two political opponents struck a compromise regarding the river; Church would not move to include the Snake River in the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, and Jordan wouldn't push to build any more dams.
That same year, two power companies applied again for a license to build the High Mountain Sheep Dam, and the Interior Department sought federal development of the “Appaloosa Dam” site, halfway between the Pleasant Valley and High Mountain Sheep dams. But the next year (1969) the Interior Department decided to oppose further dam construction on the river
Support grew over the next several years for preserving the Hells Canyon area and a free-flowing Snake River as public attitudes about the environment changed. In 1970, Senator Bob Packwood, Republican from Oregon, along with Congressman John Saylor of Pennsylvania, introduced legislation to make the Snake a "national river." Packwood had never been to Hells Canyon but was eager to help. He was raised in Oregon and had just been elected to the Senate. "I saw what the East had failed to save," he said. "I didn't want that to happen in Oregon."
It wasn’t just those who wanted to save the salmon who wanted to keep the Snake in Hells Canyon from becoming a series of puddles. Some valued the area for its unique beauty. After going on a float trip down the river, Senator Packwood said, "You cannot do that trip without just being overwhelmingly impressed—awed."
By 1972 Len Jordan had retired, and James McClure took his place in the Senate. McClure was familiar with the area since his childhood. "I knew the area well. I spent my summers in Council at my granddad's place. That was my backdoor, my playground."
McClure’s paternal grandfather, Andrew McClure, arrived in Council in 1909. His son, William, married Marie Freehafer in 1920, and was Adams County’s prosecuting attorney from 1921 until he resigned and moved his family to Payette 1924. The June 1, 1928 Adams County Leader reported, "Bobby, Raymond and Jamie McClure, small sons of Mr. and Mrs. Will McClure of Payette" are visiting their grandparents, the A.R. McClures. Marie McClure’s father, A.L. Freehafer, an attorney and state Senator and who still lived in Council, was Jim McClure’s materal grandfather.
Jim McClure continued Len Jordan’s across-the-isle cooperation with Frank Church to protect the Hells Canyon area. They worked with Senator Packwood on a bill to designate a 71-mile stretch of the Snake River through Hells Canyon and 652,488 acres in Idaho and Oregon as a National Recreation Area. Idaho Governor, Cecil Andrus, backed the effort by putting the state of Idaho on record as opposing more dams in Hells Canyon. If the bill became law, High Mountain Sheep Dam could not be built. The importance of the pending legislation was underscored by an earlier Federal Power Commission ruling that the dam could be built if Congress has not acted on the preservation bills by September 1975.
In 1974 the Senate appropriated $4 million to the Forest Service to buy private land in Hells Canyon that was endangered by developers. Finally on New Years Eve 1975 President Gerald Ford signed the bill creating the Hells Canyon National Recreation Area.
1-24-02
July 4 has been celebrated in this country for three centuries, but how many of us really know the story behind that date? I assumed that was the day in 1776 that the Continental Congress signed the Declaration of Independence. Not quite.
On June 7, 1776 Richard Henry Lee of Virginia introduced a motion for a declaration of independence. A committee of five was selected to produce the document, including Thomas Jefferson, who did the actual writing. His version was revised by Benjamin Franklin, John Adams and Jefferson himself, before it went to Congress. The Congress did further editing. Congress adopted a resolution of independence on July 2, 1776. So, in effect, that is the day that Congress declared its independence from England. This resolution was, compared to the eloquent language later polished by Jefferson, short and to the point.
By July 4 a final draft of the official declaration had not been approved. New York didn’t vote on it until July 9. In spite of paintings showing the Congress gathered around signing the Declaration, the signing was a drawn out affair that lasted over a period of several years. By August 6, 1776 most of the names that would eventually appear on it had been signed, but at least six signatures were attached later. Thomas McKean (abbreviated to “Tho. M:Kean” on the Declaration) finally signed it in 1781!
It is misleading to refer to the “original 56 signers” of the Declaration of Independence. Some of those who signed were not even in Congress when the Declaration was adopted, and some who voted for it in Congress never signed it. Robert R. Livingston was on the committee of five who produced the original version. He voted for it but never got around to signing it.
July 4 was first celebrated as Independence Day, and recognized as a holiday, by Massachusetts in 1781. This date was quickly adopted as our nation’s birthday. Although they celebrated it on the same day, people in the past didn’t refer to it as the Forth of July. They always called it “Independence Day.” It was the biggest gala of the year, and people went all-out to “make the eagle scream” as they would say.
Last week someone called me about the tower that used to be on top of the old City Hall building. It was used as a watchtower, evidently in the 1950s. I had been told this before, and the remnants of the old stairway up to it are still in evidence at the Museum. But I know next to nothing about what the tower was for, or even if “tower” is the right word to use. I know some of you out there remember this, so give me a call and tell me about it. If anyone has a picture with this “tower” in the background, it would be nice to have one at the museum.
I’m told that the doctor that Sue Hoffman was unable to recall (the doctor who left about the same time as Dr. Pogue) was probably Dr. Bill Doyle. I ran across a picture of Dr. Edwards, and thought it would bring back a few memories for the many people who remember him well.
1-31-02
In researching my books, I spent a few years (off and on) reading old newspapers. Bert Rogers was kind enough to loan me his back issues of the Leader. Shirley later gave all those to the Museum, and they are a priceless resource. For other newspapers I had to go to the State Library and Archives in Boise to use their microfilm readers. They have many of Idaho’s newspapers on microfilm, going back to some very early times and running up to recent issues. Anyone can go in and read them for free.
I was going through my newspaper notes (which are on line at the Museum web site) and found some interesting bits and pieces that I thought I’d comment on. The first is a front page lead story in Boise’s Tri-Weekly Statesman for July 5, 1877: "HOW TO AVOID AND CURE DISEASES OF POULTRY." Old newspapers carried many more articles relevant to agriculture than they do now. Farm animals were a part of the average persons life, even in town, until ordinances were passed to control their presence on the streets. Before, and shortly after 1900, it was not uncommon in downtown Council to see a pig or two running at large.
From the Tri-Weekly Statesman, July 7, 1877, Page 1: "JOSEPH'S BAND MOVED CAMP - WHEREABOUTS UNKOWN." This was during the early stages of the Nez Perce War. In the same issue, the mail route from Boise to the Grangeville area was described: Boise to Indian Valley (75 miles by wagon road) - horseback to Mount Idaho via Warren and Florence by going up the Weiser River and Little
Salmon River (45 miles). "From the point where the Little Salmon trail leaves the mail route to the Main Salmon river at the mouth of the Little Salmon, the distance is 50 miles. Between the last named points the route is difficult, passing over a high and rugged mountain to avoid the deep canyons on the Little Salmon River. From the mouth of the Little Salmon to Slate Creek, the distance is twenty-five miles; and from there to where the Indians were camped at Horseshoe Bend, ten miles." Approximate distances: Boise to Warren via Indian Valley = 175 miles. Warrens to Florence = 50 miles Florence to Mount Idaho = 50 miles.
You have to realize that these distances (except between Boise and Indian Valley) were covered by horseback or on foot. There were no roads. There wasn’t even a road to Council (except maybe a very crude wagon trail) at this time. The road, such as it was, ended at Indian Valley.
The Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman for July 13, 1878 mentioned, "... the old Nez Perce trail through... the Weiser Valley... up the Weiser... down the Little Salmon
and over Packer John Mountain to north Idaho and Lolo...."
Weiser City Leader, Nov 4, 1882: George Moser is still recovering from wounds to his leg which he suffered in an attack by a grizzly bear "some time ago." He was not expected to be able to walk for another month or more. Most of you know the story. Moser was having trouble with a bear killing his pigs. This was a very common problem in those early days—in the Council Valley and elsewhere. Moser tracked this particular bear with dogs, and the dogs cornered the bear in some thick brush. Moser got a little too close to the bear, and the bear attacked. If it really was a grizzly, he was lucky to have come away with just a torn up leg. (Even so, it troubled him until his death in 1894.) What are reputed to be the claws of this grizzly are on display in the Museum.
Weiser City Leader, Apr 21, 1883: J.O. Peters is building an addition to his Weiser brewery and adding to his house too. You have probably seen this brewery building at 135 E. Commercial Street in Weiser. It has housed Matthews Grain and Storage for quite awhile now.
Not too long ago I mentioned a coalmine at Indian Valley. I had forgotten that I had found in the Weiser City Leader, Aug 18, 1883, that coal had been found at Indian Valley, and that the locals were burning it.
Weiser City Leader, Dec 8, 1883: Perry Clark, member of the 6th
Idaho Legislature and resident of Salubria valley, two years ago was
struck with paralysis and must walk with crutches. Clark was the
person credited with naming the Council Valley.
Skipping ahead a
few years we find in the Salubria Citizen, May 3, 1895: Perry Clark
now lives in Los Angeles, Calif. The October 18, 1895 issue reported
that Clark was in the Soldiers Home there. The next year—Salubria
Citizen, Oct 3, 1896: Perry Clark died recently in the Soldier's Home
in California. He was a Union soldier during the Civil War.
An update on Harry Morrison: I have heard from several people, including his sister, Bonnie. Harry, who often went by is middle name Lamar, died a year or two ago. Bonnie told me the date and I’ve misplaced the note I made, but it was in November either of 1999 or 2000. Jay Thorp wrote to say that the Morrisons lived on a farm west of the airport near the Weiser River. Jay went to school with Lamar. After a career in law enforcement, Lamar lived in Olympia, Washington, and died there.
As to the tower on the old City Hall building, it was in use for several years about the time of the Korean War or shortly thereafter in the 1950s. At the time, the early warning radar system was not in place and there was a Cold War concern that hostile airplanes might come in from Russia across the Northwest. The Civil Defense people came up with what may have been named the “Sky Watch” program. The base of the old metal siren tower on top of City Hall was redesigned to accommodate a small room. The impression I get is that it was somewhat like a forest lookout with windows all around. There was a telephone in it, and the Skywatcher manning the tower was to call the Civil Defense office in Boise to report sightings of anything other than small airplanes, reporting the number of aircraft and the direction they were headed. It doesn’t seem to have been manned at night—distinguishing features of a plane wouldn’t have been visible then anyway. I got the names of a few of the people who worked at this job: Margaret Lindgren, Bessie Smith, Bill Daniels and June Daniels.
Weiser City Leader, Dec 22, 1883
First ever school in Meadows opened Nov 26, 1883 with 10 pupils. Some pupils listed
Weiser City Leader, Feb 23, 1884
Tom Price is the discoverer and owner of a Soda mine at the foot of Mann's Creek grade.
Weiser City Leader, Mar 15, 1884
Died after a long illness on March 1: Sarah E. Wilkie, wife of Frederick C. Wilkie of Hornet Creek
Weiser City Leader, July 12, 1884
Report on the July 4th celebration at Council Valley. About 500 people gathered at a "grove about the center of the valley". Speeches by Robert White, D.J. Richardson [and sounds like someone from the Weiser newspaper, maybe Wm. P. Glenn]
Weiser City Leader, Aug 9, 1884
From coorespondent "Q. REE." at Hornet Creek [meaning Council area]:"but the woods are full of men up here, and rumors, gently whispered like the sighing of the wind in the pine treees,give vague but exciting suggestions of wealth - vast, unbounded wealth, quietly awaiting development in this green-hilled, east by north, northwest corner of our mountain-girdled country." "... our school, under Mr. Richardson..." One school is not enough, as the district contains 40 school children and is 15 miles long.
Weiser City Leader, June 6, 1885
42 Seven Devils residents petitioned the County to build a road from Council to the Seven Devils mines and pledge money or equivalent work toward such a project.
[There hasn't been much Seven Devils news in the past few years in this paper, but now there is MUCH news of many miners pouring into the area and much activity there.]
2-7-02
Quite a bit of interest was generated when I asked about the tower on top of City Hall. In the past week, I got emails from a couple people. Bob Hagar said, “I think it was used during the '50s as a spot for the Ground Observer Corps volunteers. As I recall this was a network of volunteers...must have been sponsored by the Air Force. I think there was also a branch in Canada...to report aircraft movement during the cold war...to augment the military's fledgling radar network. As I recall my mom was one, and I remember she was proud of her pin for so many hours of volunteer time in the tower. Seems like they had a lot of activity during the flying saucer era in the '50s also.”
Roger Swanstrom wrote, “In the early 1940's, during World War II, there was a lookout tower on city hall. It was ‘manned’ by volunteers who were watching the skies for any enemy airplanes, particularly Japanese, which might be headed toward Gowen Field. My mother was one volunteer; there were many others. The volunteers were given cards with silhouettes of our planes and enemy planes on them. The volunteers had binoculars and a phone on which they could report any suspicious aircraft.”
“As you know, during this time the Japanese were launching many large paper balloons with incendiary devices. These balloons rode prevailing air currents and many landed in the U.S.; although it was the policy at the time not to give any publicity to the ‘successes.’ I remember a story going around then, that one of these balloons landed somewhere in Adams County. I have forgotten the details, but I absolutely believed the story. Perhaps, the volunteers in the tower were also to keep a lookout for these balloons, but I have no recollection of that.”
Has anyone else heard of an incendiary balloon landing in this area? And, since the present Museum building was built in 1949 as the City Hall, where was the lookout tower during WWII? The Adams County Leader said, in its Dec 19, 1941 issue, that a new siren had been installed to signal both air raid warnings and fires. I seem to remember a bell serving as an alarm before this siren. Is this the siren that is in use now, or was there another one?
Adams County Leader, Dec 26, 1941: "Our own military experts freely admit that surprise attacks by enemy planes this far inland are at least entirely probable, and in fact, are expected." Blackout instructions were also given in this issue. In the same issue, it was announced that the High School had moved into its new $48,500 building and that classes would begin after Christmas vacation on Jan 5.
June Daniels found in her father, Lewis Daniels’s writings where he mentioned being the Civil Defense Director for this area in the 1950s. He said he got an old windmill tower frame to make the tower on top of City Hall. He was instructed to have the lookout manned around the clock. He installed a bell in or near the tower to ring in case of an emergency. I am assuming that this is the bell that now sits in front of the Museum.
Since snow is the top topic of conversation around here, I thought I would put in a picture that was taken in another doozy of a snow winter—1949.
2-14-02
Awhile back I asked about some “Nez Perce” beans that were raised in the Council area by Daphne Denny’s family. Juanita Paradise sent me some info on the Denny family, but after the grapevine had time to do its job, I got a call from Daphne herself. It turns out that it wasn’t the Denny family that raised the beans here that the catalog was selling. The Denny family did raise beans that were at least similar to, if not the same as, the beans in question. Daphne married a man named Denny who is not related to the Denny family who lived here. Her ancestors who raise the beans were Harry and Rosa Purnell. The origins of the small, yellow-brown, dry beans are not known for certain, but Indians in this general area may have raised them at one time. The Shoshoni, who occupied this area, were not farmers. The Nez Perce, who generally occupied the area north of the Salmon River and Hells Canyon, were not farmers either—at least not until they were put on reservations—so who knows.
Daphne Denny is associated with a national group called the Seed Savers Exchange. They grow old varieties of garden plants in order to preserve ones that otherwise might be lost forever. She sometimes sells these Nez Perce beans and will probably have a small amount for sale before long. If anyone is interested in contacting her, she can be reached at 805-472-9036.
Harry and Rosa Purnell came to Council in 1916 with six children in a one-cylinder Cadillac with carbide headlights. The oldest child was ten and the youngest was nine months old. Rosa had to get out and help push the car over some of the hills while carrying the baby. (I wonder what that one-cylinder engine sounded like—an old John Deer tractor?) George Winkler said he would never forget the sight when the Purnell’s arrived and stopped in Council; kids spilled out every opening in the car. More children were later added to the family. In total they were: Irene, Arthur, Beulah, Ruth, Audrey (Kilborn), Herbert, Doris, Dorothy and Florence. A three-month-old, Henry, died of whooping cough in 1918, and Raymond died at birth.
The Purnells had traded their place near Bellingham, Washington to Wiley Duncan for his farm about two miles south of Council. They soon traded their Cadillac for a milk cow. There was a lot of thorn brush on the farm, and Harry set to work grubbing it out. One particular patch was thick with rattlesnakes, making it very dangerous to work on. The solution was to drive a herd of hogs into the brush patch; they ate all the snakes. If Harry could have seen what a crawler tractor can do to a patch of brush in a few minutes, he would have been amazed. Imagine what a job it would be to dig out even a few thorn bushes with nothing but a grubbing hoe.
I would be interested in hearing from someone who knows exactly where the Purnell place was. The Duncans had built a large two-story house there. The lower floor had rock walls and was used as a woodshed and milk house. The upper story was an open-air dance floor. “Indian Ford” was near the Purnell farm, and they found a number of arrowheads and stone tools. I have a general idea where this Indian ford was, but I would like to hear from someone who knows exactly where it was. This is the kind of thing that is going to be lost in another generation or two if it isn’t recorded.
Juanita Paradis’s information about the Denny family was interesting. Sam and Molly (Colson) Denny had four sons who all became ministers—each of a different denomination. Lawrence Denny is a great grandson of theirs. Their daughter, Anna Belle, married a man named __ Preston. Molly’s brother, Frank Colson, was Juanita’s grandfather. Frank was born at Three Island Crossing (near present-day Glenns Ferry, Idaho) on September 30, 1863, as his parents journeyed west. His parents, James and Margaret Colson, settled where the highway crosses the Weiser River at Cambridge going north, on the left side of the road. One of their twin sons died at birth and is said to be buried on an island in the Weiser River. Their daughter, Cordellia, married a York. The two older Colson boys, Anthony (Colonel) and Dan, were packers and miners in the Thunder Mountain area. There is a creek named for them that flows into the Salmon River close to the Montana border. Frank also hauled freight into various mines. He later worked on the P&IN line at New Meadows.
About 1879 or ’80 Frank married a woman (Juanita’s grandmother) who was born in 1864 near Enterprise, Oregon. She told Juanita about the many times she had seen Chief Joseph and how kind the Indians were to their children. Her parents were Isaac and Martha Rambo. They are buried at Cambridge. James and Margaret Colson are buried in the Salubria Cemetery. Frank Colson donated the land for the Eastside Cemetery at Midvale. Clara Colson Byers was Frank’s granddaughter.
More input arrived about the tower on City Hall from Afton (Logue) Fanger. Her brother, Bud Logue, helped man the tower in the mid ‘50s. Afton said, “Mrs. Armstrong, Joan Pheils mom, was in charge there in Council, and it was called the Ground Observers Corp. It was started during the Korean War to watch for Russian aircraft. They were to spot aircraft, identify it from charts—kind, size, estimate altitude, direction they were going, etc. If they couldn’t identify a plane, they could call Air Defense Command. Council’s call letters were DQ34B (Delta, Quebec 34 Black).”
Somehow the photo last week didn’t get labeled. It was a shot of the Pine Ridge store during the winter of 1948-’49. I drove by there yesterday, and the building looks a lot different but the snow depth looks pretty similar.
2-21-02
I got a couple of responses to my request for information about the location of the old Purnell place. It’s the place tucked back between the hills west of Ruben’s wrecking yard. You can see parts the buildings from the highway. I’m told that part of the house is the original Purnell house, but has been added onto. After Harry and Rosa Purnell, the place went to their daughter, Audrey, who had married Albert Kilborn. The next owners were their son and daughter in law, Norman and Rosie Kilborn, up until they sold it in 1979. Basically it was in one family from 1916 to 1979. Since ’79 it has changed hands a number of times.
So far, no one has told me about any particular place where Indians crossed the Weiser River in the area south of town. If anyone has heard something about this, please let me know.
Quite awhile back I put in a photo of a white “house” that I was told might have been in the east part of Council. If I remember right, it was the photo accompanying this column. Someone mentioned to me recently that they thought it might be the old hospital. I didn’t think it was for some reason, but when I reexamined it, I came to the conclusion that it is. Everything matches the photo of the front of the hospital—the window spacing, the same chimney, and the same trees on the west side of the building. This view would be looking southwest at the back side of the hospital. One of the “cabins” is showing on the left edge of the picture. I’m going to assume this is the old hospital unless someone can convince me otherwise, so if you disagree, you know where I am.
I’ve been going through my newspaper notes again to find bits and pieces of interest that didn’t go with anything in my books. Here are a few:
Weiser City Leader, Mar 6, 1886-- Idaho Territory has been using the insane asylum at Salem, Oregon, but will now use the new one at Blackfoot, Idaho, starting about May. [Later this became “State Hospital South,” when “State Hospital North” was established at Orofino.]
Weiser City Leader, Oct 26, 1888-- A.J. Wyatt arrived in Weiser on the 18th with the first wagon load of ore ever hauled from the Seven Devils—2760 lbs. of copper ore from the Blue Jacket mine. More wagons have arrived since then. The ore is packed 4 or 5 miles to the wagons. [What a job, hauling over a ton of rock in a horse-drawn wagon for just over 100 miles—and that after packing it in sacks on horses or mules to accumulate enough to fill the wagon.]
Weiser Leader, Jun 21, 1889— A ditch is being surveyed and constructed from East Fork to the head of Mill Creek.
Weiser Leader, Sept 27, 1889—"A telephone line between this place [Weiser] and Salubria is being talked of..."
Weiser Leader, Nov 8, 1889—A vote was taken on the issue of Idaho statehood. 30 voters in Council precinct voted against it; 28 in favor. [Idaho became a state the next year in spite of the lack of enthusiasm in Council Valley.]
Weiser Leader, Jan 24, 1890—A petition was made for a road from Middle Fork of the Weiser through Bacon valley to Salubria. [This would have been an extension of what is now the Goodrich road, if it even existed at the time. In the next issue or two of the newspaper it was reported that Indian Valley people feared the Bacon valley road would cut their community off from the flow of traffic and hurt business.]
Weiser Leader, Feb 7, 1890— Ice jams and flooding all up and down the Weiser and Snake rivers—drowned stock, mud and rock slides, bridges and rails out, stages can't get through. [Sound familiar?]
Weiser Leader, May 30, 1890— Earthquake May 13 at Bear Creek and the Seven Devils. Not felt at Hornet Creek. Woke miners in the middle of the night. "The disturbance was accompanied with a loud rumbling sound like that made by a number of horses stampeding. The ground vibrated violently and the strong walls of the cabin seemed about to fall."
2-28-02
I got some more information about the incendiary balloons sent toward the U.S. during WWII. My thanks to Bob Hagar for sending it to me. He says he doesn’t remember any balloons landing in Adams County, but remembers warnings about leaving anything alone that looked like one while out fishing or hunting.
During the war, Japanese meteorologists studied the air currents (jet streams) in the upper atmosphere and came up with a way to exploit one of these “rivers of air” that swept over Japan then across the Pacific Ocean to North America. In the winter of 1943-44, the Japanese released about 200 balloons equipped with measuring devices and radio transmitters into the jet stream to study the currents and determine whether balloons could actually make it to the U.S. They discovered that the air currents were favorable, but their hydrogen-filled balloons faced several challenges. It would take about 60 hours for a balloon to reach the U.S. During that time either the sun would heat the hydrogen enough to pop the balloon, or the low night temperatures would sink it. To address this problem, they installed a valve on the balloon to vent gas when it got too high, and attached sandbags that dropped when the balloon got too low. The balloons vented during the day and dropped sandbags at night to maintain a minimum 30,000-foot altitude; at a lower attitude, the winds were slower and they would likely be stranded over the ocean.
The balloons carried explosive incendiary charges, which the Japanese hoped would start major forest fires in the Pacific Northwest. They were made out of paper made from the kozo bush (washi paper) that was produced in little squares and pasted together by schoolchildren. The children were gathered into big concert halls and sumo wrestling amphitheaters and stripped of their potentially damaging hairpins and long fingernails. They glued together the washi squares with konnyaku-nori paste made from a Japanese potato commonly known as "Devil's Tongue.” The Japanese wartime economy was in poor shape, and the hungry little workers were frequently scolded for eating the paste. The completed balloons were about 10 yards in diameter. From November 1944 through March 1945 (when Japanese scientists determined the jet stream was most amenable to transcontinental travel) some 10,000 balloons were set aloft from Japan's eastern shores.
Quite a few balloons made it to their destination. Fragments of 285 balloons have since been found all over North America; the majority turned up in Washington and Oregon, but some made it as far south as Mexico, as far north as Alaska, and as far east as Michigan. People saw them silently sliding by, or were startled to hear loud explosions and fire issuing from nowhere. Fortunately, the jet stream was most cooperative during the wet season of the Pacific Northwest, so the balloons weren't very effective in starting forest fires. The U.S. stationed firefighters just in case. It was thought that the Japanese might use the balloons to disperse deadly bacterial or chemical agents, so farmers and ranchers were asked to be on the lookout for strange diseases in livestock.
Although the balloons constituted the world’s first transcontinental attack, they were a miserable failure in most respects. Even so, they did cause some problems in the U.S. On March 10, 1945, a paper balloon that had crossed the Pacific Ocean, the Olympic Mountains and the Cascade Range descended in the vicinity of the Manhattan Project's production site at Hanford, Washington. The balloon landed on an electric line that fed power to the building containing the reactor that was producing the Nagasaki plutonium, and shut the reactor down. This was a real success compared to Japans only other military impacts on the continental United States. In February of 1942, a Japanese submarine shelled an oil field up the beach from Santa Barbara, and damaged a pump house. In June, another submarine shelled a coastal fort in Oregon, damaging a baseball backstop.
There was at least one case in which one of the balloons was lethal. In 1945 Reverend Archie Mitchell, his wife Elsie, and five children were picnicking in the woods outside Bly, Oregon when Elsie and the children happened upon a downed balloon. Few people knew about the balloons or their dangers because they had received little publicity in this country. In early January, 1945, Newsweek and the New York Times had run a few articles on the balloons before the nation's press received a curt note from the Office of Censorship asking them to stop printing such stories. The Mitchell family was curious about the odd balloon they had happened across, and one of them tugged on it. The attached bomb instantly detonated, killing everyone in the group. The Office of Censorship quickly yanked its decree, and warnings were issued not to touch strange objects in the woods.
At first, no one in this country knew for sure where the balloons were coming from. Transcontinental delivery of balloons was thought to be impossible; everyone believed that the balloons were either being released by submarines, by Japanese frogmen on shore, or maybe even from German POW camps inside U.S. After finding some radio transmitters in a few of the balloons, the U.S. started trying to detect transmissions from any that might still be aloft. From this they determined the balloons were coming from out in the Pacific.
While the radio signals were being investigated, a few of the sandbag ballasts from the balloons were sent to the U.S. Geological Survey's Military Geology Unit to try to determine the source of the sand. In the sand they found certain skeletons of tiny animals—diatoms—of a type only found near Asia. Putting that together with an absence of coral and the presence of certain volcanic products the Survey guessed two possible locations: one was the very site of deployment, and the other a little off, perhaps one hundred miles from two other sites. These locations were swiftly bombed, and two of the three hydrogen plants supplying the balloon effort were destroyed.
The United States military forces dispatched planes in an attempt to shoot down incoming balloons, but they proved difficult to find, and less than twenty were destroyed this way. To test whether the balloons could be detected by radar, they reinflated some of the downed ones. A man who was involved in one of these efforts described how it went: “Moored to a winch attached to a truck, the balloon ascended to approximately 1,000 feet and after about an hour fell limp to the ground because of helium loss through the now weathered and porous paper... [in another attempt] the balloon rose to approximately 4,500 feet and remained airborne for about thirty minutes before it finally settled into some trees about five and one-half miles away, damaged beyond repair.” One of these test balloons was a better flier. The airplane that was sent to follow it and shoot it down before it reached a populated area lost track of the balloon due to poor visibility. The balloon was lost somewhere over the ocean. A few of these unique and deadly balloons are now in the collection of the National Air and Space Museum
I would like to thank Fred Thompson (formerly of Council and now of Bishop, California) for a very generous donation to the Museum in memory of Katie Marble. Fred also sent a nice donation to help with feeding wildlife in the Council area!
3-7-02
I got the information for this week’s column some time ago from Pete Swanstrom. It was labeled, “Engineering—Because we've always done it that way.” It’s a very interesting account of how things came to be.
The U.S. standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet, 8.5 inches. That is an exceedingly odd number. Why was that gauge used? Because that's the way they built them in England, and English expatriates built the U.S. railroads. Why did the English build them that way? Because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways, and that's the gauge they used. Why did "they" use that gauge? Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for building wagons, which used that wheel spacing. So why did the wagons have that particular odd spacing? Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old, long distance roads in England, because that was the spacing of the wheel ruts. So who built those old rutted roads? The first long distance roads in Europe (and England) were built by Imperial Rome for their legions. The roads have been used ever since. And the ruts in the roads? The ruts in the roads, which everyone had to match for fear of destroying their wagon wheels, were first formed by Roman war chariots. Since the chariots were made for (or by) Imperial Rome, they were all alike in the matter of wheel spacing.
The U.S. standard railroad gauge of 4 feet-8.5 inches derives from the original specification for an Imperial Roman war chariot. Specifications and bureaucracies live forever. So the next time you are handed a specification and wonder what horse's rear came up with it, you may be exactly right, because the Imperial Roman war chariots were made just wide enough to accommodate the back end of two war horses. Thus we have the answer to the original question. Now for the twist to the story.
When we see a space shuttle sitting on it's launching pad, there are two booster rockets attached to the side of the main fuel tank. These are solid rocket boosters, or “SRBs”. The SRBs are made by Thiokol at their factory in Utah. The engineers who designed the SRBs might have preferred to make them a bit fatter, but the SRBs had to be shipped by train from the factory to the launch site. The railroad line from the factory had to run through a tunnel in the mountains. The tunnel is slightly wider than the railroad track, and the railroad track is about as wide as two horses’ rumps. So, a major design feature of what is arguably the world’s most advanced transportation system was determined over two thousand years ago by the width of a horse's bum!
The photos with this week’s column illustrate one of the reasons why people in every community in the world wanted a railroad to reach them. Before machines like road graders, crawler tractors, or big trucks with snowplows on them were developed, people just did the best they could with horse drawn sleds and sleighs. After enough traffic went over a road, it got packed down enough to be fairly decent (until it snowed hard again). Of course spring came along, the early part of which was even worse than winter. These photos were taken in 1909, several years after the railroad reached Council, so the town was connected to the outside world by a fairly dependable, year-‘round means of travel. But there were miles of roads that had to be dealt with the old fashioned way.
3-14-02
This week’s column features a few of the Museum’s collection of over 2500 photographs.
Photo #96173 originally came from Mrs. Jane Lynch, wife of the late Dr. J.M. Lynch (denstist) of Council (1901 - ?), then Cuprum and finally Weiser. Jane Lynch’s maiden name was Clark. The photograph was taken in 1897 or ’98 and shows Jane with her mother (Mrs. E.M. Lynch) and sister, Inez, on the yet-to-be finished front porch of their new “Imperial Hotel.” These were some of the first buildings in Cuprum; notice the stumps still in the middle of the street. The Clark family arrived in Cuprum in October of 1897. Jacob Lynch was one of the people to file for homestead land at Cuprum. The Salubria Citizen, May 12, 1899, said, “Jacob Clark has filed homestead entry on the land where the town of Cuprum stands. This makes the seventh or eighth filing on this town site. There is apt to be some lively litigations when the Seven Devils country opens up." Mrs. Lynch was known for the delicious fresh bread she baked and served at the hotel.
By the time photo #97008 was taken on July 3, 1899, the copper smelter at Cuprum had proven a failure and had been taken across the Snake River to the Iron Dyke mine where it was operated successfully. The resulting downturn in Cuprum’s economy had given the Clarks an opportunity to buy the boarding house in town and attach it to the far end of their hotel, as shown in the picture. Jacob Clark is shown standing to the left of the door (under the arrow). To the right of him are Janie Clark, Charles Lynes, a few of the hotel’s cooks and washers, Mrs. Lynes, Mrs. Smith of Bear, Mr. Ketchum, Anna Linkletter (?) from Boise who was working for Clarks, Dr. J.M. Lynch (Jane’s husband), Frank Jackson, Inez Clark, Mr. Masin, and a cook (standing between the buildings).
By the time photo #95155L was taken about 1910, Jacob Lynch and his wife had both died. The Council Leader, Sept 10, 1909, reported that Mrs. E.M. Clark, mother of Mrs. J.M. Lynch, had died “last Friday” at Cuprum, of cancer of the stomach at age 63. The paper said Mr. Clark had died nearly ten years earlier. Mrs. Clark had been living at Hailey, Idaho, and was staying with Jane and her husband at Cuprum for the summer. Her body was taken back to Hailey where she was buried.
The Clark’s establishment had become the “Seven Devils Hotel” (far left in photo) at least as early as 1902. It appears that Mrs. Dilly and Mary Sullivan (also known as “Mother” Sullivan) operated the hotel after the Clarks. Mother Sullivan died in 1905 at the Summit stage station, and was buried in the Cuprum Cemetery. Roy Pickler may have been the next proprietor, and is said to have taken over in 1908. Walter James is said to have taken over in 1922. James died in 1927, and the hotel burned in a major fire at Cuprum in 1930.
Another hotel in Cuprum in shown in the next two photos. The first mention of it that I can find is in 1927 when it was under the ownership of Sam Stephans. Sam and his wife, Martha (who had been married to stage man Pete Kramer until 1920) sold the hotel to John and Maude Darland in 1929. Sam and Martha Stephens moved to Council and bought the Pomona Hotel. Mrs. Darland became the Cuprum Postmaster that December.
Photo #95406 shows the former Cuprum Hotel, now known as the “Copper Lodge.” The sign to the right of the people in the picture says, “Copper Lodge,” but I doubt it will be legible as printed in the paper. Hugh Addington is the gentleman on the left, but the other two are unidentified. I didn’t have a chance to research the Copper Lodge before writing this week’s column, but there is a whole book in the Council library about it. The old Cuprum Hotel / Copper Lodge building is still standing, but I hear it’s in pretty bad shape.
3-21-02
I’ve been neglecting Women’s History Month, so I guess it’s time to pay tribute to a few of the women who played vital parts in Council’s history. Women have received less attention than men in historical accounts. It’s really no mystery why; men pretty much ran the world and dominated almost every field of endeavor. Women were relegated to being housewives or having careers in a very limited number of occupations. It has been said that history is “his story.” Even up until fairly recently, women were almost always referred to in newspapers and other public documents as the wife of some man, i.e., “Mrs. John Doe.” Sometimes in reading old papers, the only time I could determine a woman’s first name was in her obituary.
First I’ll mention a couple women who I’ve included in this column fairly recently. Eunice Trumbo was a beloved pastor of the Congregational Church for many years. Katie Marble probably taught more children that just about any person in the state, and is remembered fondly by many area residents.
Some of you have read Cary Davis George’s fine book, “Listen! The Pine Trees Are Singing.” In it she details the lives of her grandparents, Nancy and Byron Davis who lived where the Wildhorse Road leaves the Council Cuprum road. About the only thing remaining of the old Davis place is the grave of their stillborn daughter. If you would like a copy of Cary’s book, they are on sale at Buckshot Mary’s. The proceeds from the book go to the Museum. If you’re a fan of local history, or history in general, you’ll love her book.
Joseph and Miranda Carroll operated general merchandise stores in Midvale, Salubria and Council before buying the Lick Creek hotel and ranch (currently the OX Ranch Lick Creek Headquarters) in 1903. In the spring of 1905, Miranda became the postmaster at the Bear Post Office when Ada Smith resigned. Joseph served as a justice of the peace in the Bear precinct. The Carrolls’ son, Charlie, often worked at area sawmills, and was frequently employed in that line of work by Arthur Huntley. Another son, Andy, became the first postmaster at Fruitvale in 1909. Joseph and Miranda also moved to Fruitvale about the time as Andy did, and helped to establish the original townsite there. The same year that Fruitvale was established (1909) Andy married Olda Davis, the daughter of Byron and Nancy Davis. Tragically, Andy died of pneumonia only four years later, at the age of 26. He is buried in the Hornet Creek Cemetery.
Caption for 00213: Daisy Cole Downing was Katie Cole Marble’s sister. These women were and Fred and Raymond Cole’s aunts. Daisy cooked at Council restaurants from 1942 to 1965.
Caption for 00215--Arthina Mae "Olda" Davis -- born Aug 13, 1890 in Council--died May 29, 1965 in Seattle--married Andy Herbert Carroll on 8-21-1909 at Meadows. Andy died in 1912, leaving her with two small daughters, Marie and Olda Madge Carroll.
Caption for 00219-- Nancy Loretta Parker Davis--born Feb 1858 at Del Norte, CO, and was buried there. Married Byron DeKalb Davis in 1876 at Trinidad, Colorado.
Caption for 00217--Miranda Ellen "Nell" Barton Carroll --born 10-26-1861 in Kansas--died 5-23-1914 Council. Married Joseph Carroll in 1884. Had at least 3 children: Charles E. Carroll, Gladys O. Carroll, and Andy Herbert Carroll.
3-28-02
I’m continuing with the women’s history month theme this week. Before I forget, I want to include the Men’s Prayer: “I’m a man. But I can change. If I have to. I guess.”
The first photo in this week’s collection (#72028) is Mrs. William Monday (spelled “Munday” in most old accounts). Once again, it would take some research to find out what Mrs. Monday’s first name was. Her husband, William Monday, earned his claim to fame by getting killed by Indians in the Long Valley Massacre of 1878. William was the Indian Valley Postmaster for a while, and Mrs. Monday very probably did much, if not all, of the postmaster job. It was not unusual in those days for a man to have the official title of Postmaster, but for the wife to do the actual job. I have no record of what became of Mrs. Monday after her husband was killed. There is no record of her being buried in Adams County.
The photo (#00168) of the next pioneer lady is Rose Ann (Rosanna?) Groseclose at the age of 14. As I’ve alluded to in a previous column, her story is related to the Long Valley Massacre. Her brother, Jake Groseclose, was another of the men killed in that disaster. The Jacob (Senior) and Elizabeth Gloseclose family came to Indian Valley in 1877, then moved on to Cottonwood Creek, a few miles south of Council, apparently not long after Jake was killed. According to Marguerite Diffendaffer’s book “Council Valley—Here They Labored,” the family moved on to Lick Creek about 1881, but retained ownership of at least part of their Cottonwood property until 1889. When a post office was established at Cottonwood Creek in 1885, the office was named “Rose” in honor of Rose Groseclose. Rose was the youngest of the Groseclose children, and was born about 30 miles north of Denver, Colorado in 1867, so she was about 18 when the post office was named after her. The Rose Post Office was short lived, existing for only a couple years and closing in 1887. The next year, 1888, Rose married Arthur Robertson. The couple lived at Indian Valley for a short time, and then moved to Bear where they and their eight children became integral parts of that community. Rose Groseclose Robertson died in 1950.
Photo # 95275 shows Fruitvale pioneers, George and Martha Robertson (not related to the Robertsons at Bear). The picture was taken at the Robertson homestead about 1920, just north of Fruitvale where Amy Glen now lives. They came to Fruitvale about 1883. Martha’s maiden name was Harp, and so tied the Robertson clan, by blood or marriage, to the Harps, Copeland, Keslers and Winklers. (For more details, see pages 47 & 48 of “Landmarks.”)
Photo #95369 shows George and Martha Robertson’s four daughters.
Photo #95324 is of Elva Kesler about 1887 at the age of 10 or so. Elva was the youngest daughter of Alex and Martha Kesler. On their way to Council, Keslers stopped at Indian Valley because of the Nez Perce War in 1877. The few settlers in the Council Valley had fled to Indian Valley as soon as the war broke out. Most accounts say that the Keslers moved on to Council later that fall (October). Elva would have been the first white child born in the Council Valley, but for some reason she was born at Salubria in December of 1877. Evidently the Alex and Martha hadn’t settled in the Council Valley at the time, or else they decided to have their baby at a more populated area. Elva later married Robert Young.
I think I’ll continue this theme next week.
Just for the record, it seems that the last time there was this much snow at Easter was in the 1950s. If anyone has more exact or better info on this, please let me know and I’ll put it in next week’s column.
4-4-02
Even though it is no longer Women’s History Month, I’m continuing my series about local women in history.
Last week the caption didn’t get placed with photo #95369. The ladies shown in this blurred photograph were the daughters of George and Martha Robertson (left to right): Mary Glenn, Laura Ward, Millie Bethel, and Beth Hill.
The woman I’m featuring this week is Dora Black (photo 95033), a woman who taught at a number of schools in this area in the 1890s. Dora and her husband, William “Billie” Black, are generally credited with starting the first commercial orchard in this part of Idaho. The Blacks lived at the present day Gossard ranch on Hornet Creek. William and Dora Black and their two sons settled on this ranch in 1889. They came from Spokane, Washington to live near her father, Jeremiah Elliott, who had settled here five years earlier. A year after they arrived, the Blacks traded a milk cow to a nurseryman in Boise for young fruit trees. They added to their orchards as they were able, and it soon became the largest orchard, and the first commercial orchard, in Washington County (Adams County wasn’t created until 1911). At its peak, the Black place had about 1500 fruit trees and a half-acre of strawberries.
Samples of fruit from the Black orchards took a prize at the Chicago World's Fair in 1893, and some were sent to London and Paris for exhibition. This kind of success inspired other people in the Council area to start orchards, and the vicinity became famous for its high quality fruit. After the turn of the century, orchards sprang up all the way from Fruitvale to the famous Mesa Orchards.
Dora Black told of an incident they had with Indians at their Hornet Creek ranch in the early days: “The Nez Perce Indians came on their annual trip to Weiser and camped near our house. We had a house full of friends from Weiser the same Sunday. In the evening we were singing and dancing to the music of violin and guitar, raising lots of noise, when an Indian messenger came asking us to keep quiet. ‘It was Sunday and the hour for their prayer services.’ We were quite ashamed and kept still.”
In 1892 there was an outbreak of diphtheria that killed nine people in the Council area. Both of the Black's children were stricken with the disease that winter. Harry Black was eight years old, and his little brother, Ralph, was only twenty months old. The nearest doctor was Dr. Wm. Brown, 35 miles away in Salubria, and the medicine he sent arrived too late to save them. Harry died on December 7, and little Ralph died the next day.
The boys were buried under a pine tree on the ranch. In those days it was believed that burial at night would help prevent the spread of the disease, so many diphtheria victims were buried after dark. This may well have been how these little boys here were buried. If so, what an eerie, heart-breaking ceremony it must have been. The vast blackness outside the small circle of lantern light must have made it seem to Mr. and Mrs. Black that they were escorting their precious sons even farther than usual on their journey into eternity.
Later, the family wanted to move the boys’ bodies to a cemetery near Council, but authorities would not allow it. Diphtheria is an extremely contagious bacterial disease, and it was feared that disturbing the graves might cause a new epidemic. The fence around the graves was built, using pickets with carved, pointed cupola type tops. Wooden pegs were the only fastening devices used. The white picket fence around the graves can be seen today in a hillside field to the north west of the ranch buildings, about 100 yards above the road. The Gossard family rebuilt the fence in the early 1980s. The old pine tree that stood guard over the graves for over 100 years began dying in the early 1990s.
Originally an Iowa girl, Dora Black had taught school in Oregon and then in Montana, where she met and married William, before coming to Idaho. Between 1893 and 1895 she taught in every school that then existed in the Council area. Getting to and from the Upper Dale School was no problem, since it was practically next door. When she taught at the "Lower Hornet" (Lower Dale) school, Dora rode six miles, to and from work, each night and morning. When engaged at the "Lower Council" school (just north of town) and the "Upper Council" school (later called the "White" school), she probably boarded with someone near those schools. Since school terms only lasted a few months in those days, she would often be employed at two or more of these schools during the same year.
Photo 72076 shows Mrs. Black (top left) with her students at the “lower Council” school that stood near the Kesler Cemetery just north or Council. The photo was taken in August of 1893. Front Row, left to right: Donald Mathias, Mary Morrison, Elsie Hollenbeak, Lawson Whiteley, Lloyd Hollenbeak, Dock Harp, Walter Clark, Maggie Morrison, Bessie Harp, Mary Winkler, Bertha Mathias, Arty Winkler, Annie Clark, Bessie Camp.
2nd Row: Tommy Whiteley, Cleave Hollenbeak, John Hollenbeak, James Harp, Willie Pickens, John Clark, Frank Harp, Maud Harp, Ethel Mathias. 3rd Row: Robert Morrison, Will Clark, Will Morrison, Lizzie Copeland, Matilda Moser (under larger arrow, wearing a white dress), Agnes Winkler, Martha Clark, Alice Winkler, Belle Morrison, Wilson Palmer 4th Row: Elva Kesler (under smaller arrow….her photo was featured in last week’s column), Eva Moser, Maude Peters, Royal Mathias, Myrtle Osborn, Ida Moser.
While teaching at the White School in 1894 and ‘95, Dora Black had about 20 pupils, including Ida and Etta Glenn; Elgie Hollenbeak; Cora, Ova, Eliza and Edna Biggerstaff; Abbie and Tommy Sevey; Mollie Addington; Mary, Laura and Albert Robertson; Maudie and Lizie Groseclose; and Earl Parks.
William Black, better known as "Billie," seems to have been a jack-of-all-trades who jumped from one career to another. His parents may have started the trend. Originally from England, they emigrated to Canada where Billie was born, then moved on to the U.S. when he was 16 years old. He was about 30 years old when he came to this area.
In 1896 Billie ran unsuccessfully against Art Wilkie and another man for the office of state representative. Early in 1898, he was caught up in the fever of the Klondike gold rush, and headed north to strike it rich. Along the way, he came to his senses and stayed in Washington until July. No sooner had he arrived home than he was determined to go back to Washington to make his fortune. The Salubria Citizen reported that Billie sold his ranch to Benjamin Day, who ran the Inland Hotel in Salubria, for $4,000, and in turn, the Blacks leased the hotel from Day. Dora later said that they traded the ranch for the hotel. She said that one reason they gave up the ranch was that her father had died, and that his death added to the loss of their sons made her not care to live there anymore.
Dora, apparently also no stranger to a variety of careers, was said to be "experienced in the hotel business," and ran the establishment while Billie went off to chase his dreams in Republic, Washington. Those dreams were apparently short lived, as he returned within a few weeks to help run the hotel.
Ever on the move, the next summer (1899) Billie Black announced his retirement from his brief career as a hotel magnate, and the Blacks turned the business back to Mrs. Day. By the spring of 1900 the sale of the ranch to Mr. Day had fallen through, and Billie had become part owner of a mine in the Heath Mining District near Cambridge. He had leased the ranch to Al Jewell, and was once again heading north with the gleam of gold in his eyes. This time he hitched his star to the gold rush at Nome, Alaska. And this time he actually made it there. But he only stayed a short time.
The following year (1901) Benjamin Day made another stab at buying the Black's Hornet Creek property. This time the deal stuck. A year later, Billie and Dora were back in the hotel business, leasing the Vendome hotel in Weiser. Again, this vocation didn't satisfy Billie's itch for very long. By 1904, he was running a cigar store in Weiser. From here, Billie's trail, at least through the local newspapers, becomes cold. He apparently ran the cigar store for a longer period than most of his other callings had held him. According to family records, he spent two terms in the Idaho State legislature at some point. Billie died in Payette, Idaho, Sept. 17, 1931, and is buried at the Riverside Cemetery there. Dora continued to live in Weiser until her death in April of 1948.
4-11-02
The Council area has a small claim to a famous Idaho person. Photo number 95459 is of a lady you may recognize as Emma Edwards Green. She is renowned for designing the Idaho State Seal. When she taught school at Cuprum, she was Emma Edwards. It is said that she boarded with Arthur and Pearl Huntley while she taught at the school. Arthur had known Emma at least since 1896, when they were both single and she taught a three month term at the Lick Creek school.
Emma’s father, a former governor of Missouri, came west to California in the late 1840s, and later to Boise. When Idaho became a state in 1890, the first legislature authorized a competition for the design of a state seal. By this time, Emma had studied art in New York City. She submitted a design, won the contest and was awarded $100 for her
work. A painting she did of the seal was exhibited at the 1893 Chicago World's Fair. The Idaho Historical society now has the painting. Idaho has the distinction of having the only state seal that was designed by a woman.
About 1895, while living at or near Salubria (near present - day Cambridge), Miss Edwards submitted a design for a new fifty-cent piece. The woman depicted on her drawing for the coin was patterned after a young lady in the Salubria area who was an acquaintance of Emma’s. Emma's design was picked by the Treasury out of several hundred proposed. Of course the coin is no longer in circulation, and I have never seen a picture of one. It was the year after her design was chosen that she taught at the Lick Creek School. If she was considered a celebrity, no mention was made of it in the Salubria newspaper. Aside from simply noting that she would teach at Lick Creek in a May edition, the Salubria Citizen, July 17, 1896 described the July 4th celebration at Lick Creek. The activities took place at "the beautiful grove above the school house" where a temporary stage and seats had been prepared. "These had been roofed over with a green canopy of boughs affording a most delightful shade, which with the green grass for a carpet, flowers blooming everywhere and decorating the stage.” Pupils of Upper Hornet (Upper Dale) and Lick creek schools attended, along with their teachers, “Prof. Hodge and Miss Emma Edwards.” Arthur Huntley read the Declaration of Independence. Musicians played for a dance in the evening. Photo 95066 shows a similar dance at Bear on July 4, 1917. It appears that the décor of the dance floor copied the earlier celebration, with a roof of green boughs.
If Emma Edwards did actually board with Arthur and Pearl Huntley, it would have to have been after the Huntleys were married in 1904. In 1906 Emma married a miner named John G. Green, and they homesteaded near
Lowman, Idaho. They later lived in Boise. Emma Edwards Green died in 1942.
4-18-02
“EE-DA-HOW!” From the door of his tepee the Red Man lifts his face to the dawn. Peaks sharpen in ruggedness and morning light moves upon the mountain. Shadows are pushed away and brightness sweeps to the valley below. “Ee-da-how!” exclaims the Shoshoni. “Light comes down the mountain. It is morning!”
This is now a book entitled “The Golden Years” by Vernetta Murchison Hogsett. This quote seems pretty funny in light of the fact the “Ee-da-how” was a “word” made up by some melodramatic white person. As I mentioned once before, Wyoming almost got the name “Idaho” because of this so-called Shoshoni word before Idaho got the honor.
The imagery in that paragraph is a perfect match for this trumped up word. For many generations, the cultural icon that has represented the American Indian has been a “chief” wearing a big, eagle-feathered war bonnet. And, as illustrated in the quoted paragraph, Indians always lived in tepees. I find it fascinating that the Plains Indian, especially the Sioux, has come to represent the quintessential Native American – not only to European Americans, but to other tribes of Indians as well. What makes it even more fascinating is that European Americans are directly responsible for making it possible for the Plains Indian to look and act like he did.
A huge part of the Plains Indian lifestyle started when the first Spanish explorers lost a few horses. Indians captured some of these horses, and learned to train and ride them. It was the horse that made tepees possible. Nobody drug around fifteen-foot-long poles plus a buffalo hide covering that probably weighed a total of several hundred pounds when they only had dogs as pack animals. The horse, plus European trade items -- beads, metal, mirrors, trade cloth, etc. – made it possible for the Sioux and other plains tribes to become the flashy-dressing hero / villain so ingrained on our consciousness. The flashiness of the plains style was not lost on other Indian groups either. Just as soon as they got horses and trade goods, many of them started imitating their plains cousins by wearing similar beadwork and clothing, living in tepees, and even adopting some of their cool dances. This is exactly what the Idaho Shoshoni did.
An accurate, but absolutely unromantic, pre-horse version of the opening paragraph might read something like this: “Aaauuuh! From the opening of his tiny brush wigwam the Shoshoni man stretches and lifts his yawning face to the late morning. His wife has been up for an hour or two, gathering firewood, roasting a few grasshoppers she has caught, and doing just about any other work that needs to be done. The man’s naturally dark skin is made more so by an accumulation of dirt, sweat, grease from animal hides and meat, and smoke from countless campfires. Those campfires have also left his eyes red and watering because he suffers from a chronic infection brought on by constant exposure to smoke. He is emaciated because food has been very difficult to find for the past couple months. He wears nothing but a breach cloth, except for the furry dog skin around his shoulders to ward off what is left of the morning chill. The sun is not coming down a mountain, but burning across a desolate, sagebrush-covered desert.”
A few years ago I went to a lecture by anthropologist Max Pavesic. Knowing that many tribes ate dog meat, I asked him if the Shoshoni did this. He assured me that the Shoshoni used dogs for pack animals and for hunting, but didn’t stoop to eating them. I took his word for it, and didn’t mention dog as being part of the Shoshoni diet in my “Landmarks” book. Recently I was reading “Astoria” by Washington Irving in which he details the journey of the Wilson Price Hunt expedition across southern and western Idaho in 1811. These guys pretty much starved a lot of the time, and when they begged food off the natives, guess what was very frequently on the menu at café Shoshoni? Yep, good old shep.
But I digress. The book by Mrs. Hogsett that I quoted was written in 1955, and is a history of the Idaho Federation of Women’s Clubs, 1905 – 1955. The book was recently donated to the museum by Nancy Lane. Without exception there is never any mention of a woman’s first name unless she is unmarried. Women in the book are known only by their husband’s name, i.e., “Mrs. Charles Jones.” It’s and interesting book, in some ways, and in keeping with the women’s history theme, I may write more about it in upcoming columns.
I got a great letter from Lawrence Warner about my recent column about Cuprum. He said, “I was just looking at the pictures of Cuprum in the early days. I saw picture #95151 years before, and the boy in the middle of the street on the white mule was the Smith boy. His dad had been deer hunting near the head of Bear Creek and got lost in a snowstorm. He circled a mountain with a sharp peak, and after circling it once, he saw his tracks and hurried fast to see who was there also. Then after seeing where his horse tracks came into the trail, he decide he was going in circles. After the weather cleared and he came down to Cuprum, they named the point “Smith Mountain.” I don’t think photo #95406 at Cuprum is Hugh Addington, but the man and woman there could be Alice and Henry Petri as they put up the Copper Lodge sign just after Gary Cooper was up there on a cougar hunt.” Gary Cooper visited the Council and Cuprum areas in the fall of 1947. The Adams County Leader reported that Cooper ate at the "Council Cafe" (in the Ace building) and toured the Hoover packing plant.
4-25-02
Once again I have Rita Blevins to thank for contributing information, and a photo, to this column. She wrote such a good letter that I’ll just quote her here.
In your April 4 column in the Record, you wrote of Billie and Mrs. Black, and I can add a bit about Mr. Black that may interest you. While living in Weiser he was known for his fishing for sturgeon in the Snake River and selling it in town. I can remember being with my parents one time when there was a wagon on the street with a huge fish in it, and my parents and other people buying chunks of it. Mr. Black must have supplemented his income with his fishing.
In the spring, a run of lampreys, or eels as we called them, would come up the Weiser River and into Manns Creek, then down my father’s irrigation ditch, at which time he would flood the pasture and hundreds of eels would be left there. My older brother, LaVelle Barton, would gather the eels, cut them into chunks, salt them down in two-gallon crocks, and sell them to Mr. Black for sturgeon bait. This was in the very early ‘20s.
My husband, Louie, enjoyed fishing for sturgeon, going to the Len Jordan ranch on the Snake River in Hells Canyon. His largest catch was six foot three inches, but it wasn’t weighed. If you have never tasted sturgeon meat, you have missed a taste treat, as it is the very best of all fish. Fishing for them is great sport, though keepers are only between three and six feet now.
There used to be a few people around Council who caught sturgeon in the Snake. These big, muscular fish are notorious for being hard to reel in, and considering the one in the accompanying photo weighed 500 pounds, I can only imagine what a fight it must have put up. I remember hearing tales about people in the old days using Model Ts to pull in sturgeon. Supposedly, a sturgeon pulled a Model T into Payette Lake years ago. People later saw the top of the car moving along the surface of the water as the big fish pulled it. This is one version of how stories of Sharley, the mythical creature that inhabits Payette Lake, got started.
Following up on another recent column, I found an article on Emma Edwards Green’s thoughts about her State Seal concept in the book I mentioned last week, “The Golden Years.” The article was written 46 years after Emma designed it. She is quoted as saying, “Before designing the seal, I was careful to make a thorough study of the resources and future possibilities of the new state. The question of woman’s suffrage was being agitated somewhat, and leading men and politicians agreed that Idaho would eventually give women the right to vote, and as mining was the chief industry and the mining man the largest financial factor in the state at that time, I made the figure of the man the most prominent in the design, with that of the woman signifying justice, denoted by the scales, liberty as denoted by the liberty cap on the end of the spear, and equality with man as denoted y her position at his side, which also signifies freedom.”
“The pick and shovel held by the miner and the ledge of rock beside which he stands, as well as the pieces of ore scattered about his feet, all indicate the chief occupation of the state. The stamp mill in the distance, which you can see by using a magnifying glass, is also typical of the mining interests of Idaho. The shield between the man and woman is emblematic of the protection they unite in giving the state. In the background of the shield the sun rises behind snow capped mountains. The large fir, or pine tree, in the foreground refers to Idaho’s immense timber interests. The husbandman plowing on the left side of the shield together with the sheaf of grain beneath the shield, are emblematic of Idaho’s agricultural resources while the cornucopias, or horns of plenty, refer to the horticultural.”
“Idaho has a game law which protects the elk and moose. The elk’s head, therefore, rises from the shield. The state flower, the wild syringa or mock orange, grows at the woman’s feet, while the ripened wheat grows as high as the woman’s shoulder. The star signifies a new light in the galaxy of states. The translation of the Latin motto ‘Esto Perpetua’ is ‘It is perpetuated,’ or ’It is forever.’ The river depicted in the shield is our might Snake, or Shoshone River, a stream of great majesty.”
“I invited the advice and counsel of every member of the legislature and other citizens qualified to help in creating a seal of state that really represented Idaho at that time. The ‘Light on the Mountains’ is typified by the rosy glow which precedes the sunrise.”
Caption for Black photo: Dora and Billie Black with a 500 lb. Sturgeon that Billie caught near Weiser. [It looks about 10 feet long to me.]
Other image: “The Idaho State Seal, designed by Emma Edwards Green.”
5-2-02
I’m still thinking about history as it relates to women, so I did a little looking around and found a few interesting things.
The legal status of women in the earliest days of this country was appalling. English common law, which was incorporated into the laws of American states after independence, was the rule up until the 1830s. If a woman was single, she had all the legal rights and obligations of a man, with the exception of voting, jury duty or military service. When a woman married, she suddenly became, as one article put it, “civilly dead.” In general, she could not make a will, inherit or own property, make contracts, or sue or be sued in court without the consent and participation of her husband. Any personal property she had became her husband’s; this included real estate, which he was to manage until her death, at which time it passed automatically to their legitimate children. A few women became wealthy widows by making prenuptial agreements, but this was unusual.
If a woman’s husband died, she usually inherited a one-third “life interest” his real property (land, houses, etc.). These laws varied from state to state, but in general she could manage and live on, but not sell the property without the court’s permission. She also got half to one-third of her husband’s personal property (which may have been hers in the first place).
These laws could also cut both ways. If a wife committed a crime in her husband’s presence, the court assumed that a wife always operated under her husband’s direct control, and he became liable for the conduct and she bore none of the blame.
The first changes in this inequity came in the 1830s and ‘40s when some states adopted Married Women’s Property Acts, which allowed wives to own any property they had owned before marriage or inherited during the marriage. These earliest laws didn’t give a wife the right to retain money that she earned. Fiscal laws have remained stuck in the dark ages until recently. It wasn’t until the 1970s that married women were able to establish credit in their own names without their husband’s signature.
The attributes that nineteenth century women expected of themselves and by which they judged others were submission, chastity, religious sensibility and an interest in all things associated with home and family. Of course most of these are not inherently unfair, but can be carried to extremes, as we’ve seen so graphically in the Middle East.
It is amazing how recently birth control has become legal. In the 1800s birth control opponents said it was sinful and that the nation needed a growing population of large, stable families (some of them feared that “Yankee” stock would be overcome by
immigrants, non-whites and the poor), and birth control represented a rebellion of women against their primary social duty—motherhood. Beginning in 1879, laws were passed outlawing birth control in twenty-two states.
Between 1912 and 1930, House Bills to repeal such laws in Connecticut (where the most strict statutes existed) were repeatedly rejected. In 1931 doctors began to support the bills. Between 1941 and 1959, seventeen bills were entered; some passed in the House but were defeated in the Senate. Arguments continued to center on religious views and questions of public morality.
In 1961, Dr. C. Lee Buxton and Estelle Griswald opened a birth control clinic in New Haven, Connecticut. They were arrested and fined. The Planned Parenthood League appealed the Griswald vs. Ct. case and, in 1965, the U.S. Supreme Court struck down as unconstitutional the 1879 birth control law. After 86 years, birth control could be used legally in Connecticut. Contraceptive services soon became available across the nation. The U.S. population has increased by about 50% since 1965 (about 78.4 million more people).
5-9-02
A few weeks ago the Museum was given a few scrapbooks that belonged to an army nurse named Genevieve White. People here knew her as Genevieve Smith, wife of Bill Smith (I think his nickname was “Al”?). Two of the scrapbooks commemorate Genevieve’s “stitch in the service.” They are filled with some very interesting and unique mementoes and artifacts from her experiences in the Army Nurse Corps (ANC) during World War II.
Genevieve was a Registered Nurse specializing in obstetrics and surgery when she joined the ANC in September of 1943. She was living in San Bernardino, California at the time. Her first assignment was the Station Hospital at the Presidio of Monterey, California. Her first entry into this scrapbook / diary reads, “Sept. 1st, 1943 – Off to the wars. Six buses and 2 hours later, arrived at Presidio.” On this first page are her photo ID, Post Library card, Telephone account card, her bus tickets, and a Monterey postcard. The next few pages contain photos, her Nurse Corp uniform patch and one of her Lieutenant bars.
One of the unique aspects of Genevieve’s scrapbooks is that she put many drawings depicting her experiences. One drawing shows her crawling along the ground under barbed wire, evidently while undergoing something akin to basic training, with her “backside” elevated. It is captioned, “Keep your *#@^* down!” Often she wrote “Woe hoe, woe hoe!!” when talking about some exciting or upsetting event. Was this a common expression during the war, or was it her own?
One page has an official Army Song Book glued to it. It contains songs such as “America,” “Anchors Aweigh,” “Auld Lang Syne,” ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic,” “The Caissons Go Rolling Along,” “Casey Jones,” Cindy,” “Dixie,” “Home on the Range,” “K-K-K-Katy,” “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary,” “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag,” and “You’re In the Army Now.” Several of the songs have comical parody versions.
On December 19, Genevieve went by train to Kilmer, New Jersey. The menu from the San Francisco Overland Limited lists the roast sirloin diner as costing $1.40. Another menu from “Henrici’s on Randolph” in Chicago (established 1868) lists similar prices. Beside a breakfast menu from the Pennsylvania Railroad dining car, she wrote, “Oops!! The waiter spilled a bowl of soup in the lap of a ‘spit and polish’ Marine Major!!!” Beside photo postcards of Camp Kilmer, she wrote, “Kilmer is the loneliest, coldest, most God forsaken camp on earth – bar none!!”
On December 29th Genevieve left for Great Britain on the U.S.S. Brazil. She spent a short time in Scotland, then in English camps at Peworth, Windon, Burford, Exetor and South Hampton. While in England, her unit (203rd) cared for some of the wounded from the D-Day invasion. When patient number went up to 900, they thought they were really working hard. Soon they had over 1500 patients.
On January 13, 1944, her outfit crossed the English Channel to France, landing on Utah Beach. During this time, she noted the routines of her army life in mobile camps. One drawing shows “the little girl’s room” which contained a big box affair with two rows of four holes side by side. They called it a “Chic Sale.” The Army has never been too big on privacy. At one point, one canteen of water per day was all they were allowed for washing clothes, bathing and drinking. In another camp, she described the procedure in the shower tents: “Industrial nozzle from a two inch pipe – along with 14 other gals – one gets all lathered with soap, then outside a GI turns on the pump. Sqeals, yells, ohs and ahs. Either the water is too hot or too cold. Then kaput, it’s off.”
I’ll have more on these scrapbooks next week.
5-16-02
This is the second half of Genevieve White Smith’s WWII story as gleaned from her scrapbooks. Genevieve didn’t write anything about the dark side of her experience: the horrible wounds she saw. The only light shed on this aspect is a letter from the mother of a wounded boy:
“My dear Miss White,
I am writing to thank you for your kindness to our son, Pvt. Fred L. Cary, who was wounded in France the 26th of June. He gave us your name and address, and is, I know more grateful to you, as are Dr. Cary and myself. You see he is the baby of the family, and the only boy. Thank God he was spared. I think so often during the day and long nights of our dear boys out there. It seems a shame the cream of the crop had to be picked for this conflict. I pray it will soon be over and that we never again will have another war. Dr. and I were wondering if you can tell us just what is the matter with Sonny’s right arm and side. If we only knew, we could prepare ourselves before he gets home. Any news will be greatly appreciated. I know you have to be careful, but we are anxious. I am sure you understand. I have sent you a box of little things that I hope you can use. Thanking you again for your great kindness, I remain very truly, Mrs. F.L. Cary.”
While in France, Genevieve wrote “Paris her we come! Ah those little French towns. We were the first train over the repaired tracks after the bombing. Quite a mess, no?” One page taken from a magazine has a photo of FDR with the caption, “We dedicate this page to the beloved memory of Franklin Delano Roosevelt whose entire life was dedicated to the fight for lives.” Genevieve’s 203rd unit served at a total of eight camps in France. The war with Germany ended while they were near Paris, so Genevieve saw the celebrations in Paris. At one point she wrote in exasperation that she had many prisoner of war patients who spoke German, Italian, Polish, etc. and her only knowledge of a language other than English was a smattering of Spanish.
Other items in Genevieve’s scrapbooks: a ten Franc note, a Red Cross matchbook cover, maps of Europe, the cover from “A Pocket Guide to France” issued by the War and Navy Departments, a small French – English dictionary, a menu from the U.S.A.T. Henry Gibbons dated Nov. 1, 1945, a handbook from Camp Myles Standish, a bottle cap from a “Hood’s Milk” bottle, copies of misc. orders and official papers, a 1945 airline schedule for flights between New York and Washington D.C., napkins from various restaurants, and lots of cards from various holidays.
After the war ended, some members of the 203rd were sent to the Pacific Theater, but Genevieve was discharged. She took the ship U.S.A.T. Henry Gibbons to Miles Standish, Massachusetts (Nov. 1945). After a brief stint at Kilmer, New Jersey again, she took a plane to Beale, California, then took a bus home to San Bernardino. She married Bill Smith while they were both in the service. I don’t know when they moved to Idaho, but they lived in the first small house on the right (west) side of Exeter Street south of Economy Roofing. He was the butcher at Shaver’s for a time.
One scrapbook has dozens of family photos. I’m told they had at least one child, a son, but that he had cut all ties with his parents. I can’t help but think these scrapbooks would be extremely valuable to Genevieve’s grandchildren or other relatives. If anyone has a solid lead on how to locate one of these people, please let me know. The books are not that relevant to our local history, so the Museum is not the ideal place for them. I’ve heard there are groups of WWII vets that get together to share memories and pictures and that they would love to see these scrapbooks.
5-23-02
Once in a while I like to follow one person or family through my newspaper notes. Here are a few tidbits on the McMahan family. Isaac and Jonathan McMahan were the patriarchs of the family who first arrived at our corner of the planet. The brothers came west to Durkee, Oregon in 1878. Nine years later, (1887) they decided to move to Long Valley, and on their way to that location they came through the Council Valley and camped here. Isaac later remarked that at this time there was nothing where Council now stands, “but a ranch owned by Mr. George Moser who was living in a log house."
Neither brother took up residence in Long Valley. Jonathan made his home in Meadows; Isaac and his wife, Lucy, backtracked to the location at Indian Valley now known as Alpine where they established a general store. As far as I know it stood about where the present store is. [Lillian McDowell Imler said it was where Lakey’s is now.] In 1891 a post office was established at the McMahan store. Lucy was the postmaster, and I believe she came up with the name, “Alpine.” To celebrate Independence Day, 1894, Isaac and Lucy went to Salubria. They returned the next day to find nothing remaining of their store and home but smoldering ashes.
Weiser entrepreneur, John Peters, had a store in Council about this time, and his store had gone up in smoke just over a month before McMahan’s business burned. The Peters building stood about where the Shaver’s store is today. The loss of Peters’s store was a blow to the Council area; it was the only store in the Valley. The June 8, 1894 Idaho Citizen newspaper (Salubria) said, "The insurance agent and receiver have not been here [Council] to inspect J.O. Peter's goods, consequently everyone here is going on short rations." I would suppose Council people turned to McMahan’s as the next closest store, and then lost it to fire as well. After that, it may have been necessary to make a four-day round trip journey to Weiser for supplies.
After their store burned, Isaac and Lucy McMahan went into business with John Peters in some fashion, but the particulars are confusing if one goes by newspaper reports. The Idaho Citizen, Aug 3, 1894 announced that Peters had leased or sold his store to McMahan. (One has to wonder just what McMahan leased or sold if Peters’s establishment had burned.) The very next week the paper contained and ad for Peters’s store in Council and news that Isaac McMahan would “continue at Alpine with new stock.” Three weeks later (Sept. 7), the Citizen reported the sale of McMahan’s Alpine store to Mrs. Annie E. Wilkerson. (There seems to have been a thriving business in selling burned stores.) The September 14 issue finally mentioned that Isaac McMahan had a store in Council. His establishment was known as the “Cash Store.” As near as I can tell, Peter’s still had an interest in this store, and it was on his property. In the spring of 1896 the Citizen reported, "McMahan has bought the store building, barn and feed corral and the lots that Peters owned in Council. He has also bought the lot of Mrs. Moser east of the blacksmith shop and will build on it this spring." An advertisement in this issue touted, "Isaac McMahan's general merchandise store in Council Valley." At this time, there was no town of Council, and the post office here was called “Council Valley.”
That fall of 1896, Peters and McMahan went into business together again and erected a fancy new store across the street, east of the Cash Store. The Citizen said Mahan and Peters had “formed a partnership in the general merchandise business at Council and will carry a $10,000 stock of goods. This will be the largest stock of goods between Salubria and Grangeville. They have just completed a handsome new store building, and are receiving their new stock."
I’ll have more on the McMahans next week. The Museum will be opening this weekend (May 25th). We may be able to get in on a program that pays a young person minimum wage to host the Museum, but even if that pans out, some volunteers will be necessary.
Captions for photos:
84009—McMahan’s “Cash Store” is shown in the background on the left in this photo taken about 1894 or ’95. The Moser Hotel is showing at the right edge. If you were standing where this picture was taken from today, you would be looking west at Ruben’s (where the Moser Hotel stood) and Council Auto. The town square park with the steam tractors would be on your right and Norm’s on your left.
72043—This well-known photo shows the beginnings of a town in the Council Valley. This is looking south from behind what is Shaver’s today. The board corral in the right foreground occupies the spot where Peters’s store stood before it burned down two years prior to this photograph. Building number 7 is the old Cash Store. Number 3 is the brand new Peters & McMahan General Store. Buildings 1 & 2 occupy the space where the Ace building stands today.
5-30-02
In April of 1899, Isaac McMahan turned 40 years old. He and his wife, Lucy (age 33), had four sons: Rollie (14), Lester (12), Ernest (7) and Earl (3). They had just built a new store with their partner, John Peters, three years earlier in what would shortly become a town named “Council.” They were living in a wing on the west side of their store building. Isaac’s older brother, Jonathan (46), was operating a store in Meadows with his wife, Caroline, and their children, Edward, George, Lilly and Daisy. By this time, things were booming in Council because the railroad was coming. New buildings were going up all along what is now downtown Council.
For some reason, Isaac and Lucy chose this time to sell their house/store to Lewis Shaw of Walla Walla. Shaw had plans to turn the building into a saloon and hotel. It was announced that McMahan would close out his stock at cost and quit business on December 15. The Salubria Citizen, Dec 22, 1899 reported, “Isaac McMahan has moved his store from the old stand to the building formerly occupied by Henderlite's drug store. He will only sell groceries for now, but plans a general merchandise store in the spring when he can get into his large store building.” The new site, where Henderlite’s drug store had been, is where Council Valley Market’s parking lot is today. During the time the McMahans operated this business, Isaac became one of the first “trustees” of the village of Council, established in January of 1903. I would guess a trustee must have been something like a city council member. Also on the board of trustees was Lewis Shaw, John Peters, H.M. Jorgens and J.J. Bolan.
Later in the summer of 1903, the McMahans traded their store to Joseph Whiteley (the family for which Whiteley Avenue in Council is named) for Whiteley’s ranch at Fruitvale. At that time, Fruitvale didn’t exist as an official community, and only a few scattered homesteads occupied the area. Back then the road didn’t exist where is does now; it came along the hillsides east of the valley. I would guess that the road now called “McMahon Lane” (Isaac must be rolling over in his grave because of this dumb misspelling) was the McMahan’s lane coming down from the main road. The McMahans (eventually anyway) owned the land from about a mile west of the Weiser River over to the hills to the east. Since they owned it, the rocky bluff across the river from their house became known as “McMahan’s Bluff.”
Isaac and his sons ran a big cattle herd that grazed on the open rangeland of what later was called “Pleasant Ridge,” or as we call it today, “the” Ridge. He also grazed the area from there to Lost Valley. I have no idea when it happened, but someone stole and butchered one (or more) of McMahan’s cows at the northeast side of Lost Valley. The place where this happened became known as “Slaughter Gulch.” Isaac was not a happy camper when the Ridge opened up for settlement and his free grazing land became occupied by homesteads and fences. And I don’t suppose he was very happy when, only a few years after he moved to Fruitvale, the Forest Reserves were created so he had to pay to graze what is now the Payette National Forest.
Eventually the McMahan boys built houses on the ranch near their parents. I’m not sure where the original house was that Isaac and Lucy lived in, but it may have been on the bench north of McMahan Lane near today’s main road (2552 Fruitvale Glendale Rd.). The McMahans donated a piece of land just a stone’s throw east of this house on which a school was constructed. It immediately became known as the “McMahan School.” Lester later lived where the house there is today. Earl and his wife, Irene, lived in a house that stood at the present site of 2542 Fruitvale Glendale Road—the first place on the right (south) side of McMahan Lane. This house burned in the 1940s. Another house stands there now. The second house on that side of the Lane belonged to Rollie. It later belonged to Fred and Ressa Yantis, and now is occupied by the house owned by McAlvains. The front door from the old Rollie McMahan/Yantis house here is now on the outside of the medical room exhibit at the Museum. Ernest built the house that still stands on the west side of Monroe Street at Fruitvale.
When Fruitvale was officially created in 1909, Isaac McMahan was one of the directors of the “Fruitvale Townsite Company Limited.” Lucy McMahan came up with the name Fruitvale after the location had acquired a post office with the short-lived name, “Lincoln.” I’m told she also came up with the names of the Streets. In 1910, Isaac became treasurer of the Fruitvale Hotel Company, which built a hotel on the corner where the road (Rome Beauty Avenue) arrived at their little town. Jim and Pam Joslin now live is this building which stands at 2592 Fruitvale Glendale Road. In 1917 Isaac and Lucy converted the hotel into a store and post office, and went back into the mercantile business. In 1924, they moved to Portland where they lived until returning to Fruitvale ten years later. By this time, their sons occupied all the existing houses on the ranch, so the boys built them a dwelling on the foundation of the old school house.
Issac died in April of 1936, just a few weeks short of 77 years old. Lucy lived until 1956. We have no pictures of Isaac or Lucy, although I have seen a photo of her in an old newspaper. If anyone can find photos of him or her, it would be very much appreciated. The McMahan “boys” continued to live at Fruitvale for many years. Rollie died in 1966, Lester in 1973, Earl in 1976 and Ernest in 1978.
I received some information about Genevieve White Smith’s son, Van Smith, who is (or at least was) a Doctor in Denver. I’m told he reconciled with his parents. If anyone can find some info on how to contact him, I’m sure he would be grateful to have his mother’s scrapbooks.
Captions for photos:
Council 1903: The brand new town of Council in 1903. The former McMahan & Peters store (center) was owned by Lewis Shaw and operated as the OR&N saloon. A couple people have mentioned this photo to me. Someone in the Seattle area (?) evidently has the negative and is reproducing them. I was able to make a copy for the Museum thanks to the generosity of Rusty and Karen Hatfield via their son Ryan, and they have my eternal thanks. This photo fills a gap in what we knew about Council during this time. A man came to the Museum a year or two ago with questions about his cash register that had a shipping label on it reading “OR&N, Council, Idaho.” I drew a blank on what the OR&N might have been until I saw this picture. The OR&N and the Tank Saloon burned in a fire the year after this photo was taken.
99502: The McMahan School at Fruitvale about 1903. It’s interesting that both McMahan and Whiteley children are shown.
1)Earl McMahan 2)Millie Robertson 3)Hugh Knave 4)Earl Thompson 5)Claude Whiteley 6)Oliver Robertson 7)Willie Knave 8)Lottie Sevey 9)May Shearer (Robertson, teacher) 10)Pete Robertson 11)Treasure Senley 12)Edna Tomlinson 13)Katie Knave 14)Myrtle Whiteley 15)Albert Robertson 16)Ernest McMahan 17)Floyd Whiteley 18)Emma Tomlinson 19)Ethel Tomlinson 20)Harry Tomlinson 21)Joe Tomlinson (at left side of building).
98024: Jonathan McMahan—Meadows merchant and Adams County Commissioner 1915-17 and 1921-23. Died 1925.
DID NOT WRITE A COLUMN FOR 6-6-02
6-13-02
A few of you may have missed my column in last week’s paper. That’s because I didn’t plan ahead very well when I left town for a week and didn’t get it sent in. Sorry.
I bought a book at a yard sale recently called “Ferry Boats in Idaho” by James L. Huntley. It had some information that was new to me, and I thought I would pass some of it along.
Before there were enough people or money in a community—or especially at an isolated spot along a travel route—bridges were out of the question. During the great Western migration (c. 1840s until c. 1890), large rivers like the Snake presented quite a challenge to wagon trains. Sometimes, as at Three Island crossing just downstream from the present town of Glenns Ferry, Idaho, a shallow enough spot to ford the river could be found. This was unusual and dangerous on a river the size of the Snake. In the early years of the migration, immigrants had to decide when, or if, they would cross the Snake River. Most crossed at Three Island Crossing, then continued on the north / east side of the river, fording the Boise River near Caldwell, then recrossing the Snake near Fort Boise near the mouth of the Boise River. A few waited to recross the Snake near Weiser. Choosing to stay on the west / south side of the Snake eliminated the risk of fording, but added miles to the journey.
As early as 1852 there was a ferry across the Snake above Thousand Springs for those not wanting to risk the Three Island Crossing. The discovery of gold in the Boise Basin, northeast of Boise, in 1862 brought a new surge of traffic across to the north side of the Snake. In 1866 John McConnell and associates installed a ferry just above the Three Island Crossing. Demand for the ferry was strong enough that incredible prices could be charged:
Wagon pulled by two horses, mules or oxen = $3.00 [At least three normal day’s wages]
Each additional span or yoke = $1.00
Man and horse = $1.00
Foot passenger = $1.00
Pack animal = $.50
Loose horse, mule or oxen = $.25
Sheep or hog = $.10
As to the origin of the name “Glenns Ferry,” Huntley says that “Gustavus P. Glenn started his ferry across Snake River in 1863 so he could speed up his freight line from Utah to Boise.” He goes on to say, “Mr. Glenn owned most of the frieight teams on the road from Kelton [Utah] to Boise.” The transcontinental rail line wasn’t finished until 1869, so I’m a little confused about just where Glenn would have been freighting from in 1863. That date has to be wrong. It may well have been that Glenn was one of the first to establish a freight line from Utah after the rails reached that state. Huntley says Glenn built much of the road from Kelton to Boise. Before freight routes were established from the railroad, supplies reached southern Idaho from the northeast by way of Umatilla Landing and the Blue Mountains. At any rate, Mr. Glenn’s ferry was about two miles upstream from Three Islands.
Huntley says, “The [Glenn’s] ferry was eighteen feet wide and sixty feet in length. It would hold two of the large freight wagons pulled by oxteams. One of these wagons necessitated eight or ten oxen, and the wagon was large enough to carry what a freight car of the railroad would carry at that time. The wheels of these large freight wagons had tires [the steel bands around the wooden wheel] two inches thick and six inches wide. Hind wheels were about eight feet high, front ones smaller.” Now that’s a wagon!
By 1878, the year the Winklers came across southern Idaho to Council, demand for a ferry at this location had subsided; Glenn was charging half of what McConnell had during the gold rush, but it was still expensive:
A wagon pulled by two horses, mules or oxen = $1.50 [at least a day and a half’s wages]
Each additional span or yoke = $.75
Horse and carriage = $1.50
Horse and rider = $.75
Footman = $.25
Pack animal = $.25
Loose animal = $.12 ½
Sheep or hogs = $.05
It was that year (1878) that an Indian named Buffalo Horn went on a rampage with a group of warriors. Under pursuit, the Indians retreated along the Snake River from Fort Hall. They crossed the river at Glenns Ferry and cut the ferry loose to slow their pursuers. The warriors continued to the Bruneau Valley, and finally to South Mountain where they were defeated and Buffalo Horn was killed in the battle.
Even after the Union Pacific built the Oregon Short Line Railroad through southern Idaho (1881-84), a ferry continued to operate at Glenns Ferry until a bridge was built about 1908.
I’ll have more on ferries next week.
I still haven’t heard from anyone with a clue to the whereabouts of Dr. Van Smith.
6-20-02
It was mid-winter, 1865. Two men, cold and weary from a long journey, stopped to spend the night at the Washoe Ferry house located on the Oregon side of the Snake River near present-day Payette. There had been frequent Indian scares in the area, and the ferry house had been built to resemble a fort. Twenty feet long by sixteen feet wide with a thick sod roof, the house was windowless except for rifle ports cut into the stout walls. At one end of the building was a chimney; at the other was a heavy door, secured at night by a chain wrapped around the door jam and held by a large padlock.
Alex Stewart, age 28, and his twenty-six-year-old brother, Charlie, greeted the travelers at the ferry house door. It was suppertime, and a large beef roast had been prepared. Four other men, besides the Stewart brothers, sat at the rough-hewn table. Casual dinner conversation revealed that the travelers had come across the Blue Mountains from their homes in the Willamette Valley. They were in hopes of finding their fortune in the booming area around Boise City. The gold strike in the Boise Basin, northeast of Boise City had brought thousands of such men along this route, which had made the ferry a “gold mine” itself.
The Stewart brothers told of their childhoods in Canada and how they had learned about watercraft of various kinds there. They related how they had built the barge that served as their ferry here in 1863, and explained the intricacies of rowing it across the Snake, which at present was besieged by large chunks of floating ice.
As darkness descended, the men prepared to settle in for the night. The beds were not unusual for such establishments on the frontier, being permanently fastened to the wall and wide enough for two occupants. Above each bed were pegs on which to hang firearms within quick reach in case of attack.
Just as the last lantern was about to be extinguished for the night, the sound of a horse’s hooves came from outside, and a knock came at the door. Alex Stewart swung the heavy door open until it was stopped by the chain, leaving only a small space through which to investigate the visitor. The lone horseman explained that a party was at the ferry landing in need of transport across. They had tried to cross at Olds Ferry and again at Central Ferry only three miles down stream, but had been refused due to the condition of the river. Alex was reluctant to take the barge out on ice-clogged water in the dark, but the man offered double the standard fare, saying the party was anxious to make it as far toward Boise City as possible that night. Heaving a sigh of resignation, Alex unlocked the door and let the stranger in. After rousing Charlie from his bed, Alex started to dress for the cold job ahead.
The stranger glanced about the stuffy room at the sleeping occupants of the ferry house and walked over to the fire. He stirred the embers, threw some kindling on the coals, and sparks flew up the chimney. Within seconds of his attention to the fire, a scuffling sound came from outside and the room became pandemonium. Alex suddenly found himself looking down the barrels of several shotguns held by a three men who had burst into the room.
The story had begun much earlier. The area along the Payette River had been plagued by con men peddling fake gold dust, and by stock rustlers for some time. There was a shortage of lawmen in the area, and things had gotten so out of hand that a vigilante committee had been organized. After the vigilantes dealt with the gold dust scammers, they turned to the rustlers. It became evident that some of the malefactors hung around the Washoe Ferry house. Insulting letters started appearing, addressed to the vigilantes from the Stewart brothers. Copies of the letters were distributed in Boise and the mining towns of Idaho and Oregon. The letters mocked the efforts of the vigilantes and challenged them to attempt the capture of the ferry house fortress, declaring there were not enough vigilantes in the Payette valley to get the job done.
To be continued next week.
6-27-02
After my article on the McMahan family, Don McMahan’s wife, Jan (formerly Janet Thurston, Dr. Thurston’s daughter) sent me a picture of Isaac and Lucy! Don’s father was Earl McMahan. I didn’t realize that Earl’s his first name was actually Jonathan; everyone I knew called him Earl. Earl’s wife, Irene, told Jan that Earl was the first white child born in what is now the town of Council. He was born February 21, 1896, so it would he would have been only a few months old when the picture of their new store was taken that summer. As far as being the first white child born in Council, I doubt it. Edgar Moser was born in 1879—probably in the Moser cabin, which stood where Quality Power Products is today. However, if Elizabeth Moser left home to give birth, which was not unheard of, it is conceivable that Earl could have been the first white child born here. The family assumes Earl was born in the combination store and home shown in the photos. They think Ernest was born in the McMahan store at Alpine.
Jan corrected me on when the main McMahan house burned at Fruitvale. I said 1940s, but it was an educated estimate. Jan said, “The main Fruitvale ranch home burned in late November, 1953 while Don was in Seattle for Roger Swanstrom’s wedding. Don missed the whole thing and lost all his personal effects from school and the service.”
Now to continue with the story of Washoe Ferry.
A group of twenty men, including a Captain McConnell and a Lieutenant Paddock, organized a plan to take the Washoe Ferry house, which seemed to be a headquarters for a number of local criminals. Lieutenant Paddock and 15 of the men spent the night at Bluff Station, which stood at a branch of the main road leading to Washoe Ferry. Captain McConnell and three men went to spend the night at Central Ferry and prepare to cross the Snake in the early hours of the next morning. The plan was that the two parties would converge on the Washoe Ferry house at dawn.
After Captain McConnell’s team had eaten and rested for a couple of hours at Central Ferry, the Captain revealed a change in plans. Just why he did so is not known, but he may have feared word of the plan would leak out if it were disclosed earlier. He persuaded the ferryman, a Mr. Eply, to take them across the Snake late in the evening. After reaching the Washoe Ferry house, one man was sent ahead to trick the Stewart brothers into opening the door. If this was accomplished, once inside, he was to stir the fire and send sparks up the chimney as a signal to rush the house. The surprise was complete, and not a shot was fired.
After securing all of the arms hanging above the beds, the vigilantes spent the night in the ferry house with their prisoners. When the main party of vigilantes arrived at dawn, they were very surprised to find what could have been a deadly task already accomplished. When the interrogations began, the two travelers from the Willamette Valley were frightened half to death. It was soon determined that the two were innocent victims of bad timing, and were released. They are said to have made a beeline for home, having lost the desire to settle here.
A jury was selected on the spot to try the remaining occupants of the ferry house. During the trial, which didn’t take long, the fact was discussed that the Stewart brothers had harbored an outlaw known as Black Charlie. Black Charlie was known to have robbed and murdered a nearby rancher who had just sold his land and cattle. There was not enough evidence to link the Stewart brothers to the crime directly, but circumstantial evidence of aid to general criminal behavior was abundant. One of the most incriminating factors was that, even though they owned no cattle or land and had never been known to have purchased any, they always had a fresh supply of beef to sell travelers.
When it was all said and done, one man was acquitted, another was banished from the area, and the remainder of the unfortunate guests were found to have merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Stewart brothers, however, did not get off that well. They were sentenced to death by hanging the following day near the “Junction” house on the stage road.
The death sentence did not sit well with Captain McConnell; he thought it was much too severe. Knowing that he risked the wrath of his fellow vigilantes, he arranged to let the Stewarts escape during the night if they would promise to leave the vicinity and never return. After the brothers disappeared, search parties were organized, but the brothers were never seen in the area again. News of the eradication of the criminal element in the Payette River area spread far and wide, and it is said to have persuaded several bad men to take to the straight and narrow or seek greener pastures.
The Stewart brothers were later said to have surfaced in the Powder River area where they sold their ferry property to a Mr. Packwood. The ferry had already been sold at sheriff’s auction, but Packwood was able to obtain the property by paying $5,000 to the new owners. Packwood formed a partnership with Reuben Olds and John Parton, the head of Parton & Co. toll roads. The three men organized the “Oregon Road, Bridge & Ferry Company” with $300,000 of capital stock and Packwood as the manager. Through this company and its various acquisitions, including Central Ferry, the men held a virtual monopoly on all traffic that came from Umatilla and Walla Walla over the Blue Mountains and down to the Burnt or Snake Rivers. Remember that during this time before the railroad reached the West, all freight and most pack train traffic into Idaho came from Oregon. During the three years (1865 – ’68) that the company funneled almost all of this traffic through their three ferries, the income produced was sometimes as much as $1,000 a day. After the Oregon Shortline was built, the company dissolved.
Over the next few years, the Washoe Ferry changed hands several times. In 1884 it sold to Captain W.W. Paine who moved it to a location northwest of Ontario so that it could be used for access between the developing towns of Ontario and Payette. The ferry was abandoned after the interstate bridge was built in 1902.
Caption for photo: Isaac and Lucy McMahan at Fruitvale, probably in the 1920s or early 1930s. My sincere thanks to Jan McMahan for this photo. This is the first one I’ve seen of Isaac.
7-4-02
In my first article in this series about ferries, I mentioned that immigrants heading west had to decide when, or if, they would cross the Snake River, and that most crossed at Three Island Crossing near the present town of Glenns Ferry. They then had to re-cross the river at some point. After the discovery of gold in the Boise Basin, Ruben Olds, who had been an employee of the Hudson’s Bay Company, capitalized on both the Oregon Trail traffic and the heavy traffic coming east to the gold fields. He did so by establishing a ferry at the point where the Oregon Trail left the Snake River at “Farewell Bend.” The Wilson Price Hunt expedition had camped on the Idaho side of this bend in the river in 1812 In 1862, a man named Abernathy built a store here. The next year, Rueben Olds bought the store, and he and David Rideout received a franchise from the territorial legislature to establish a ferry near it.
The ferry at Farewell Bend immediately induced travelers on the Oregon Trail to re-cross the Snake here, making it necessary for them to cross the Weiser River near its mouth. This fact attracted the attention of Bill and Nancy Logan who had run away from their parents’ homes near Baker to get married. They built the first structure at or near what would eventually become the town of Weiser. Their little house made of willows and mud soon became a successful road house, serving travelers on the Trail.
In 1864, Rideout advertised his share of the ferry for $8,000.00, claiming the buyer could make that much from the investment in six months. The Ferry had been raking in $400 to $500 a day at times. Olds sold a 1/3 interest in the ferry for $5,000.00. As I noted in a previous column, Olds and his partners gained a virtual monopoly on traffic through this part of the West from 1865 to ’68 with their Oregon Road, Bridge and Ferry Company. When the company was disbanded, Rueben Olds must have retired with a pretty fair nest egg.
William Green was the next owner of what would always be known as “Olds Ferry,” even after it changed hands. About 1878, T.J. Carter acquired the ferry. L.M. Morton and his sons were the last operators at Olds Ferry, running a ferryboat here until 1920 when it was moved downstream to the former site of John Brownlee’s ferry. A sheep ranch used it there to transport sheep across the river.
There were numerous ferries across the Snake River in our general area before bridges became more common. Brownlee Ferry west of Cambridge was known by that name until 1875 when the franchise was granted to Bill West, G.W. Hunt, O. Gaylord and Jim Stevenson. As noted, this ferry was replaced by the one moved here from Olds Ferry in 1920. I have no information as to when this ferry ceased operations.
The Ranahan and Strobel Ferry operated at Weiser until a magnificent steel bridge was completed at the end of 1904. This bridge was big news at the time, described as the “dream of many decades” come true. It stood on the same spot as the current bridge that goes across the Snake to “Annex.”
The Westlake Island Ferry was a private ferry used by local residents and commercial businesses not far downstream from Weiser. Porter Ferry, six miles west of Weiser, was also known as Moores Ferry, Lower Ferry and Central Ferry at various times. After Mr. Packwood took over the Washoe Ferry and the Oregon Road, Bridge and Ferry Company was established, this ferry became part of the company’s system of toll roads and ferries. The ferry was connected with Washoe and Olds ferries by a road which ran along the south side of the Snake.
Mineral Ferry was established in the early 1880s to accommodate traffic to the new mining town of “Mineral” west of Cambridge. I have no information as to its exact location, but it was between Weiser and Brownlee Ferry. It was so busy that five ferryboats were built as fast as each previous one wore out.
Probably the busiest ferry on this part of the Snake River, and the only one in Adams County, was Ballards Ferry. Eli Frank Ballard (known as Frank) homesteaded ground in 1885, two miles below the new town of Homestead, Oregon. He planted fruit trees, and became known in the whole region for growing some of the best muskmelons anywhere. It was 1885 that Albert Kleinschmidt arrived on the scene in the Seven Devils Mining District and the mining industry took off like a rocket. Ballard used a rowboat to take his packhorses and sacks of fruit across the Snake on his way to sell his wares to the miners. When Kleinschmidt finished his famous road down to the Snake in 1890, traffic through this location exploded. Ballard built a ferry, using two iron pontoons for floatation. This was probably the only ferryboat on the Snake River to use such pontoons. It is said that Ballard charged only 25 cents for a team and wagon, and often refused payment from his friends.
Frank Ballard established a post office called "Ballard" at his farm on the Oregon side of the Snake and was the postmaster from 1900 to1904. After Frank Ballard died, his son, Jay, took over operation of the ferry. In 1906, The Northwestern Railway Co. bought the Ballard ferry and all the associated buildings, land and mining claims. The company's plan was to build a steel bridge across the river and an electric line to Cuprum and Landore. The electric line was only a pipe dream, but the bridge did eventually become a reality, twenty years later. The ferry remained in operation until the bridge was built in 1926. After the construction of Oxbow Dam and a bridge across the river just below the dam, the Ballard Bridge was no longer needed, and was dismantled in 1967.
The next ferry down the river was at Pittsburgh Landing and known to have been in operation in 1912, run by Albert Kurry and his wife.
7-11-02
It’s time for more photos. I received two more McMahan photos from LaVerne McMahan who now lives in Nampa, but used to live at New Meadows. Her branch of the family descended from Jonathan McMahan.
The first picture shows the two brothers, Jonathan and Isaac with their wives, Caroline and Lucy. The other picture shows Isaac and Lucy’s sons. I don’t remember any of them except Earl, and I can see his likeness in this photo of him, the youngest of the brothers.
The Cottonwood school photo came from Frank Thompson, a former Council boy who now lives at Valley, Washington. It was taken in fall 1934 or spring 1935. Speaking of earlier times at Cottonwood, Quentin Higgins has written a book about his childhood at Cottonwood. He is a descendent of Palmer Higgins, the first postmaster at Cottonwood, and is undoubtedly related to the Higgins kids in the photo. His book is called, “Beyond the Mist Lies a Yesterday.” They sell for about $10.00 and we have a couple left at the Museum. If we run out, I can contact him for more.
I ran across a marriage license that I thought was interesting, and it ties into the article last week about Ballards Ferry. I think I got it from Nellie Roberts. The license is just a five by eight inch sheet of notepad paper with neat, handwritten script on it. It reads:
“Marriage Certificate—State of Idaho, Washington County. This certifies that Michael Ward, of Bear in the State of Idaho, and Miss Mattie Ballard of Pine, in the State of Oregon, were, at the Little Bar on Snake river, County of Washington, State of Idaho, by me joined together in Holy Matrimony. Arthur Robertson—Justice of the Peace—Lick Creek precinct. Witness: W.N. Hatfield, E. F. Lashers. On the 17th day of March 1895.”
“Pine” was the general area east of Oxbow I believe, and was called that because it was near Pine Creek.
Caption for McMahan couples photo:
Left: Caroline and Jonathan McMahan. Right: Isaac and Lucy McMahan.
Caption for McMahan boys photo:
The sons of Isaac and Lucy McMahan—clockwise from left: Lester, Ernest, Rollie and Earl.
Caption for Cottonwood school photo:
Back row, left to right: Barbara Bidel, Lois Higgins, Anita Shaw; Julia Siglar, Liza Bidel, Alice Higgins, Mrs. Claude Ham. Middle row: Lloyd Shaw, Dorothy Johnson, Elmer Johnson, Alice Thompson, Ruth Hanamen, Frank Thompson, Patsy Phipps (now Bethel), Arlie Houston, Ida Marble Heathco. Front row: Jim Siglar, Clyde Johnson, Merle Heathco, Elvin Houston, Lawrence Page.
7-18-02
Never let it be said that I won’t go out of my way to get a story. Sunday afternoon, I drove 70 miles, and then hacked my way through dense lodge pole wilderness with a pack outfit for seven miles to a historic site at Loon Lake north of McCall. Actually I just happened to be at Loon Lake on business, so I worked up the energy to walk a quarter of a mile to the historic site. No kidding, I was there on business. I was hired to provide music for a group that was camping there. Rough job, but somebody’s gotta do it. Let me start at the beginning.
On January 29, 1943 eight Army Air Corps crewmen were flying a B-23 Dragon bomber from Tonopah, Nevada to McChord Field in Tacoma, Washington. B-23s were used to patrol the west coast during the war, so it may well have been going there for that purpose. When the crew and plane got Idaho, a heavy snowstorm hit. Navigation being what it was in those days, the plane drifted off course in the storm, and before long crew didn’t know where they were. The final blow came when fuel ran low, the wings began to ice up, and they had no idea where the nearest landing field was. All they could see through the swirling storm was mountain after mountain covered with dense forest and snow.
The B-23 was a propeller-driven aircraft with a big 1,600 horsepower engine on each wing. It was a relatively small, slow bomber: 52 foot wingspan, 58’4” long and 18’6” high. It could fly 282 mph at 12,000 feet, and could climb to a maximum of 31,600 feet. Gross weight was just over 13 tons (26,500 lbs.) Only 38 of this model were ever manufactured--all in the late 1930s. It was basically an improved model of the Douglas B-18 Bolo, which in turn, was based on the successful DC-3. The B-23 Dragon was the first American airplane equipped with two .30 caliber flank guns, and a .50 caliber tail gun. By the time the war started in 1941, more advanced aircraft, such as the B-17 and B-24, had made the B-23 obsolete. The B-23 was never used in combat, and eventually was relegated to training and administrative flying uses. Very few intact B-23s exist today.
Onboard the B-23 that fateful day were: Pilot = Lieutenant Robert Ore; Crewmen = Lt. Kelly Orr, Lt. Schermerhorn, Sergeant Hoover, Sgt. Edward Freeborg, Sgt. Pruitt, Sgt. Loewen, Corporal Beaudry.
The nearest thing resembling a landing spot that pilot Ore could see was a small, frozen lake. It had a relatively clear landing approach between the mountains if they came in from the north. Just what happened next depends on which version of the story is accurate. One version says the plane slid across the ice and into the trees; the other says it missed the lake completely and hit the trees at the south end. I tend to believe the first version because it stopped barely 75 yards from the shore. In any case, it must have been a terrifying ride.
As the plane came in, the wings wrapped around the trunks of trees. The outer portions (from the engines out) ripped off and were left crumpled and scattered behind the rest of the aircraft as in wrenched to a stop. The tip of one wing now lies in the water at the edge of the lake. Either by fate or by the skill of Lt. Ore, the nose of the aircraft suffered what, in retrospect, was a minor impact compared to what could have happened. The fact that there was three feet of snow on the ground must have helped somewhat. Elsewhere, various trees, stumps and limbs ripped into the remaining portions of the wings and fuselage. The wheels evidently were not let down, as they are still inside the wings today and the hydraulic cylinders that lowered the bald, Goodrich 45 X 20.00 – 18 tires show no sign of being extended.
The horrific sound of the crash must have echoed across the lake and into the surrounding mountains. After the plane stopped, an eerie silence must have filled the air. After realizing they were still alive, the crew assessed their situation. One of the men had a broken leg, and another (evidently Pruitt) had a badly cut hand. The others were uninjured. The danger of fire or explosion must have been minimal, considering the empty or nearly empty fuel tanks. Today there is evidence of a fire in the left wing at the fuel tanks and behind the cockpit, but I haven’t been able to find out if this happened during or after the crash. The only food onboard was a few emergency chocolate and vitamin bars. There were also two twelve-gauge shotguns and some ammunition. That night, they built a fire and took turns gathering wood and tending the fire all night while the others slept on fir boughs.
This arduous routine continued as the days passed. The crew tried to make the aircraft more visible from the air, but the constant snow covered their efforts almost as soon as they accomplished them. In a report on the crash written later, Sergeant Freeborg wrote, "The future was none too bright for us, with no food... half starved, half frozen and a regular blizzard going on about us. This continued for about 10 days... covering every smoke signal we could make, and making it terribly cold and in general hampering all of our efforts in letting the outside world know of our whereabouts." He said those who tried to go looking for help "met with failure, due to exceptionally deep snow, with men in each case sinking into snow up to their waists and sometimes so deep they had to help each other out of the holes they had made."
The one story that I’ve heard about this crash for years is that, in an effort to acquire firewood, the men used the .50 caliber machine-gun to cut down a few trees. I have no idea if the story is true, but half-inch armor-piercing bullets could certainly do the job. I would really appreciate hearing from anyone with more knowledge of the details, or more interesting stories (true or not), of this crash.
To be continued next week.
7-25-02
The men at the B-23 crash at Loon Lake were in dire straights. On the third day, February 1, Freeborg was able to make the radio operational. He sent out a message that they had crashed and were stranded at the south end of a lake somewhere near Boise, Idaho. Somehow the radio signal made it out of the mountains and word of it got to Boise. The message narrowed the search area some, but search parties still combed a huge area looking for the missing airmen. No more messages came from the missing plane. At the height of the search, the entire Second Air Force, which included the Army Air Corps from the entire Northwest, joined private pilots in scouring three states. It was worse than looking for a needle in a haystack.
As the airmen sat miserably around their fire on the night of February 2, Pruitt, Schermerhorn and Freeborg decided they had to try to walk out to find help. The next morning, they set out with no idea how far they would have to hike or which direction they should go through deep snow with very little food to sustain their efforts. All they carried were a few small pieces of chocolate, a shotgun and canteens. Freeborg said, “"We hiked across the lake and up to the top of the mountain to look and see what type of territory we were going to have to climb out of. Believe me, that was the most disappointing sight I had ever hoped to see. Hills, hills and more hills in every direction. I firmly believed that we looked in the face of death."
The most reasonable route seemed to be down the Secesh River. The river was given this misspelled name during the Civil War by miners who were in favor of the Southern states “seceding” from the Union, which would have been an act of “secession.” At some point, Freeborg was able to shoot a pine squirrel with the shotgun. It was a welcome addition to their meager diet.
In the meantime, the men who remained at the crash site built a lean-to and maintained a fire in the waist-deep snow, rationing their tiny amount of food, and struggled to stay alive as snow continued to fall. Over the next 11 days they managed to shoot a few woodpeckers to eat.
Night after night, Freeborg, Schermerhorn and Freeborg spent grueling, hungry hours huddled in the snow with no shelter of any kind. One of them was suffering from frostbite, and the others must have been close to it. After 13 such nights, near Zena Creek, the stumbled onto their salvation: a cabin containing food, and just as important, a Forest Service map that enabled them to determine where in the world they were. The cabin, which was part of the Lakefork CCC camp, also had three cots, which made the night more comfortable.
Meanwhile, on February 13, two days before the three hikers reached the cabin, legendary backcountry pilot, Penn Stohr, was flying mail and supplies into Warren. Stohr had been looking diligently for the missing plane for 14 consecutive days. Stewart “Lloyd” Johnson often came along as a second pair of eyes. He was with Stohr on the 13th and spotted something at the south end of Loon Lake. When Stohr circled back and made a lower pass, he and Johnson could see several men standing near a wrecked plane. Stohr decided they should go on to Warren, drop of the mail and supplies, and attempt a landing with a lighter load. By the time they returned, the sunlight was rapidly fading. A landing was made with no problems, and the two rescuers were able to give the starving men their first real food in over two weeks. Even so, the crewmen were in fairly good shape.
Given the lack of light and the six feet of snow now on the lake, it was too risky to take off with any more weight than necessary, so Johnson stayed with the men at the crash site while Stohr flew back to Cascade. That night the temperature dropped to thirty below zero. Johnson later laughed about the hard boiled eggs they had for breakfast that first morning. They were frozen as hard as rocks, and it took forever to thaw them. The rubber packs he had taken off before took and hour by the fire before they were thawed enough to put on.
By the time Penn Stohr returned early the next morning, the thermometer had shot all the way up to twenty below. He taxied up and down the lake to pack down a better runway, and then flew two of the airmen out. On returning to the lake, Stohr brought in several Forest Service personnel to help look for the three still-missing crewmen. The three remaining crewmen at the crash site were flown to Cascade while Johnson and Forest Service men started out on snowshoes to look for Pruitt, Schermerhorn and Freeborg. No one knew if the airmen were alive or dead. My information isn’t clear, so I don’t know exactly who the Forest Service men were that Stohr flew to the lake, but the active searchers during this time included Gene Powers, Lloyd Johnson, Tom Koski, Warren Brown, Ted Harwood, and Glen Thompson. It had snowed several feet since the hiking airmen had left the crash site, so evidence of their trail was hard to find. Eventually the searchers did find what they thought were tracks heading down the Secesh
After spending a night in the cabin, the three airmen discovered evidence of a road under the heavy blanket of snow, and found a sign that indicated McCall was 25 miles away. The crewman with the most severe frostbite decided to stay at the cabin. Freeborg and the remaining crewman set out along the road, following the telephone lines that paralleled it when the road disappeared under drifted snow or one of many avalanches. Their immediate destination was the Lakefork Ranger Station that the map indicated was about five miles away. On February 16, the pair reached the Guard Station. They had covered about 40 miles in the 15 days since leaving the crash site. Even though the Ranger Station was closed for the winter, their hopes soared when they saw it contained a telephone. One of them started spinning the crank, hoping the snow hadn’t demolished the line. Meanwhile, the operator at the McCall switchboard thought there must be a problem with the switchboard’s wiring; the light for the Lakefork Ranger Station—miles from anywhere still active this time of year—was blinking. Tiring of being bothered by the malfunction, she finally plugged into the line a received the shock of her life when a faint voice one the other end told her who he was. These missing airmen had made headlines all over the nation; a massive search had been underway for weeks, and hope had to have been running thin. Who would have guessed the missing celebrities would telephone to say where they were.
After the two airmen made their lifesaving telephone call, they heard the sound of a plane overhead and went out to wave their arms at it. Penn Stohr had spotted their tracks climbing up Lick Creek and followed them to the Ranger Station. Since there was no place to land, he circled the men, and then flew to McCall. Johnson and his crew got word of the final rescue on their radio; the Forest Service had picked up the airmen using small “snow planes” with rear-mounted propellers. Johnson and his companions hiked down to the Crassel Ranger Station of the Secesh where Penn Stohr landed to them up. When all the airmen had been flown to safety, the schools and the entire town of McCall shut down to welcome them as heroes.
Three weeks after the rescue, an Army warrant officer and four Forest Service employees went back to the crash site and brought out 1200 lbs. of equipment and salvageable material. Probably because the B-23 may have been equipped with the then-secret Norden bombsight, they destroyed all the flying instruments. This trip to the crash site would have been in mid February, and one has to wonder just how they reached it and packed out that much weight. Today, Loon Lake is a popular summer hiking destination. To get there, you take the Warren Wagon road to Chinook Campground, which is about 36 miles from McCall (about six miles past the Burgdorf turnoff). From there, a well-maintained trail (complete with bridges across the streams!) winds seven miles to the lake. It takes two hours by horse at an easy pace. The crash site is at the south end of the lake, about two hundred yards east of the stream that feeds the lake. This is probably one of the most intact WWII aircraft that crashed on landed in the continental US (and still remains there). Souvenir hunters have stripped many small pieces off of it, but its remoteness has allowed the bulk of the aircraft to remain in place. Since so few of these planes were made, and parts are hard to find, about two years ago a group of airplane restorers packed in to the wreck to salvage a part or two that was needed for one of the few still-operational B-23s. Also about that time, Warren Outfitters (my employer for my musical gig) took 25 members of a group that visits and documents such crash sites in to Loon Lake. They spent several days there surveying the aircraft and analyzing the logistics of the crash. This may be have been members of “Aviation Archaeological Investigation & Research,” headquartered in Mesa, Arizona. They have a web site that includes info on the Loon Lake crash and a few photos: http://www.aviationarchaeology.com/B23np.htm
In 1992, the Thunderbirds flying team mounted a wooden plaque on the side of the wreck that reads, “In honor of the men of the 34th Bomb Squadron Past. From the men & women of the T-Birds Present. Your service confirms that freedom is not free. 34 BS Mountain Home AFB, ID -- The Thunderbirds --18 Sep 92” These words of tribute ring especially true for the pilot of the B-23, Robert Ore, and one of the other crewmen who survived the crash, as they were killed in the Pacific Theatre later in the war.
The wreckage has become a virtual guest book for some visitors to the site. Names and dates blanket the outside of the fuselage, wings and tail. Among the more interesting ones are: “Don Waggoner, Aug. 1946” and “Steven Lamar Peebles, 1946.” And almost hidden among all the other scratchings:“NOTICE--$500 fine for defacing government property. Send check payable to Bill Fogg.”
8-1-02
I have a few follow-ups on previous columns. Ralph Longfellow contacted me about the photo of Ballard’s Ferry and my comment about the wheel that the ferryman used to get the ferry across the river. I thought it must have been used to turn a winch. Ralph had this to say: “As a young lad, I remember riding a ferry across the Snake River and observing how they made it move. The ferry was attached to the main cable with two lines, one from each end of the ferry. These lines moved through pulleys to the control wheel. By turning the wheel the ferryman could cause the ferry to pivot so that one end was upstream. The flow of the river would cause the ferry to move toward the up-river end. The ferryman let the flow of the river do most of the work. I was impressed with how it worked even at the age of four or five.”
Richard Holm called me from McCall. He’s writing a very thorough paper for the Forest Service about the Loon Lake B-23 crash. He has talked to a number of people who have personal memories of the events, and is doing some really comprehensive research. I’m sure his story will vary from mine in places. He has collected a few relics from the crash, and may make an exhibit of them. One of the people he has talked to is Lloyd Johnson who now lives in Fruitland. O’Dell Capener called me to tell me Johnson’s whereabouts, and added part of the rescue story. It was actually Johnson who gave Penn Stohr the idea to look at Loon Lake for the downed plane. After Penn saw it, he picked up Johnson and landed at the lake.
Robert Hagar emailed me about the Loon Lake crash: “In the spring of 1943 my dad [Albert Hagar] and I (age 11) hiked into Loon Lake to fish......and I think he was curious about the crash site, too. As I recall the water level of the lake was high and we had quite a time wading to the wreckage from the shoreline of the lake and thru the lodgepole pine that you mention in he column.” The creek is very high in the early summer, and wanders far from its banks. It’s even a challenge to cross this late in the year because it’s three or four feet deep in places. I used a small raft that the outfitter had there. To hike to the crash site, I guess you have to go upstream until you find a place to cross.
Bob continued, “I gathered up and carried out a fishing creel full of expended .50 caliber brass from a small knoll where the crew had apparently set up the .50 caliber. I polished up those big pieces of brass and swapped or sold some to classmates in Council. It was my understanding that the crew had shot up the wreckage in an attempt to ignite it as a signal fire, but your story about using the .50 caliber to cut some trees for firewood could be plausible too, but the plane did a pretty good job of mowing some down.” I forgot to mention that the Museum has six empty .50 caliber shells from the Loon Lake crash site. The story of the crew shooting the plane has to be false because there are no big caliber holes in it.
Bob added, “Dad came out with a creel full of trout from the lake...and another item that caught his eye; he carried out the toilet seat from the plane. The toilet seat sat over the top of a large aluminum bucket-like container, and when you sat on it, spring-loaded flaps opened up. When you got back up, the flaps snapped shut. Dad thought those ‘fly boys’ had it pretty soft, and had to show it to the guys at the sawmill. For a while there I thought he was going to install it in our "two holer" behind the woodshed.”
Harold Smith sent me information about Pine, Oregon: “Pine was a town in the South end of Pine Valley, Oregon about four miles south of Halfway. It consisted of a Red & White general store with Post Office in the back, and the last owners were Mr. and Mrs., Harry DeLong. Since there are no longer any businesses there except the Club House for the Pine Cone Ladies Club, it is no longer considered a town, but the Del Curto family own most of the old town site and raise cattle. During the time that Pine Town was on the map, about the same distance north of Halfway towards Cornucopia there was another little stopover town called Carson.”
About the marriage certificate that was hand written by Arthur Robertson, Harold commented, “Arthur prided himself on his handwriting and passed down that trait to one of his granddaughters, my sister Marian, who is a world class calligrapher and an established artist in the San Francisco Bay area.”
I had asked Harold if he could identify the men in the Council Mountain Music Festival poster photo, and he identified them as Joe Warner on the guitar and Clarence Warner on the fiddle: “Joe was one of Amos and Elizabeth Warner's sizable brood and a brother to my grandmother, Amy. My Dad, and the two Warners in the picture, played for many dances in the Bear schoolhouse and one I recall in the 12 by 12 living room in Joe and Eva's home. The hot, wood, heating stove was carried outside cradled between two short poles in order to make a bit more room for the dance couples. Clarence married Beth Kampeter and they built a much larger house just a bit north of the little homestead cabin where he was born. The original Joe and Eva dwelling was allowed to weather away a little more each year and many a tourist took a picture of it as a classic pioneer relic.” What better symbols of our local musical and historical heritage could anyone find than these two gentlemen from one of our finest local families?!
I deeply appreciate hearing from people with information and memories about our past. It’s a vital way of preserving what could so easily be lost.
8-8-02
I ran across a tourist guidebook from 1926 that has some interesting things in it. The guide covers “1000 Miles of Graveled and Paved Highway,” on Federal Route No. 30. This is essentially the route of Interstate 84 today, and was touted as the route of the Oregon Trail. The book is a detailed description of that road between Rock Springs, Wyoming and Seaside, Oregon, with a few alternate side trips as well.
The language used by the writer(s) is still in the turn of the century (1900) style. Here’s how the book describes Boise:
“BOISE, IDAHO--Pronounced Boy'see--say it fast—Population 25,000, is the garden spot of the intermountain country. This metropolis and capitol of the Gem State, with its environs, has a distinct personality. The center of Idaho's financial, agricultural, jobbing, mining, educational, medical and religious activities, it is located on the Boise River that feeds the tremendously spectacular Arrow Rock Dam 350 feet high, the highest dam in the world.”
Before motels were invented, tourist parks, something like modern RV parks, catered to the needs of travelers: “Boise’s Auto Tourist Park is situated in a beautiful Grove of Cottonwood trees on the bank of the Boise river, carpeted with natural grass, making an ideal camp. Its electric kitchen is equipped with white porcelain sinks supplied with natural hot and cold water. It has electric stoves and all conveniences found in modern kitchens. A bath-house where men and women can enjoy the luxuries of a hot shower; a laundry provided with electric washing machines and electric irons; concrete wash racks equipped with water under pressure for washing cars; an assembly hall with fireplace and porch.”
The only area attraction listed near Boise is “THE GREAT ARROWROCK DAM--The highest dam in the world, making a reservoir eighteen miles long and 200 feet deep, impounding enough water to cover 360 square miles a foot deep. The concrete, if put in one column ten feet square, would stand twenty-nine miles high. It is wedged and anchored in arch shape between mountains a mile high. It cost $5,000,000 and took tour years to build. There is a good road from Boise to the dam, which may be easily traveled in a couple of hours.”
Referring to the odometer, the book gives directions on getting through towns. Starting with mile 0.0 at the Post Office on 8th street and Bannock in Boise, these directions are given for starting a trip to Weiser:
“0.1 Turn right on Main street to the end of the street.
0.7 Turn left on Fairview Avenue.
1.4 Bridge over Boise River.
9.3 State Fair Grounds.
9.5 Turn left through Meridian.”
Notice this route would take you through present day Garden City, then west.
One thing you have to bear in mind is the condition of roads at this time. By 1920 automobiles had caught on with the general public, and Americans were traveling more than they ever had before. It took a long time for Idaho to catch up with the demand for better roads than the existing wagon roads. By 1927, there were only 90 miles of paved highway in Idaho.
Continued next week.
Caption for Idaho map:
The map of Idaho in the tourists guide book shows the main roads as of about 1926. The photo as printed in the newspaper can’t show the color coding, which showed paved roads as red. The arrows indicate the five very short stretches of paved highway. The lower left arrow points to the road between Boise and Caldwell. The rock or gravel surfaced roads were shown as yellow, and hopefully will appear darker here. The remaining roads were still just dirt trails. Notice that what is now Highway 95 is graveled all the way to the northern boundary of Adams County. The highway was not paved all the way through Adams County until 1948! Until the year this guide book came out (1926) Highway 95 was called the “North-South Highway.”
The guide book also includes a similar map of Oregon. It shows what is now the route of I-84 as gravel surface all the way to The Dalles, and then there is much paving around Portland and down the Columbia River to the coast.
Caption for guidebook cover: The cover of the 1926 Guidebook.
8-15-02
Continuing with excerpts from the 1926 Guide Book. Everything outside of brackets [ ] is a direct quote from the book.
Meridian, Idaho is known as "The Best Little Town in the State of Idaho." Mild climate--Cyclones unknown. It is noted for production of fruit, dairy products and general diversified farming. Here are located five large fruit packing and evaporating plants, two grain elevators and a cheese factory. This section rivals Kentucky as the best blue grass section in the U. S.
10.5 Turn right.
15.5 Turn left.
19.2 Nampa, city limits, 11th Avenue North.
Nampa, Idaho has the second largest Carnation Milk Condensary in America; creameries produce houses and marketing agencies to handle all classes of farm products. The Pacific Fruit Express Company's mammoth car shops are located at Nampa.
20.5 Turn right on 3rd St. follow electric Ry. to Caldwell.
28.0 Caldwell, city limits, College of Idaho on left. Cleveland Blvd.
Caldwell, Idaho--Population 1920 census, 5106, is the geographical and trade center of the largest single body of irrigated land in the United States. Favored with a remarkably fine climate where severe storms and extreme temperatures are unknown, the productivity of this territory is reflected through the annual shipment of 5,000 carloads of farm products from Caldwell to eastern and coast markets. Dairying and poultry production are two of the leading agricultural industries and each offers a favored field for development.
The city is thoroughly modern. Several miles of paving, fine homes, city owned water system that provides a supply of perfect water, Interurban railroad lines tapping rich rural districts, the college of Idaho with a student enrollment that last fall exceeded 500 students, splendid city schools and churches and an exceptionally high order of citizenship combine to make Caldwell a particularly desirable city in which to live. Tourist park facilities are adequate. [Wow! After all that flowery praise for every rock and tree, the tourist parks must have been pretty bad to rate an “adequate.”]
NEW SARATOGA HOTEL—Modern--The Hotel of Service. [Isn’t there still a Saratoga Restaurant—or at least used to be not too long ago?]
29.2 Turn right on Kimball Avenue through town. Left to Tourist Park.
30.0 Left hand road.
30.6 Left, keep in valley.
31.3 Bridge over Boise river, immediately turn left. Road to right goes to Boise.
31.6 Straight ahead to Weiser via New Plymouth, Fruitland and Payette. Road to left is through the Snake River valley via Parma, Nyssa and Ontario. This route has been made a State Highway and will be complete by July 1, 1926.
There are bridges across the Snake River connecting Fruitland and Ontario also at Payette and Weiser connecting with the Old Oregon Trail on the Oregon side.
49.1 Payette River Valley.
50.9 Turn left. Road to right leads to Emmett, Idaho.
54.3 New Plymouth, Idaho--Turn right through main street, follow signs.
[I’ll have the last section of this Guide Book next week.]
Quentin Higgins will be hosting a book signing for his book, “Beyond the Mist Lies a Yesterday” at the Council Valley Museum on Saturday (17th) from 10:00 AM to 4:00 PM. His books are $12.00 each, and tell the story of his life, including his childhood on Cottonwood Creek south of Council in the 1930s. You may as well stop by and visit, after all, you’re gonna be in town for the Music Festival anyway aren’t ya?
Caption for photo:
Evea Harrington Powers set this picture of Council High School’s class of 1940. Going from left to right starting at the top, they are: Alice Higgins (deceased), Jack Wing (deceased), Evea Harrington, Darrel Shaw (deceased), Shirley Hallett, Donald (Gene) Lawrence, Wayne Barrons, Lily Mae Hager, Charles Hanson (deceased), Lois Bedell (deceased), Maxine Brewer, Vivian Selby (McGown, deceased), Betty Lou Thorp (deceased).
8-22-02
As I’ve said before, one of the things that make history interesting is that it shows us how different things were before our time. It’s not hard to see technological changes; they’re fairly obvious. Things that happen in people’s minds are harder to notice. On the internet recently, I stumbled across a review of an intriguing book about the social / intellectual changes that have occurred in the last few centuries. The book is “The Third Wave” by Alvin Toffler, published in 1980.
In a nutshell, the book covers what Toffler calls the “first,” “second,” and “third” waves of change for civilization. The first wave was the agricultural revolution, the second was the industrial revolution, and the third (which is just beginning) is the information age. Toffler said each wave, or civilization phase, develops its own "super- ideology," which explains reality and justifies its own existence. This ideology impacts all the aspects of the civilization phase: technology, social patterns, information patterns and "power" patterns.
The first wave (agricultural) was the longest period in man’s history, taking thousands of years to play itself out, and is still not over in parts of the world. The second wave (the industrial revolution) has been with us for a mere three hundred years. Toffler said the pace of change is so fast now that “it is likely that the Third Wave will sweep across history and complete itself in a few decades.” (Anything within quotation marks will be a quote from Toffler’s book.)
During the first wave, "land was the basis of economy, life, culture, family structure, and politics. Life was organized around the village. A simple division of labor prevailed and a few clearly defined castes and classes: a nobility, a priesthood, warriors, helots, slaves or serfs. In all of them, power was rigidly authoritarian. In all of them, birth determined one's position in life. The economy was decentralized, so that each community produced most of its own necessities. The First Wave was dominant until around 1650-1750."
Most of the book concerns itself with the second wave—the industrial revolution—and how it contrasts with the first and third waves. The second wave is the foundation of the dominant nations of the planet, but it is still developing in the “third” world, which is still basically agricultural. "In all, industrial civilization embraces roughly one billion human beings—one fourth the population of the globe." When we think of the industrial revolution, we tend to think of the material goods it provides: electricity, cars, TV, etc. But industrialism is much more. It is a rich, many-sided social system that touches every aspect of human life.”
One of the main points of the book is that industrialism separated human life into two spheres: production and consumption. "Until the industrial revolution, the vast bulk of all the food, goods, and services produced by the human race was consumed by the producers themselves [or] their families. Financial transactions were a fringe on a world of natural economy. The Second Wave violently changed this situation. It created a situation in which the overwhelming bulk of all food, goods, and services was destined for sale, barter, or exchange. It virtually wiped out of existence goods produced for one's own consumption, and created a civilization in which almost no one, not even a farmer, was self-sufficient any longer. Everyone became almost totally dependent upon food, goods, or services produced by somebody else. The market place moved from a peripheral position to the center of everyone's life. Most people were sucked into the money system. This explosive expansion of the market contributed to the fastest rise in living standards the world had ever experienced."
“The obsessive concern with money, goods, and things is a reflection not of capitalism or socialism, but of industrialism. It is a reflection of the central role of the marketplace in all societies in which production is divorced from consumption, in which everyone is dependent upon the marketplace rather than on his or her own productive skills for the necessities of life. Behavior came to be seen as a set of transactions. Instead of a society based on friendship, kinship, or tribal or feudal allegiance, there arose in the wake of the Second Wave a civilization based on contractual ties, actual or implied. Even husbands and wives today speak of marital contracts.”
"The cleavage between these two roles--producer and consumer--created at the same time a dual personality. The very same person who (as a producer) was taught by family, school, and boss to defer gratification, to be disciplined, controlled, restrained, obedient, to be a team player, was simultaneously taught (as a consumer) to seek instant gratification, to be hedonistic rather than calculating, to abandon discipline, to pursue individualistic pleasure—in short, to be a totally different kind of person."
In the U.S. the biggest shift to this type of industrialism came after WWI when several new technologies became more available and affordable at about the same time—especially cars (transportation), electricity and radios. I’ll have more on this book next week.
Caption for band photo:
“Early-day Council had it’s own version of the Council Mountain Music Festival. This photo was taken on Illinois Avenue between 1909 and 1915. The musicians are unidentified, but the dog belonged to Luther Burtenshaw. The building under the arrow is now Buckshot Mary’s (previously Rexall Drugs). The next building this way is the IOOF Hall. The space where it and the closest building, the William Fifer building (barber shop, jeweler) is now occupied by Shaver’s.”
8-29-02
I’m continuing with the subject of social change and the book, “The Third Wave” by Alvin Toffler. Toffler said the second wave (the industrial revolution, which we are still in) consisted of six interrelated principles that grew out of the divorce of production and consumption:
1. Standardization—Although it is usually associated with mass production, we have applied this principle to almost every aspect of life: the way we dress, standardized education and tests, lunch hours, holidays, mass media, weights and measures, currency, prices (as opposed to negotiation), the way we speak, and our lifestyle in general.
2. Specialization—“The ‘jack-of-all-trades’ was replaced with the specialist. [Adam] Smith, in a classic passage, described the manufacture of a pin. A single old-style workman, performing all the necessary operations by himself, he wrote, could turn out only a handful of pins each day—no more than twenty and perhaps not even one. By contrast, Smith described a 'manufactory' he had visited in which the eighteen different operations required to make a pin were carried out by ten specialized workers, each performing only one or a few steps. Together they were able to produce more than forty-eight thousand pins per day—over forty-eight hundred per worker."
3. Synchronization—Second Wave people dealt with time differently. "In a market-dependent system, time equals money. If one group of workers in a plant was late in completing a task, others down the line would be further delayed. Thus punctuality, never very important in agricultural communities, became a social necessity, and clocks and watches began to proliferate. Social life, too, became clock-driven and adapted to machine requirements. Certain hours were set aside for leisure. Urban populations tended to look down upon rural folk as slow and unreliable."
4. Maximization—The Second Wave created an "infatuation with bigness and growth. 'Big' became synonymous with 'efficient'." Growth became a virtual religion in industrialized nations. Companies must get bigger and make more money. Our children must have more money than we had. Towns must grow. From the dawn of the human race until 1830, the world reached a human population of one billion. The second billion took only 100 years (1930). Three billion more crowded onto the planet in only the next 57 years (by 1987). We reached six billion in only another 12 years.
5.Concentration of energy, money, and power—We became "almost totally dependent on highly concentrated deposits of fossil fuel.” The Second Wave, “also concentrated population, stripping the countryside of people and relocating them in giant urban centers. Work was concentrated in the factory. The poor were concentrated in ghettoes. (In First Wave societies the poor lived with relatives.) Criminals were concentrated in jails. (In First Wave societies, criminals are fined, whipped, or banished from one settlement to another.) The insane were concentrated in asylums. (In First Wave societies, the insane stayed with their families, or were supported by the community.) The education of children was concentrated in schools. (In First Wave societies, children are educated in the home, and then by tutors living with the family, or by the local clergyman.) Concentration has continued to operate as the Second Wave has become stronger. There are only three major auto companies in the U.S. Two Japanese firms produce all the VCR's in the world. In each area of production--aluminum, beer, cigarettes, breakfast foods, etc.--three to five companies produce almost all of it.”
6. Centralization—Toffler outlines three areas in which centralization changed our lives:
In Business—"The early railroads provide a classic illustration. They standardized technologies, fares, and schedules, and synchronized operations over hundreds of miles. [They invented time zones.] They created specialized new occupations and departments. They concentrated capital, energy, and people. They fought to maximize the scale of their networks. And to accomplish all this they created new forms of organization based on centralization of information and command. Centralized management came to be regarded as an advanced, sophisticated tool in all the Second Wave nations.” In Politics—“In the United States, as early as the late 1780's, this was illustrated by the battle to replace the loose, decentralist Articles of Confederation with a more centralist Constitution" In the Economy—“The central bank was a crucial invention. It facilitated the central control of money and credit.”
Centralization and concentration seem similar to me. The example that comes to mind is that with the advent of modern means of transportation, we have seen a change from many, small schools to a few, bigger schools that are centrally located in towns, which themselves have followed the same trend.
9-5-02
This is the last of my series about the changes between the agricultural age (First Wave) and the industrial age (Second Wave).
Industrialization made it easier for people to move from one place to another. This resulted in the end of the large, multigenerational, extended family rooted to the soil. "The so-called nuclear family—father, mother, and a few children, with no encumbering relatives—became the standard, socially approved, ‘modern’ model in all industrial societies."
The realm of music provides an interesting example of changes brought by the Second Wave. “As the Second Wave arrived, concert halls began to crop up in London, Vienna, Paris, and elsewhere. With them came the box office and the impresario—the businessman who financed the production and then sold tickets to culture consumers. The more tickets he could sell, naturally, the more money he could make. Hence, more and more seats were added. In turn, however, larger concert halls required louder sounds—music that could be clearly heard in the very last tier. The result was a shift from chamber music to symphonic forms."
The differences in social status between men and women may never have been equal, but the industrial age didn’t help. Women, as housewives, did productive work, but it was work that produced social benefit more than it served the market (industry) so women dropped down another rung on the ladder of cultural value.
Second Wave culture couldn’t proliferate without cheap resources from First Wave (agricultural) countries; the result was a drive to expand empires. "In 1492 when Columbus first set foot in the New World, Europeans controlled only 9 percent of the globe. By 1801 they ruled a third. By 1880, two thirds. And by 1935 Europeans politically controlled 85 percent of the land surface of the earth and 70 percent of its population." Racist attitudes and prejudices justified the domination of foreign lands as "the white man's burden." This basic situation continues today in a more insidious form; third world nations are still exploited by industrial, first world nations so that we can have all the inexpensive products we buy at Walmart.
Toffler outlines the reasons why the Second Wave cannot continue. The earth’s natural systems will not survive the industrial assault much longer. Overpopulation is already cracking the foundations of life as we know it. Nonrenewable energy sources are drying up; we are at the end of cheap energy. The supply of cheap raw materials is drying up as we reach the end of colonialism and Third World nations become more equal partners. “Disintegrative pressures inside the system—people and systems are becoming strained beyond the ultimate breaking point: the family system in the U.S., the telephone system in France, the commuter rail system in Tokyo, the welfare system, the postal systems, the school system, health-delivery systems, etc.” The traffic crises in cities comes to mind, and overcrowded airways, water shortages around the globe, wars over oil….
Toffler said the Third Wave—called the “technetronic age” by Zbigniew Brzezinski, the “post-industrial society” by Sociologist Daniel Bell, and often commonly called the “information age”—should take only a few decades to mature. New technologies of the Third Wave will bring, or is already bringing: Diversified, renewable, energy sources. Methods of production which make factories and assembly lines obsolete. De-massification of the media—from three TV networks that everybody watches for instance—into many TV channels, specialty newspapers and magazines, etc.
“Mass production, like mass media, is nearly obsolete. Smaller work units, shifting millions of jobs out of the factories and offices into which the Second Wave swept them and right back where they came from originally: the home.” The old top-down “factory” system of labor versus management is on the way out. "To operate these factories and offices of the future, Third Wave companies will need workers capable of discretion and resourcefulness rather than rote responses. To prepare such employees, schools will increasingly shift away from present methods still largely geared to producing Second Wave workers for highly repetitive work. Education will become interspersed and interwoven with work, and will be more spread out over a lifetime.”
Toffler predicted: “Greater community stability due to less forced mobility, less stress on the individual, fewer transient human relationships, and a greater participation in community life. A renaissance among voluntary organizations like churches, women's groups, lodges, clubs, athletic and youth organizations. Energy requirements will be reduced due to energy decentralization. Energy demand would be spread out, making it easier to use solar, wind, and other alternative energy technologies.” The nature of families will change. “Children, in the electronic cottage, may return to the work force, both helping the family and expanding their education. We must expect the price of many services to continue their sky-rocketing climb in the years ahead... [this will] make it increasingly 'profitable' for people to produce for their own consumption."
Toffler foresaw the current uproar with Enron and other corporations: “People are demanding a new definition of what corporations are and what they do. They want to see more responsibility and more accountability, not merely for its economic performance, but for its side effects on everything from air pollution to executive stress."
I’ve strayed from the usual local history angle in this series, but I think even Toffler’s predictions of the Third Wave have a direct link to history; after all, history is the story of change.
9-12-02
Back in November of 1998 I featured a series of columns written by Betty Campbell about the Nez Perce War. Her information came from Annie Osborn Krigbaum who was a young girl at the time of the massacres that started the war in 1877. A while back I heard from Donald Barrans. Mr. Barrens wrote:
“I was pleased to discover your series of "History Corner" items from the Fall of 1998 relating the Elizabeth Osborn-Clay account of the beginning of the Nez Perce war of 1877. My interest in the Nez Perce war was a result of researching my wife's ancestry and finding that she is the great-granddaughter of Helen Julia Mason Walsh - the same "Mrs. Walsh" fleetingly referred to in Mrs. Osborn's account as being present in that group of settlers when the three men - Harry Mason, William Osborn, and Francois Chodose - were killed.”
“My wife's aunt (Marie Wright) had obtained the journal that her grandmother kept about that time, and wrote an article that appeared in the Lewiston Morning Tribune issue of September 30, 1956, relating the gist of the journal account. Another granddaughter, Mrs. Atherton Lewis, had a copy of the journal, which she gave to the Washington State Historical Society. She also supplied material for an article, which was published in the Seattle Sunday Times Magazine on September 14, 1958.”
“The Osborn and Walsh accounts are similar in the happenings mutually reported, but show their differences in perspective. It seems likely that the two women didn't have a very close relationship, even though they shared such a life-altering experience. If you don't already have it, I could e-mail a copy of Marie Wright's transcription of her Grandmother's journal to you.”
Mr. Barrens did send an email of the journal, and it is incredibly interesting. When he sent the emailed journal, Mr. Barrens wrote: “This is Marie Wright's typewritten transcription of the Helen Julia Walsh (nee Mason) description of events she witnessed during the Nez Perce War. Proofread for any errors or omissions of the OCR process, so I believe that it faithfully represents the typed text.”
“ I have not had access to the ‘Journal’ itself, so I can't personally vouch for its faithful reproduction. Marie Wright also wrote fiction for children's magazines, but I don't believe that she would have embellished the original. (She was invalided; victim of a stroke, during the time I knew her prior to her death) From its ending sentences, it seems that the ‘Journal’ is recollections of earlier events recorded much later. Anyway, it makes interesting reading for me and their descended relatives.”
Mrs. Walshs’s manuscript follows. I have made notes within brackets [].
I was born May 27, 1841 in a log cabin near a small settlement called Homer, in Jefferson County, New York. It was within a mile of the St. Lawrence River and about the same distance from Lake Ontario. The home of my parents was in Albany, where my father, Thomas Mason, was employed as a fur cutter. They had moved temporarily to this little country place on account of his poor health. Albany was my home until after I was married.
I first met my husband, Mr. Edward Walsh, at the New York State Soldier' s Home, soon after the war (Civil War). The choirs of the churches of Albany often sang at the Home at that time, and I was a member of one of the choirs. Mr. Walsh had served during the war of the rebellion with the 57th regiment of the New York Volunteers in the Army of the Potomac. He had lost his left arm in the fighting around Petersburg and was stationed at the Home as Quartermaster.
In 1875 we were living in New York City. We had two little girls and a boy, but lost both our little girls by scarlet fever. My two brothers, Tom and Harry [Mason], were living in Idaho and had written us letters persuading us to join them, which we decided to do. When I was a little girl, the younger of my brothers, Harry, l0 years older than myself and fond of adventure, shipped on a whaler, which in the course of its voyage sailed around the Horn. When the ship touched at a California port, he left it to try his fortunes. It was about the time of the gold excitement of Forty-nine. He remained in California a number of years and spent some of the time as a sailor on a vessel plying between San Francisco and the Sandwich Islands.
In 1861, attracted by the gold excitement at Florence, Idaho, he and his friend, Henry Elfers, fitted out a pack-train and made the long journey to that camp. The next year they and a man named John Wessel settled on a tract of land among the high hills overlooking the Salmon River, about thirty miles from the Florence camp. A small creek ran through this tract, flowing into the Salmon River, and was called John Day Creek. From this creek, the ranch, which they established took its name. It had always been widely known as the John Day Ranch.
In 1868 my older brother, Thomas [Mason], moved out from the East with his family and joined them. Later my brothers sold out their interests in the ranch to Henry, and settled on a place on the Lapwai Indian Reservation and kept a stage station on the stage road between Lewiston and Mt. Idaho. The locality is now known as Mason Prairie and is near a creek called Mason Creek. My brother Harry soon moved back to the Salmon River and started a ranch and store on the river about four miles above Whitebird Creek and about fifteen miles down the river from the John Day Ranch.
It was at this place that I joined him in the early Fall of 1876, with my little boy, Edward, and my baby girl, Masie. Harry had married, but his wife had died and I was to keep house for him; my husband, who was coming on later, was to help him in the store.
We passed a quiet, uneventful winter. Harry busied himself in fixing up the place and establishing his trade, which was largely with the Indians.
As the Spring drew on toward early Summer, I became aware that there were rumors afloat of impending trouble with the Indians, and that there was a general uneasiness among the settlers. I do not know just when these rumors started, for I think my brother had been keeping them from me.
To be continued next week.
9-19-02
Continuing with Helen Walsh’s account of the opening drama of the Nez Perce War just north of Riggins.
On Wednesday, the 18th of June of that terrible summer of 1877, three Indians rode up and came into the store. I was just taking my baby from the dining room to the bedroom for an after-dinner nap, and passed the door between the living room and the store. The door was standing open, and looking in, I noticed that the three Indians were examining a new Winchester rifle that my brother had just received from San Francisco.
Remembering the rumors, I stopped and watched them, thinking that knowing they were watched might deter them from any act of treachery.
The one who held the gun was facing me. The other two were standing with their backs to me. The one facing me, looked at me, and then passed his eyes over first one and then the other of his two companions, without a change of his stolid features; but instantly they both turned and looked at me a moment, and then turned back. Then the one who had the rifle handed it back to my brother saying, "Will you swap him for one good horse?" My brother said, "No." They then turned, and after looking around the store for a short time, pricing various articles, they went away. I then learned that my brother had kept his hand upon a heavy revolver under the counter while they were looking at the rifle.
I passed on to the bedroom, laid my baby upon the bed, and then, raising the window curtain, watched the Indians as they rode down the trail. They rode but a short distance, and then stopped, dismounted, and, leaning upon a stone wall that
separated my brother's pasture field from the trail, seemed to be talking with two Frenchmen who were working for him. They then mounted again and rode on, seemingly very peacefully.
The next day, at the same hour, my little boy begged me to go with him to the river, which was but a short distance from the door. He loved to go to the river, but I dared not let him go alone, and would sometimes accompany him. I started to go through the store, but as I opened the connecting door, I was confronted by a miner known as Bill George. He said, "Mrs. Walsh, will you please go out the back way?"
Hearing loud voices, and thinking there might be a dispute, I said, "Certainly," and passed on through the kitchen. When I returned from the river, I found Harry standing in the back door, cleaning a gun. He appeared to be annoyed and uneasy. I asked, "What's the matter?" and he replied, "Another Indian scare." I pressed him further with questions and he at last explained to me that the man who had been talking in the store was [William] Osborne.
Harry [Mason, Helen’s brother] and [William] Osborne had married sisters. Osborne lived with his family, consisting of his wife [Elizabeth] and four children, at the placer mine where he and his two partners, Bill George and a Frenchman, had cabins. Their mine and cabins were located less than a mile up the river from Harry's store. Osborne's excitement and loud talking had been caused by the news he had been giving Harry. News had come down from Slate Creek, where there was a little settlement bearing the same name. It was located on the creek near the river, and under the hills, five miles below John Day Ranch.
The news that he had been telling was that the Indians had broken out and killed three Frenchmen who occupied a mine cabin and some gold ground between the John Day Ranch and the river. It was this news that they had not wanted me to hear. Harry was not altogether satisfied with the story. He expressed the opinion that if the Indians had begun a war, it would have been Henry Elfers and the people at the ranch who were killed, and not the Frenchmen, as they were friendly with them, and often stopped at their cabin to play cards with them and drink their liquor. He declared that the killing of the Frenchmen could be only the result of a drunken brawl, but he was collecting and cleaning his guns, and putting them in order. Bill George had gone down the river toward White Bird for more news.
[It was, indeed, Elfers who was killed, along with two other men. Also, earlier that day (June 14) the Indians had killed Dick Divine at his place six miles above John Day Creek.]
Toward evening Bill George came hurrying back, bringing a horse with him. He had gone down as far as White Bird Creek, to the ranch of a bachelor known to me as Old Man Baker. [His first name was James.] Baker had told him that the Indians were starting trouble, and that there was a band of them not far away. He had also said that the three Indians who had gone up the river the day before, the ones who had stopped at the store, had ridden by his place on their way back to their camp. They had fired at Mr. Benedict, a rancher, as they rode by, wounding him in the leg. [According to Betty Campbell’s account, Sam Benedict’s leg wound was very serious, but he was able to crawl home.]
Baker had sent word to Harry to get Osborne and his family, and to bring us all down to his place. He was gathering in other families there, as it was a good place to get together for protection and defense and he had sent the horse to help us in moving. Harry started getting ready to go. He gathered his most valuable things together, and found hiding places for them. He did not want to leave the place himself; but wanted me to go, as he considered Baker's place the safest for women and children, but would rather stay himself to protect his property. However, when he found that I would not go without him, he concluded that he had better go. The Osbornes were brought down to our place, and we all started together.
Harry had but two horses on the place at the time. Harry and I rode one of these, brother carried my baby, and my boy rode behind him. The older Osborne children rode the other horse. Mrs. Osborne preferred to walk with her husband. The two Frenchmen who worked for Harry did not go with us, wishing to stay on the place.
To be continued next week.
9-26-02
I’m continuing with Helen Walsh’s account of the opening drama of the Nez Perce War just north of Riggins, but I want to back up and give some background on events in the story so far. I ran across an article that gave an account of the first killings on the Salmon River.
The bad feelings toward whites on the part of the Nez Perce that inhabited the general area around the Wallowa valley in Oregon had been brewing for over ten years. It was the order to move off of their homeland in 30 days that brought things to the boiling point.
Two years before, in 1875, a white man named Larry Ott murdered a Nez Perce man— Tipyahlanah, whose name in English was Eagle Robe. Eagle Robe lived along the Salmon River for many years. Yellow Wolf, a Nez Perce of Chief Joseph’s Wallowa band, told his biographer L.V. McWhorter the story of Larry Ott and Eagle Robe many years later.
Ott asked Eagle Robe to give him some land, and the Indian gave him some. Ott built fences and began farming. He later claimed to own a patch of land that was Eagle Robe’s garden. When Ott started to plow this patch of land, Eagle Robe tried to get Ott to stop. Ott pulled a pistol and shot Eagle Robe, who was unarmed. As Eagle Robe lay dying, he knew the value of peace at any cost. “Do not bother the white man for what he has done to me,” Eagle Robe told his teenage son, Wahlitits. “Let him live his life.” Wahlitits complied with his father’s wishes for the time being.
Ott turned himself in after the shooting, but white men who killed Indians were seldom not punished in those days. Ott later claimed that the man he shot was a Umatilla Indian, not a Nez Perce, and that he acted in self-defense.
As the Wallowa band was moving to the tiny reservation to which they had been forced in June of 1877, a tribal elder mocked Wahlitits, saying “If you’re so brave why don’t you go kill the white man who killed your father?” Wahlitits, a member of White Bird’s Band, recruited his young cousin, Sarpsis Ilppilp, and a nephew, Swan Necklace to seek revenge on Larry Ott. When they reached Ott’s house, he was not home and the Indians couldn’t find him. The three then rode to Richard Devine’s cabin. Devine, a 52-year-old prospector, had a history of mistreating Indians. Wahlitits and his two companions found Devine in bed and shot him, taking his rifle. From there, they traveled to the homestead of Henry Elfers, who was rumored to set his dogs on Indians who passed too close to his house. Elfers and two hired hands soon lay dead.
The next, they ran across Sam Benedict, a storekeeper who was out looking for his cows. According to Larry Ott, Benedict was responsible for the war because he had killed a Nez Perce man six months before. Sarpsis Ilppilp shot Benedict, sending a bullet through both thighs. Benedict pretended to be dead until the warriors left, then crawled to get help.
The Indians rode back to the camp on the Camas Prairie west of present-day Grangeville to brag about their exploits. Their story stirred the already burning embers of animosity in the hearts of many in the camp. Sarpsis Ilppilp’s father, Yellow Bull, gathered a group of warriors, most of whom were members of White Bird’s band, and the group set out on a second killing spree. By the time they were done, at least 18 whites were dead and many more wounded.
Now back to Helen Walsh’s account. At the end of last week’s column, the Osborn and Mason families were fleeing to James Baker’s place after hearing of murders committed by Nez Perce Indians. So far, they had run into no trouble themselves.
The sun was down when we started. It was about four miles to Old Man Baker's, which we reached about dusk. The trail crossed the creek at the lower end of the orchard, then ran around the orchard up to the house. Around the orchard was a fence of pickets, and on the inside the grass had grown rank and tall, reaching to the lower branches of the trees.
When we reached the creek, brother Harry mounted one of the horses, and taking one of the children, crossed the creek with those of us who were mounted on the other two horses. There we all dismounted except Harry, who led our horses back across the creek and brought the rest of the party over. I had just placed my hand upon my saddle to mount again, and was looking around to see if my brother was ready to help me on my horse, when I heard a shout. There, lined across the trail near the corner of the orchard, were eighteen or twenty mounted Indians, not fifty feet away. Our three men, Harry, Osborne, and Bill George stood and faced them with their guns ready. Some of them called out in Chinook, the old Hudson Bay trade language, for the women and children to come over where they were; they would not shoot. I did not understand what they said, but Mrs. Osborne did; screaming, she picked up one of her children and pushed another one before her to the fence. Frantically tearing off some of the pickets, she pushed the children through into the orchard and quickly followed them. Osborne followed her with the rest of the children, into the tall grass of the orchard.
Harry and Bill George still stood facing the Indians, my brother talking rapid Chinook to them. He turned to me and said, "You follow the Osbornes. But I stood waiting for him, and when he said it again, "Follow the Osbornes!" I said, "Aren't you coming too?" He probably remembered the stand I took at the store, and thought it useless to delay, for he replied, "Yes, I suppose so," and followed me.
As soon as our backs were turned, the Indians fired a volley at us; but, strange as it may appear, no one was hit except Bill George, whose little finger was broken by a bullet. Still firing into the orchard, some of the Indians rode rapidly back along the trail, to intercept us, as we supposed, at any point where we might attempt to come out. Harry called out to the Osbornes to work back to the creek. He had decided that we must again cross the creek in order to get out of danger.
The Indians had apparently kept to the trail, leaving the creek side of the orchard free of their presence. We overtook the Osbornes, circling around to the creek. Harry proposed that he cross the creek, and find a hiding place in the bushes, in which to wait until the moon went down. This he accordingly did, soon reappearing on the opposite side, waving his hand in the dim moonlight. Bill George had disappeared.
Mr. Osborne took the children across, one by one, to where Harry waited to take them from him, and hide them away in the bushes. They worked hurriedly, in order to get all safely across before the Indians should discover that we were not trying to come out on the trail, and come in to hunt for us. All of the children were safely across, then Mrs. Osborne and I crossed, clinging to Mr. Osborne's arms, and water reaching to our waists. For about two hours we waited there among the bushes in our wet clothes.
[Betty Campbell’s account doesn’t go into such detail. She simply said, “After this the Indians took the trail down the creek, passing the Osborns and Masons and William George, but this party kept in the brush and the Indians appeared to be afraid to go in after them. In the exchange of shots George was wounded in the thumb. That night they decided it would be best for him to try to make his way to the Fort at Mt. Idaho, this he succeeded in doing and gave the first authentic news of the Salmon river murders.]
10-3-02
At the close of last week’s column, Harry Mason, his sister Helen Walsh and her two children, the Osborne family and Bill George were making their way to James Baker’s place when they were confronted by 18 or 20 mounted Nez Perce warriors at a creek crossing near Baker’s orchard. They had hidden in the tall grass of the orchard.
Harry's plan, as he told us while we were waiting, was to get back to his place, where we could get some things, and then cross the river before sun-up; find some safe hiding place for the day, and be ready to travel the next night, to some place of safety.
The moon went down about ten o'clock, and we started, traveling all through the night up the steep hills, and down, and across the deep gulches, keeping away from the river trail for safety.
It was an awful struggle. I was not strong enough for such hardship. The Osbornes helped their children along. Harry helped me as much as he could, and carried my baby. But she would cry, and could be hushed only in my arms. It might cost us our lives to let her cry; I had to carry her.
But now I must tell something about the dogs. The Osbornes had one that was the children's playmate and companion. My brother had two. We did not notice that they were all following us until we had nearly reached White Bird Creek. Then the men drove them back with stones. We never saw Harry's dogs again, but Osborne's dog must have followed us, keeping out of sight, for when we were among the hills, he appeared, keeping quietly along with the children. As we trailed silently and wearily along, the dog suddenly began to growl, and we stopped. Harry and Osborne alert for danger, the rest of our little band trembling in fear of it. A low voice spoke suddenly from the dark, "You will have to kill that dog!" It was Bill George. He had been seeking a way to get up to Camas Prairie, and had got lost among the hills.
Harry and Osborne both concluded that he was right. The dog would have to be killed. Osborne hated to kill the dog, it was such a pet of the children; but it might growl or bark when it should be still, and be the death of us all. He said to Harry, "If you will kill him, I will hold him," and calling the dog to him, he held it while Harry cut its throat with a pocketknife. The children took it without a murmur, as they took everything during the whole fearful ordeal through which we passed.
Bill George said he would try and get to the prairie, and bring some help to the river. After Harry had shown him the direction to keep, we moved on. We did not get up to the place as early as we had planned, doubtless owing to my weakness. I had to be helped along. I was not able to keep up with the children.
When we reached a point where we were on a line with the house, we were on a high bluff, and the sun was already rising. Harry told us to keep back and down. He then crept to the edge of the "rim-rock" where he could look down. He told us that he could see the two Frenchmen moving around the house getting breakfast. There seemed to be no signs of Indians around, so he led us down to gather up what food we could find, some milk and breakfast for the children, and cross the river as soon as possible. When we reached the house, we were fearfully bedraggled and worn out; but there was no time to rest or think of our hardships; we had to flee for our lives.
The Frenchmen met us at the door. One of them took my baby. The other took me by the hand and helped me up the steps. The children had passed in, and there at my feet was that dog with his throat cut, trying to drag himself up the steps to follow the children; but he was too weak from loss of blood, and slipped back off the steps. No one had noticed him; he must have dragged himself after us all night keeping out of sight.
We found that the whole house had been ransacked and looted by the Indians. As the Frenchmen told us, they were sitting, playing cards, about eleven o'clock. They were startled by the sounds of an approaching band of horsemen, whom they concluded were Indians, and hastily made their escape by the back way. And a band of Indians it proved to be. And they remained hidden in the orchard while the house was being ransacked, returning to it after their dangerous visitors had made off, and up the river. Harry opened the cellar, which he had locked before we left, and which the raiders had apparently not attempted to break into, and I quickly gathered some pans of milk, and some crocks of cookies and bread for the children to help themselves to, while we prepared other food to take with us in our continued flight. By means of some clean pillowslips, I made up some packages of meat, bread and butter and cheese, for the men to carry on their belts.
There was but one boat at the place at the time and that but a poor one; and as the rapids were bad to cross, Harry, thinking of our safety, did not want to take the risk with us all in it. He and Osborne concluded that we had better go on up to the mine cabins, about three-quarters of a mile further up the river, where there were two good boats, and cross in one of them. As we were starting, Harry remembered a calf that was tied in the corral, and asked one of the Frenchmen, an old man named Shoemaker, to go and untie it, which he did. Without waiting for him, we started up the river. We were nearly to the cabins, and about to turn off to the river where the boats lay, when the Indians came into view rounding a point above. We made a dash for the Osborne cabin and all got in. One Frenchman named Louie was with us. Shoemaker did not overtake us in time to get in with us.
Next week, the Indians attack the cabin.
10-10-02
With the help of Ace Barton, who is a student of the beginning of the Nez Perce War, I’ve modified the map that I made. This one shows Whitebird Creek and the approximate locations of a number of the ranches mentioned in the accounts of the killings. 1—John Manuel Ranch. The first battle with soldiers occurred just north and east of here, about where the X is. 2—James Baker place 3—Sam Benedict’s store 4—H.C. Brown place 5—French Miners 6—Harry Mason’s store 7—William Osborn place 8—Litman place 9—Slate Creek Fort and Charles Cone place 10—Jurden Elfer’s store and ranch 11—Philip Cleary place 12—Norman Gould sawmill 13—Richard Devine place 14—Larry Ott place.
Now, on with the story. We left off last time just as the settlers rushed into the Osborn cabin. (#7 on the map)
Three men, two women, and six children, all crowded into that two-roomed cabin. Waiting for the move of the Indians and we did not have long to wait. The room in front was the kitchen, just large enough for the stove and table, the width of the building being only about eight feet, and this room taking only about seven feet of its length. The rear room was larger and was used for a bedroom. It was long enough to contain two beds placed end to end. They stood on one side of the room, leaving a passageway about four feet wide on the other.
On the passage side of the room was a small window, consisting of three panes of glass, and covered by a curtain. The door between the two rooms was also on this side, and opened against the wall. In the bottom of this door was a cat-hole, made by cutting a small piece out of the lower corner on the side next to the beds. On the side of the room, back of the beds, was a narrow open space between the logs.
We rushed into the cabin, and through the little kitchen into this bedroom. Someone cried, "Barricade the doors!" While Mr. Osborne and the Frenchman were working at the door, Harry was peering intently through the space between the logs. The space was low, and he was stooping low over the bed next the door, watching closely. I could see, through the aperture, something moving. The Indians were there, dismounting. Suddenly my brother stooped lower and thrust the muzzle of his new Winchester rifle between the logs. Mrs. Osborne cried, "Don't shoot! They are friends of ours; perhaps we can pacify them."
Harry had fought Indians with the miners in California. He was a resolute man, and knew well the code of Indian fighting and shooting; but at Mrs. Osborne's cry, he hesitated, and looked around at her, then turned again and prepared to shoot. Then Mr. Osborne, turning from the door, cried, "For God's sake, don't shoot, Harry!" Again my brother hesitated, but as I could see, reluctantly. Then a volley was fired from the other side; and the bullets came crashing through the window.
Harry sprang off the bed, and they all raised their rifles to fire. But before they could do so, a second volley struck every man. The Frenchman never moved but once after he fell. Mr. Osborne sprang up again, and tried to raise his rifle, shouting "You devils, you!" and then fell back, dead. Harry was not dead, his right arm shattered, and bleeding fearfully. The Indians continued firing in rapid volleys through the windows. Suddenly it occurred to me that they might change their position and reach us, and I cried to Mrs. Osborne, "We must get away from here, or we will catch it!"
We were crowded in the corner, against the end wall. We pushed the children under the bed and crawled under after them. Harry was lying under the other bed. The stream of blood from his arm stained my clothes. We were scarcely under the bed, when the Indians did change their position; and fired a volley so that the bullets tore into the wall we had just left. Then suddenly a blazing bundle of old rags was thrust through the window, and fell on the floor, and I was conscious of a feeling of relief, thinking it was the best way to end it all. Better than to have the Indians come in; and saying, "Thank God," I let my head fall back.
I must have fallen into a temporary period of unconsciousness, but only for a few moments, and was roused by more shooting, this time from the kitchen; and the bullets were tearing along the floor. The Indians had come in and were shooting through the cat-hole. Mrs. Osborne, who was lying in front of me, reached out and pulled a box around to shield her head. My brother, weak from loss of blood, had become delirious. I remember some of the words he uttered. "Twenty-seven, no, thirty-seven, no, forty-seven. That's it. I thought I would get it." I believe he was thinking of his age. He was forty-seven years old. Then he seemed to pause himself. The Indians were now breaking in the bedroom door, and he seemed to be conscious of it. Mrs. Osborne and the children were all lying quiet. I could see the legs of the Indians, as they stood crowding in the doorway looking at their work, I suppose. My baby, lying on my arm, gave a faint cry, and they knew where we were.
Harry moaned. "Oh, if I could shoot!" and tried to pick up his rifle. I had a small revolver in my apron pocket that he had given me the day before. I took it out and pulled the hammer back; as he had shown me how, and asked him if he wanted it He worked the fingers of his left hand, indicating that he did want it. I put it in his hand, but both hand and revolver fell to the floor. He had lost too much blood to hold it. An Indian saw the revolver, and made a grab for it, but I was too quick for him, and snatched it back, and lowering the hammer, put it back in my pocket. One of the Indians grabbed up the burning rags and threw them back out of the window. They had not burned very much, or made much smoke.
They told us to come out. Mrs. Osborne replied, "No, we will not come out. You will kill our papooses." "No," one of them answered, "No kill papooses, no kill kluchmen. No kill white-haired man." This was the command that Chief Joseph had given them, as we learned later.
[I find it hard to believe Joseph condoned any of these killings, and think this is just one of many instances where myth was mixed with reality when it came to white people understanding Indians.]
We still hesitated to come out, until one of them got on the bed, and jumped up and down on it over us. Then we came out, Mrs. Osborne first. The sight of her husband, lying dead at her feet, seemed to madden her, and fill her with a fierce courage. She commenced to berate the Indians. "Look there," she cried, pointing to the body, "Many is the dollar that he had toiled to earn, that went for bread for your squaws and papooses. Now look at him!" One of the Indians replied, "Oh shut up! What's the matter with your mouth about that?"
As I was endeavoring to come from under the bed with my baby on my arm, one of the Indians took her from me. Another reached down and took my hand to help me up. As he did so, he caught sight of the revolver in my pocket. He must have been the one who was grabbing at it when I snatched it away, for he gave me a peculiar look, pushed me back, and reaching down, took it from my pocket. He looked at it closely; and then looked at me, and I thought for a moment that he was going to turn it on me. But he reached back and stuck it in his belt, and then helped me to my feet. Then the Indian who held my baby, placed her back in my arms. And I will say for the Nez Perces, that never before in the history of an Indian war did I ever hear of any, who, in the midst of their hostile depredations, ever helped a white woman to her feet, and gave her back her baby; but that is what they did for me. For the moment, they were a band of savages, acting like gentlemen. I took my baby, and sat down on the edge of the bed. We were again huddled back in the corner, and the Indians began to drag out the bodies. One of them drew a revolver, and fired into the bodies, as they were dragged out through the kitchen. They dragged Harry out by his shattered arm. In his distress he cried out, "Oh shoot me!" and they did—they shot him. I do not know why I did not beg them to spare him. I was just stunned and helpless and overcome by fright and fatigue and the horror of it all; but I remember that I had a feeling of relief, that they could not further torture him.
In the meantime, we sat together on the bed, our children around us, waiting for whatever our fate might be. Mrs. Osborne, who, I think, had also become distraught in her mind, began to question the Indians concerning the fate of some of the settlers with whom we were acquainted. Their reply was, "Hi you mamaluse" with a pantomimic motion, as if using weapons—Mamaluse, meaning dead or killed; Hi You being used merely as emphasis, as dead or killed without a doubt.
"But," said Mrs. Osborne, "I thought you said you did not kill papooses or kluchmen." They replied that one Indian had too much bad whiskey, and the Chief was mad at him. One of them came to me with a watch wanting: me to tell him what time it was showing, but my mind was in a dazed condition, and seemed benumbed, and I only shook my head. He pointed to a clock, and I remember that the hands were pointing to half past six, but I could not form the words to tell him, and again I shook my head. He then asked Mrs. Osborne. Instead of complying, she demanded, "Where did you get that watch?" The Indian answered, "Litman. Hi you mamaluse." This proved false, however; the Litmans, who lived by the river above us, having all escaped to Slate Creek.
Continued next week.
10-17-02
In the last column, the Indians had just murdered all the men at the Osborn cabin, and the women and children were in shock.
We had no idea what they intended doing with us, our mother-fears being mostly for our children. Imagine our relief when they came to the door and said to us, "You go now, you go to Lewiston. You go Slate Creek, you go where you like." Then we heard them getting on their horses, and they rode away down the river, leaving us with our dead.
I lost no time getting ready to leave the awful place. The men's bodies were lying together in the sun, just outside the door of the blood-spattered house. I took a quilt and spread it over them. It is a wonder we did not go crazy. I think the presence of the children was all that kept us in our senses. Poor Mrs. Osborne thought she must change her dress and put on a black one, because her husband was dead, which she did while I was searching in Harry's pockets for something to remember him by. The Indians had taken everything. I had wits enough left to notice that his cellar key was missing with the rest. I remembered that there was liquor in the cellar, and immediately a fear seized me, that they would stop at the place and get hold of it, and would then come bask and do us harm. I was anxious to get away and fly for safety.
Mrs. Osborne, after changing her dress, discovered that there was some fire smoldering on the roof. She wanted her boy to go up and put it out with water she would hand up to him. The boy protested, "No, Mother, let's go to Slate Creek." She was not inclined to give it up, but tried to throw water on the fire with a bucket. Again he protested, also one of the little girls, "Let us go to Slate Creek, Mother." I could trust her mother love; so I told the children to come with me and she would soon follow. We had not gone far when she overtook us. Slate Creek was nine or ten miles up the river. The children trudged the weary miles without complaint, though my little boy became completely exhausted, and could only walk while Mrs. Osborne and I held his hand. He walked between us.
When we reached the Litman place we had walked about four miles. It was a great relief to go in and rest. We found the place deserted. The Newfoundland dog lay dead in the yard. The windows had been riddled with bullets. The window shades were drawn down, and though torn by bullets, they had kept out the sun, and it was very cool inside. Mrs. Osborne found milk for the children. As for ourselves, we did not seem to realize that we should ever want anything.
While we were resting there, the old Frenchman, Shoemaker, came in. In stopping to untie the calf, he had saved his life. He had seen the Indians in time to hide, which he did in the water of the river, where he stood in a little cove, with the water up to his neck, until the Indians rode away. He took Mrs. Osborne's youngest, little Annie, upon his back and started on to Slate Creek, after promising us that he would report our coming, and have a party sent out to meet us. After awhile we followed, but could only just drag ourselves along. We at last came to the shade of a thorn bush, and sat down to rest and gather strength.
We were still sitting there, when a squaw came into sight coming up trail, mounted on a horse. It frightened me; but Mrs. Osborne thought she might be going on to Slate Creek, to join the settlers, and that we might be able to get her to take our boys with her. So she called to her as she drew near. The squaw stopped her horse and when asked where she was going, replied, "Slate Creek." Mrs. Osborne said, "You take two papoose, Slate Creek," pointing to the two little boys. "I pay you four chickomen him, and four hickomen him, one moon," meaning fifty cents for each paid in one month. The squaw signified her assent, and Mrs. Osborne placed one of the boys in front of her and one behind, and she started on. This again, was a great relief to us.
We now had only the two oldest children, and my baby. Dragging wearily along the trail, we at last heard the voices of white men calling to each other, and we were cheered by the hope that Shoemaker had reached the settlement and a party was coming for us. Our hope was soon realized. We had come to a place where there was both a low, and a high water trail. The party, not knowing which we would take, had divided, part taking one, and part the other. As soon as we knew they were coming for us, we sank down on the ground, right where we were. It happened to be a grassy place.
They had almost to lift us upon the horses, and for the rest of the journey, I was in a kind of stupor. I knew nothing of Mrs. Osborne being taken from her horse, preferring to walk. I had a dim consciousness of trying to keep my torn garments together, but knew nothing of being taken from the horse, when we reached the settlement, or of passing through the gate of the place to which they took us. My consciousness returned to me just before entering the house.
Next week—the last episode of Helen Walsh’s story. But I have found more accounts of this early part of the Nez Perce War for articles in the next few weeks.
10-24-02
This is the last episode of Helen Mason Walsh’s account of the outbreak of the Nez Perce war of 1877.
Many settlers had gathered into Slate Creek. We found the Litmans all safe, and Mrs. Elfers was there, the poor woman now also a widow. For it was the John Day Ranch the Indians attacked, and not the three Frenchmen. The three Indians who had been looking at my brother's rifle, and who had ridden on up the river, had continued on to six miles above the John Day Ranch. Here they found a miner sick in his cabin, and killed him. Then, coming back to the ranch, they secreted themselves in a field where Elfers and his helpers had been working, when they passed going up, and to which they knew they would soon return, it being at about the noon hour. From Mrs. Elfers I learned that her husband, his nephew and a hired man had gone back to the field, one at a time, the indications being that they had each been shot down as he appeared. We three women who had suffered so much were bound together by our mutual sympathies.
We also learned here that Old Man Baker had already been killed when we were endeavoring to reach his house on White Bird Creek. Settlers, who had been endeavoring to get to his place that same afternoon, had been attacked, and Baker had been found dead near the house. Slate Creek is located on the narrow but level bottoms of the creek from which it takes its name, and near where it flows into the Salmon River, close under high bluffs, where the road pitches down abruptly frown the high hills of the John Day Ranch. The road at this time was nothing but a trail, everything being carried on packhorses.
I stayed in Slate Creek about three weeks. Preparations had been made for defense. There was a stockade and a rifle pit, and the miners from Florence were there to help in the defense. There was a squaw in the settlement, who endeared herself to the hearts and memories of the settlers by her devotion to their safety, and to mine by her tender care of my baby. It was she who made an all-night ride to Florence and brought the miners down. She also made scouting; trips watching for the Indians. [I will have an article on this Indian woman, whose name was Tolo, next week.]
Our work had to all be done before dark, as there could be no lights to draw shots from the bluffs. A close guard was kept, and at night we were all within the stockade; the women and children sleeping in a stone cellar that was within the enclosure. [The remains of this stone cellar are still very evident at Slate Creek.] The stockade was between the creek and the nearby bluffs. Every night the planks of the bridge would be taken up, so that if the Indians came to attack, they could not use it, and the creek was very difficult to ford at that time of the year, being high and rampant.
Back of the stockade and overlooking it in the face of the bluff, the men had made the rifle pit where some of them stationed themselves. In the stone cellar, the women and children would be safe from bullets in case of an attack, but if the buildings were fired, the heat would drive them out. In that case, it was understood that Mrs. Cone, the Postmaster's wife, who knew the ground, would lead them out by the rear, into the bushes, under the rifle pit for safety. But Slate Creek was not attacked.
About two weeks after our arrival Osborne's dog followed the Frenchman, Shoemaker, in from down the river. He had entirely recovered and the children were as pleased to see him as he was to see them. But he could not bark, or make any sound whatever from his throat. It seems a trifling matter, to be talking about the fate of a dog in a time like this, but a dog that would follow us all night with his throat cut, after we had left him for dead, and had still tried to follow the children he loved with his last failing strength and finally recovered, when we thought we had left him dying is at least worthy of consideration and a place in my memory in these later years.
A detachment of soldiers was sent to Slate Creek, and the miners returned to Florence; but the soldiers were soon withdrawn again, leaving us in a worse position than we were in before they came. Some who were there became frightened, and concluded to move to Idaho City, where there was better protection. I went with them. We went by way of Florence, a rough mountain journey of about sixty miles that took us two days, but we made it without accident.
I stayed at Mt. Idaho about three weeks. We had several scares, but were not attacked, the Indians having no more time for wanton raiding. We did not know it at the time, but Genera1 Howard had defeated them in a hard fought battle on Cottonwood Creek, near the Clearwater, and was pursuing them closely in their swift flight out of the country, over the Lolo Trail. The settlers who fled to Mt. Idaho for protection were well cared for. The stage started making its regular trips to Lewiston under guard, and I learned from the driver and the couriers that my husband was there. And though I had no money, they gave me passage with my children. At Lewiston I found my husband, and also my brother Tom and his family, but his property was destroyed.
There were many refugees in Lewiston, and many who had known brother Harry, and of his experience in California as a miner, and Indian fighter. Brother Tom would bring them to see me, and they would ask me, "How did the Indians come to get Harry?" And so I was obliged to repeat the terrible story, until my heart was sick and weary.
As late as 1906 I met General Howard in Roseburg, Oregon. When he was told that a woman who had been one of the sufferers in the Nez Perce War was stopping at the hotel, he came immediately to see me. When I related to him the facts of the murderous trip of the three Indians up the river, and how when they returned to their camp, had boasted that they were not squaws, that they had killed men, and so aroused the camp. He looked very thoughtful, and said that it had never been reported to him as I told it.
10-31-02
I said I was going to tell the story of the Nez Perce woman, Tolo, this week, but I came to the conclusion that I needed to tell more of the background and specifics of the initial killings that led to the Nez Perce War. I found some articles that came from members of the Cone and Benedict families that I just have to share.
In reading various accounts of the killings, it’s a little hard to make certain parts of the story fit the same time frame. The following is pieced together from several accounts, and put in a time frame that makes the most sense to me.
The morning of June 12, 1877 started as a beautiful summer day at the mouth of White Bird Creek where the Benedict family ran a store. Sam Benedict had migrated to the U.S. from Canada coming to Idaho during the gold rush of 1862. He married a fifteen-year-old red-haired girl of Irish ancestry named Isabella in 1863, and they settled near the mouth of White Bird Creek in 1868. In 1874 Sam obtained a franchise from the county to operate a ferry across the Salmon River. The Benedicts raised livestock, ran a general store and hotel, and Sam did blacksmithing. In that summer of 1877, the two older Benedict children were away at school in Mount Idaho. Of the two girls at home, Addie was just over a year old, and Frances was just old enough to later write a detailed account of what she witnessed.
Benedict family lore says that Sam Benedict had just returned from a trip to Mount Idaho (near present-day Grangeville). On his way home, he stopped by the big Nez Perce encampment at Tolo Lake to ask about buying horses. He found the Indians holding a war council and was ordered to leave. When Sam got within three miles of home, he was joined by Mox Mox (who later went by the name “Yellow Bull”), who was camped with other Indians at the mouth of Chapman Creek. Chapman Creek is the drainage that runs more or less north and south, just east of the old White Bird Hill highway grade that wound up the hill to Grangeville. Chapman Creek enters White Bird Creek about three or four miles up from the present-day town of White Bird. Mox Mox came home with Benedict and was given food. Afterward, he stood for several hours, leaning against the gate facing the house, often glancing at the road and the creek.
That morning, Sam Benedict saddled a horse and was about to ride out to look after some cows that had young calves. As he was about to leave, the three teenage Nez Perce boys I mentioned in a previous column—Wahlitits, his nephew, Swan Necklace, plus a cousin, Sarpsis Ilpilp—appeared on the road along White Bird Creek. Even though Indians stopped at the store almost every day, something must have given Sam the feeling that he should keep and eye on these young men. Sam tied his horse to the front gate, sat down on the porch, and pretended to read a newspaper while watching the Indians approach. The three stopped in front of the yard and asked Sam if they could travel the lower road, which was a shortcut around the family’s garden fence and under a bluff when the water was low enough. Sam informed them that the route was impassible, so the braves went on their way and Sam rode off to find his cattle.
Later that morning, the same three Indians appeared at the Cone place at the mouth of Slate Creek and asked for food and ammunition. The Cones fed them, but gave them no ammunition. Later that day the young warriors killed Richard Devine at his ranch only a half dozen miles or so north of present-day Riggins.
Here’s where the time line gets confusing because the accounts don’t match. It may have been on this evening of Tuesday, June 12th that the three warriors rode back north to John Day Creek to the Elfers place. One account says they waited until the morning of the 13th, when they ambushed and killed Henry Elfers and two men, Robert Bland and Harry Beckrage, who were helping Elfers harvest hay. On their way back past the Cone place, the Indians left the trail and skirted around the house, but ran into Charles Cone Sr. who was on his way to his gold claim, which was about a mile from his house. Since the Cones had always been on good terms with the Nez Perce, Charles was not harmed, but the warriors told him they were on the warpath. They said the Nez Perce were holding council on the Camas Prairie, debating whether to go to the reservation or fight. They advised Cone to warn the other settlers and get them into the stockade.
The Elizabeth Osborn-Clay story differs from this somewhat: “From here [Elfers’] they went on down the river avoiding the Cone house by leaving the trial. A mile and a half below the Cone Ranch, Charley Cone, Sr. was at his placer mine. When the redskins saw him they rushed down on him in a threatening manner and asked him if he knew the horses they were riding. Cone had, of course, recognized the horses at once but also knew something was wrong; he thought quickly and said he did not know the horses. The Indians told him to go home and stay there; that they were very mad and would fight.”
After leaving Charles Cone, the three Indians continued north toward White Bird Creek.
Probably mid-afternoon on Wednesday the 13th, Belle Benedict began to worry because her husband had been gone so long. Frances Benedict’s account makes it sound as if her father was attacked on the same day he rode out to look after the cows with small calves. She wrote: “Suddenly Mother came from the house and seemed excited. I ran to her and saw a horseman approaching. I recognized Father, and knew at once something was wrong. He was riding a workhorse belonging to a neighbor, Mr. Baker, who lived up the creek. He was riding without saddle or bridle, and had removed his riding boots. Mother was crying, and said: ‘Oh Sam! What's the matter?’ She thought he had been bitten by a rattlesnake, as the region was infested with them. Father said, ‘Don't get excited Belle. Those three Indians followed and shot me and the horse, leaving me for dead. After they left, I managed to mount the old horse, which was near a rock, and he brought me home.’" Apparently, the three young Nez Perce men had shot Sam on their way back to the encampment at Tolo Lake.
Belle helped Sam into the house and onto a cot in the dining room. Frances was sent on the run to H.C. Brown’s store about a mile down the Salmon River to get help. Some of the French miners who lived on the west side of the river were at the store, and one named John Doumecq hurried to the Benedict house. Sam told Belle to put all their keepsakes and best clothes in trunks to be buried. Before long, Mr. Brown showed up to check on Sam. Brown remarked to Sam, “The Indians must have a grudge against you.” Benedict answered, You may think they have a grudge against you before the day is over.” (Sam’s words turned out to be accurate. Within a day or two, Mr. Brown, his wife her brother barely escaped across the Salmon when Indians attacked their place. Bullets wounded both men before they reached the other side; Mrs. Brown was unharmed. They hid in the timber for several days before being brought to the stockade at Slate Creek.)
Thursday, June 14th was a hot but uneventful day at the Benedict house, and by 6:00 PM it looked as if it was turning into a quite evening. Sam had survived his leg wounds, and it seemed the worst was over. Suddenly, little Frances ran into the house and yelled to her parents, “There are lots of Indians coming!”
To be continued next week.
11-7-02
If my timeline is accurate—and as I said, the accounts differ—the evening of Thursday, June 14 was the bloodiest killing spree of the opening murders of the Nez Perce War. The day had been a quiet one. It was probably the night before that Wahlitits and his buddies had returned to the main Nez Perce encampment on the Camas Prairie to tell of their exploits. It must have been that morning that at least 14 warriors headed for the Salmon River settlements. One of the warriors was Mox Mox (Yellow Bull) who may have been the leader of the group. Contrary to what is said in a couple of the accounts, Chief Joseph was nowhere near the scene of the Salmon River murders when they occurred.
After doing what he could for Sam Benedict, the Frenchman, Doumecq, had gone back to his house on the west side of the Salmon River. He intended to return with reinforcements and spend the night at the Benedict’s. Just as he and the other men were about the set out, they heard gunshots from across the river and knew they were too late.
Little Frances Benedict remembered being in the back yard about 6:00 o’clock that evening. The family’s Chinese cook was washing some lettuce for supper. Suddenly the cook yelled, “Hiyu! Indians!” Frances immediately ran into the house and told her parents, “There are lots of Indians coming!”
As the warriors rode up the front gate, Belle Benedict ran to the bedroom where baby Addie was asleep. Apparently, Sam Benedict was also lying a back bedroom. August Bacon, who was in the house, grabbed a rifle and shut the front door. He had no sooner accomplished this than a hail of bullets came crashing through the door, knocking him unconscious, if not dead. A rush of warriors followed the bullets into the house. One of the Indians cut August Bacon’s throat, then took his cartridge belt, which was soaked with blood. The brave brought the belt to Frances and ordered her to rinse the blood off in the washbasin. (Elizabeth Osborn-Clay’s account says that the Indians later said they offered to spare August Bacon if he would send Sam Benedict out to them.) As the Indians attacked, Sam Benedict got out of bed and looked out the window. He told Belle to take the children and run. Just how she did this is not clear, but as they were making their escape, Frances remembered the last time she ever saw her father. He was making a run for it with many Indians shooting at him. Before Frances lost sight of him, he had made it to the middle of White Bird Creek.
Belle, Frances and Addie made their way up White Bird Creek toward the Manuel place, about four miles away. James Baker’s house was along their route, about where the town of White Bird is today. When they arrived at Baker’s they found his body lying face down with many arrows sticking in his back. It isn’t clear exactly when the attack at Baker’s place occurred, but since his place was up White Bird Creek along what seems to have been the main travel route, Baker was probably killed before the attack at the Benedicts at the mouth of the creek. Belle’s original goal may have been to seek safety in the rock cellar at Baker’s place. I say this because that’s what the Manuel family had planned before Belle and the children arrived on the horrible scene.
According to the Elizabeth Osborn-Clay account, Baker and a man named Pat Price had gone to the Manuel place that afternoon to urge them to leave their house. They all agreed Baker’s rock cellar would be a good place to make a stand. Mrs. Manuel mounted one horse with her baby, and John Manuel and his seven-year-old daughter, Maggie were on another. Baker rode a third horse. Mrs. Manuel's father, George Popham, and Pat Price planned to stay behind in the brush near the house to watch for Indians. The group had barely left when the Indians attacked. John Manuel and Maggie were wounded and fell from their horse. (Maggie broke her arm, after which it hung limply at her side. An arrow hit Mr. Manuel in the neck, and he received wounds to his hips.) When Mrs. Manuel and her baby were thrown from their horse, Mrs. Manuel got a bad cut on her knee. Baker fell mortally wounded from arrows. John Manuel was wounded badly enough that the Indians left him for dead, but he survived and reportedly wondered “in the brush and weeds for thirteen days, while Maggie was later found by Pat Price and carried to the Fort and Mt. Idaho.” The Indians took Mrs. Manuel and her baby back to the house and made her surrender any ammunition in the house. All this doesn’t fit with Frances’s account of finding Baker dead at his own house, but I think it’s more accurate as to the location of this attack. It would have been between Manuel’s and Bakers, and still on the route to the Manuel place as Frances remembered it.
To be continued next week.
11-14-02
When last week’s column ended, Indians had just attacked near the Manuel place, wounding both Mr. & Mrs. Manuel, and killing James Baker. It must have been just after this that the warriors came across the Masons, the Osborns and William George at the Creek crossing at the orchard below Baker’s house. Helen Walsh said this happened as it was getting dark. In this confrontation, Walsh said Bill George had his little finger shot off; the Osborn-Clay account said it was his thumb.
After leaving the Baker place, Belle Benedict and her daughters traveled up the creek to the Manuel house. Just before they got there, they encountered Mrs. Manuel’s father, George Popham, coming toward them from a pasture. He told them of the attack on the Manuel family. When Belle said she thought they should go to Mount Idaho to get help, Mr. Popham replied, “My good woman, we would all be murdered, and there is no use to go!” They walked on up to the Manuel house where they found Mrs. Manuel and her children sitting dejectedly on the back porch step. Frances remembers Mrs. Manuel lifting her dress and saying, “Look, Belle, what they did to me!” She revealed a deep cut on her knee that was causing her a good deal of pain. Frances’s account says George Popham suggested to his daughter (Mrs. Manuel) that they go to “bid her husband good-bye” and that “she put her baby in Mother’s arms and went, asking us to remain until she returned.” Just why they would say good-bye to John Manuel (also known as “Jack”) is a mystery to me. It doesn’t seem to fit with the account of him wondering in the brush and weeds for 13 days. As darkness was falling, a group of Indians again approached the Manuel house, and the settlers hid in the brush nearby and spent the night as Frances later wrote, “expecting to be killed any minute!”
After their rampage at the Benedict house, the Indians rode downriver to H.C. Brown’s where they shot at the three settlers who were fleeing across the river in a boat. The Osborn-Clay account says, “At Brown's store the Indians took all the ammunition and goods found, besides drinking freely of the liquor that was in the saloon. After getting good and drunk they were more fit than ever for the terrible crimes that were committed.”
So, in this story, as the moon rises over the canyons along the Salmon River on the night of Thursday, June 14, 1877 we have three groups of settlers. At the Manuel place, hiding in the brush, are Belle Benedict, her two daughters; Frances and Addie, Mrs. Manuel and her baby and daughter Maggie; George Popham and Pat Price. Hiding in the brush somewhere between the Baker and Manuel homes are Helen Walsh her little boy, Edward, and baby girl, Masie; William and Elizabeth Osborn and their four children (2 girls, youngest is Annie & two boys, oldest is Willie, younger Edward), Harry Mason, and two Frenchmen (Shoemaker and Louie). William Osborn’s partner, Bill George is with this party, but will soon set out on his own for Mount Idaho to get help. Most of the rest of the Salmon River settlers are at the Cone place at Slate Creek inside a stockade.
The next morning, Friday, the 15th, the Mason/Osborn party arrived at the Mason place after sunup and found it ransacked. Two Frenchmen who were there went with them to the Osborn cabin, except Shoemaker who went back to untie a calf and didn’t catch up (which saved his life). They arrived at the Osborn cabin barely in time to get inside as the Indians attacked. All the men in this group were killed.
That morning at the Manuel house, everyone except Belle Benedict and her children decided to return to the Manuel house. Here, Frances’s account doesn’t say what happened to Mrs. Manuel and her children and her father. She said only that, as they hid in the brush all that day, they heard voices coming from the house, and the sounds of wood being chopped. She said, “The Indians, we learned later, [were] trying to decoy us to the house.” Maggie Manuel, who was seven at the time, later told the story from her perspective. She said her mother and grandfather returned to the house because they thought the danger had passed, plus they wanted to find her wounded father. She said Mox Mox and a group of Indians—all of whom they knew well because they often camped on the Manuel place—rode up to the house, but left without harming anyone. Soon after this, she claims Chief Joseph arrived with a group of warriors. Later she mentioned Chief White Bird, so it may have actually been him; it certainly was not Joseph. Regardless of the identity of this chief, she remembered clearly that he suddenly killed her mother with a knife as her mother was nursing the baby. She didn’t say how, but the baby also died or was killed. Maggie, in shock and exhausted, slept briefly, then went looking for her grandfather (George Popham). Instead found Pat Price hiding in the brush where they stayed the rest of that day.
To be continued next week.
11-21-02
Last week I detailed where the three groups of settlers were on the evening of Thursday, June 14. By 6:30 the next morning, Friday, June 15, the horrible massacre at the Osborn cabin was over. Helen Walsh and here two children, and Elizabeth Osborn and her four children left the bloody scene deeply in shock. They wandered to the Litman place, which they found deserted and riddled with bullets. The Frenchman, Shoemaker caught up with them and took the youngest Osborn girl, Annie, with him to Slate Creek. The women then convinced a lone Indian woman who passed by to take the two younger boys to Slate Creek. They set out for the stockade at Slate Creek with the two older boys and the Walsh baby. When they reached the stockade, they found the Litmans, Cones, Mrs. Elfers and other settlers there.
Meanwhile, Maggie Manuel was hiding in the brush near the Manuel house with Pat Price when the Indians discovered them. Price decided to try a desperate strategy and came out to talk to Chief White Bird. Maggie said, “To him Mr. Price showed the cross tattooed on his breast with India ink. He promised to the Indians that if they would allow him to take me on to Mount Idaho he would return and surrender himself to them. This the chief agreed to and after we had gone into the house and seen Mother's and baby's bodies, we left for the prairies.” Maggie and Pat Price made it to Mount Idaho a couple days later. Maggie’s father, John Manuel remained hidden near the Manuel home. Maggie wrote, “After suffering for five days from the arrow in this neck, he cut it out with his knife, and dressed the wound, using horseradish leaves and cold water from the creek. His hip wounds had crippled him so seriously that he was unable to travel. The soldiers found him and brought him to Mount Idaho, where he eventually recovered.” Maggie’s grandfather, George Popham, also hid near the Manuel home and witnessed the Indians burning the house. He arrived at Mount Idaho several days behind Maggie and Pat Price.
After spending the 15th in hiding, Belle Benedict and her children set out that night up White Bird Creek for Mount Idaho. They avoided the road to keep from encountering Indians. Once again the time line detailed by the various accounts cannot be reconciled here. Frances Benedict said they had not gone far when a rider came by on the road with his horse running hard. Gunshots came from behind him, but the bullets missed their mark and the rider got away. The Benedicts learned later that this was Bill George who had left the Mason/Osborn group in an attempt to get to Mount Idaho. He did in fact make good his escape and was the first to deliver news of the massacres. Bill George escaped on the night before the Mason/Osborn massacre, which by my time line would place his ride on the evening of the 14th, not the 15th.
Farther up the creek, near the Theo Swarts place, Belle and the children encountered a bear near a spring. Frances later said, “I took a firmer hold on Mother’s skirt, saying a bear was in our way and we could not pass. But Mother did not hesitate. She said the bear would not hurt us; it was the Indians she was afraid of!” They went around the bear by hiking far up the mountainside. Several accounts note how bright the moon was during this time. Some of the settlers waited until after the moon went down to travel at night, but the Benedicts kept going, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. They climbed up the hill toward the Camas Prairie, stopping for the night somewhere near the top of the hill and near what later would be the old highway grade.
As dawn broke on Saturday, June 16, the Benedicts moved farther up the hill and hid below the road, not daring to venture out into the open. Frances said, “Being very tired and hungry we tried to rest, and I carried water in the one little shoe baby sister had on when Mother took her from her nap the day the Indians surrounded our home. All day Saturday we remained hidden in the brush while the whole tribe of Indians was passing by. They were hurrying their families from their camping ground at the lake, now Tolo Lake, to the Salmon River, aiming to cross before the soldiers came up with them. Rocks and earth from passing horses rolled near and over us, but fortunately none hit us.”
Next week—more bloodshed.
11-28-02
Belle Benedict and her two daughters hid in the brush all day (Saturday, June 15) near the top of present-day White Bird Hill. They had not eaten since Thursday at noon, two days before. Unbeknownst to them, at midnight that night, Federal soldiers arrived above them at the breaks of White Bird Creek. At daybreak on Sunday, June 17, Belle heard white men’s voices and climbed up to the road to find the soldiers advancing down toward White Bird Creek where the Nez Perce who had passed by the previous day were camped. Belle immediately asked them for food and help. Frances recalled, “They gave us some biscuits, but said they could not spare any men to pilot us to the settlement. They said a couple of friendly Indians who were with them might take us, but Mother declined, saying she would wait until their return.” Little did she know how quickly they would return—at least the ones who were not killed.
Frances Benedict said the Nez Perce hid in ambush and “mowed them [the soldiers] down like grass before a scythe.” The real story is that some Nez Perce leaders came forward and met the troopers under a white flag. For some reason, a volunteer civilian who was with the soldiers suddenly shot twice at the Indians. From that point on, war was unavoidable. The next shot came from a Nez Perce warrior and killed the bugler, which severely hampered the relaying of tactical signals to the soldiers. In the quick rout that followed, the troops retreated back up the hill toward the Benedicts. Thirty-four soldiers were killed and four were wounded. No Indians were killed.
Frances wrote: “The soldiers who were not killed retreated up the canyon and when they arrived where we were they forgot all about us in their rush to safety. They galloped by, followed by riderless horses. Had it not been for Charles Crooks, a friend, who had joined the local volunteers, we would have been left to the mercy of the Indians. ‘My God, men, you are not going to leave this woman and her children here to be killed, are you?’ Some of the men halted and took us with them.” Belle was put on a horse that she had trouble keeping under control. Frances was mounted behind a soldier, and the baby was given to yet another mounted soldier to carry. The baby was later found lying in the road where the soldier had dropped and left her. A volunteer named William Coran picked her up and took her to Mount Idaho.
In the chaos, Maggie was separated from her mother, and when she reached Mount Idaho her mother was not there. Edward Robie, a friend of the Benedict family, set out to find Belle and found her afoot in a field. He called to her, but she panicked, thinking he was an Indian, and hid behind a haystack. Can you imagine the emotional condition Belle Benedict must have been in at this point? She hadn’t eaten more than a biscuit or two in days, probably had gotten little or no sleep during that time, had watched her husband and friends brutally murdered, and didn’t know where her children were. And at this point she didn’t even know that some idiot had dumped her baby in the middle of a road somewhere. She eventually realized the voice calling to her belonged to someone she knew, and she came out of hiding. Mr. Robie put Belle on his horse and led the animal to Mount Idaho.
Belle later said she had ridden with a group of soldiers until “her saddle turned and she was left afoot and alone on the prairie.” (These soldiers were a chivalrous bunch weren’t they?) Frances wrote, “When three volunteers came by she begged them to take her, but they said they couldn’t as their horses were jaded and two of the men were wounded. They promised to send help.” Deciding she was going to get no help from anyone, Belle set out on foot. She was making good progress when she suddenly found herself surrounded by Indians. Frances wrote: “They had seen her and, to cut off her flight, had separated into two long lines that were led by Chief Joseph. Thinking her time had come, she stood as one petrified until the Indians rode up. She was asked if she wanted to go back to Whitebird. Her answer was "No," she wanted to go to her children. Her watch and other jewelry were taken, but when an Indian attempted to remove the rings from her finger, Joseph said, ‘No!’ One ring opened into several rings with a closing of clasped hands. Orders were given by Chief Joseph, and Mother was picked up and put on a horse behind an Indian, and the journey to Whitebird was resumed. En route they met some squaws who were following their warriors and doing their part by scalping the poor wounded soldiers left on the battlefield. Mother told the squaws she did not wish to return to Whitebird but wanted to go to Mount Idaho. After a heated argument between Indians they told her to go, pointing out the road and telling her more Indians were in the vicinity who would kill her if she were caught. Mother quickly sought shelter in the timber and was about four miles from Mount Idaho when Mr. Robie found her. Mother attributed her release from the Indians to the many acts of kindness she had shown the squaws when living among them. She had often assisted with a sick child, or given food when needed.”
I don’t quite know what to make of this account because it is my impression that no Nez Perce from Joseph’s Wallowa band were on the Camas Prairie after the battle at White Bird Creek and that they immediately left the White Bird area, thinking (rightly) that they would be pursued. As I said before, accounts of these events tend to place Joseph at locations where he couldn’t have been at the time. I think whites who were not familiar with the various chiefs were influenced by later publicity surrounding Joseph. I think in later years when they wrote their accounts they assumed any leader of a group of Indians they encountered might well have been chief Joseph. And after all, it makes a better story doesn’t it?
Belle Benedict later married Edward Robie, the man who had rescued her.
12-5-03? Like much of the history of Idaho, the beginning of the story of the Nez Perce War can be traced back to man’s hunger for gold. One of the first gold discoveries in what is now Idaho occurred near the head of Slate Creek in 1861. A town named Florence soon sprang up there. Even though Florence was only twenty-six miles from the mouth of Slate Creek, the two areas were settled separately, and there was no trail up Slate Creek to Florence for a number of years.
After the killing started along the Salmon River in the June of 1877, the settlers who survived gathered at Slate Creek. There, a stockade was built around the “John Wood Hotel,” which was on the south side of the creek, at the foot of a ridge. John and Caroline Wood had settled at Slate Creek in 1863. They bought their land from Charles Silverman, who in turn had bought it from a Nez Perce man called “Captain John,” also known as “Whistleknocker.” They planted what may have been the first orchard on the Salmon River. In 1874, the Woods sold the part of their land across Slate Creek to their son in law, Charles Cone, who had married their daughter, Annie.
During the winter of 1876-77, the news that the non-treaty Wallowa band of the Nez Perce had been ordered onto a reservation caused anxiety along the Salmon River among both whites and natives. The Nez Perce held a big meeting in December at Horseshoe Bend, a couple miles north of Slate Creek on the Salmon River. Chiefs White Bird, Joseph, Roaring Bull and Looking Glass were present. The sons of Charles and Annie Cone—Charles Jr., age 20, and Harry, 19—and several other whites sat in on the pow-wow. Several of the settlers understood the Nez Perce language well enough to know that war was being seriously discussed. As a result, the Cones built a stockade on their property.
Harry Cone said, “"Our stockade was made by digging a trench three feet deep entirely around the buildings and setting fir logs close together, then a log over each crack. These timbers being very solid and 11 to 12 feet long, also 10 to 14 inches in diameter. We felt quite safe behind them at that time as there were no high power rifles using smokeless powder as in these days." The rifles in those days shot bullets propelled by black powder, which had much less power than modern smokeless gunpowders. These bullets were sometimes stopped by a few inches of wood or by the proverbial Bible in a man’s breast pocket. Seems to me that logs 10 to 14 inches thick would even stop most modern rifle bullets, except for armor-piercing ones.
At first, there were 40 women and children in the stockade and 23 poorly-armed men. Only five rifles were breachloaders (as opposed to muzzleloaders). Harry Cone had a breachloading rifle, but only five cartridges for it. The Indians, however, were not so poorly prepared. They had obtained plenty of rifles and ammunition from their Crow friends in Montana. At night, the women and children slept inside a stone cellar that I mentioned is still evident at Slate Creek. While the settlers were inside the stockade, Indians approached under a white flag several times. The first time, they asked to be allowed inside to look around. This flimsy excuse was rebuffed. More than once they used to white flag to ask that Larry Ott be surrendered to them. Needless to say, he was not surrendered. There was a bluff that overlooked the stockade. This bluff was high enough that Indians could see down into the stockade to some extent by using a telescope. It was feared that they might shoot into the stockade from that point, but evidently they didn’t.
At some point, the settlers realized that the nearest point from which help was likely to come was from the miners at Florence. But no one there knew about the uprising, and it would be very dangerous for someone from the stockade to travel there. There was Nez Perce woman named Tolo in the stockade with the settlers, and she stepped forward and volunteered to go to Florence.
Ironically, Tolo was the sister of one of the main instigators of the violence: Mox Mox, later known as Yellow Bull. Tolo’s name is sometimes spelled “Tule” or “Toolah.” Her real name was Ahab Lemot; she aquired the nickname Tolo from her friends. Tolo loved to gamble. The Nez Perce and other tribes played a gambling game involving sticks or bones, but when exposed to playing cards, some Indians, like Tolo, took to poker like a fish to water. She loved to play poker so much that her friends started calling her “Tulekals Chikchamit,” which means “placing money on betting cards.” This name was shortened to “Tule,” and then the whites distorted it into “Tolo.”
Tolo had two daughters who lived with her. One was named “Chacholet,” and was later known as Agnes Moses. Two of Tolo’s sisters also lived near the Salmon River settlers. Tolo’s husband had died of pneumonia before she came to live at Slate Creek. His demise was the result of the Indian practice of curing such ailments as pneumonia by soaking in hot water and then jumping into the cold water of the Salmon River.
Tolo and her sisters often worked for the whites and were well-liked by them. Mary Wood taught Tolo some nursing skills, and the Indian woman was often called upon as a midwife. Harry Cone said of Tolo, "Among the older people are many who, in their childhood days were hushed and sung to sleep by this motherly Indian woman, who at times would leave their own mothers' arms to go to her. And these children loved her just as the southern children loved the old black "mammy". And she returned the love by the care and often-long vigils at bedsides during sickness. Uneducated, yet she had those traits of character that all good women have, be they white,
black or copper color. Peace to her ashes."
Before Tolo set out on her ride to Florence for help, she was dressed in a blue suit and a black hat the made her look like a Chinese miner. She rode a faithful old horse named “Bummer,” that belonged to Charles Wood. The settlers sent a letter with her that explained their perilous situation. Tolo made the 26 mile ride along the old Indian trail up Slate Creek without incident. While she rested at Florence, the miners gathered 25 men and all the guns and ammunition they could spare. They arrived at the stockade early the next morning. There were now about 80 people inside the small stockade; each one needed food, a place to sleep and the use of a toilet. In spite of their fears of attack, the days of slaughter along the Salmon River left them unmolested, and they all went back to the normal routines of their lives.
More about Tolo next week.
12-12-02
The picture with last week’s column had no caption, but the photo shows Tolo at Slate Creek about 1880.
In the later years of Tolo’s life, she lived in the Grangeville area. Frank Higgins of Grangeville wrote an account in September of 2000 of his family’s experiences with Tolo and her brother, Yellow Bull. Frank’s father came to the area in 1901 and eventually bought a farm near Red Rock Creek about 15 miles north of Grangeville. By this time he was married and had a baby girl, Flosie. Frank’s brother, Vern, was born in 1910 and Frank came along in 1913.
The Higgins family had some interesting neighbors. Frank wrote: “Joe and Badora Kurdy, fresh from Syria (now Lebanon) were to the east of us. Chief Yellow Bull was over the hill to the west. Joe Kurdy could speak English, but Ma Kurdy couldn't. The Indians could speak some English, but wasn't very friendly.” The Nez Perce were still struggling to deal cope with the drastic changes they had to endure on the reservation. Yellow Bull chose not to live on the reservation and picked out a spot on Red Rock Creek. Frank said, “It was near Red Rock Bluff, had a large spring, and was a fertile piece of land. The government built a nice frame house, gave them some cattle and haying equipment. Mrs. Yellow Bull was a hard worker, so had a nice garden and raspberry patch.”
Yellow Bull had changed his name from “Mox Mox” in an apparent attempt to put his bloody past behind him. He was quoted as saying, “Mox Mox bad Indian. Yellow Bull good Indian.” Just why he was not imprisoned for his murders along the Salmon River in 1877 is a mystery. Yellow Bull would often have a large group of friends at his place to eat and party. Frank said, ”They would have a wild old time. Have horse races, dance and sing. We would hear the party a mile away.”
As Yellow Bull grew older, he became almost blind, and depended on Mr. Higgins to haul supplies from town. Mrs. Yellow Bull would always come to the Higgins house and carry the supplies home on her back. One time she carried a 100-pound sack of sugar.
Some time around 1915, Yellow Bull’s sister, Tolo came to live with him. The Higgins family got the impression that he did not like her because she had been living with white people on the Salmon River. In spite of this, he took her in, saying, "Higgins, I take her in you know, blood thicker than water." By this time Tolo was in poor health and also losing her vision. I don’t know if it was the case here, but Native Americans in general often had eye problems caused by a lifetime of exposure to campfire smoke. Yellow Bull’s outhouse was quite a distance from his house, so Mr. Higgins, “…stretched a wire from the house to the toilet so they could hook their cane over the wire and go a scooting.” Tolo loved kids, and told Frank many stories and sang songs for him.
In the spring of 1920, Tolo became bedridden. She had a bed on the floor of the house, and would only eat chicken broth. The flies were thick that summer and Mrs. Yellow Bull gave her a stick to swat at them. Mrs. Higgins brought a netting to keep the flies from Tolo’s face.
Frank said, “One morning real early Mrs. Yellow Bull came over home with the news that Tolo had died. She said, ‘Higgins, you bury her.’ Dad said he would be over in the morning, as he was ready to haul a load of grain to Cottonwood. She said, ‘You come now, not wait like white people.’" The chief had made arrangements with Mr. Higgins to bury Tolo on the hill north of the house when she died. Frank, who was seven years old, went with his dad to bury Tolo. Yellow Bull and two women had wrapped Tolo’s body in a white elk skin robe, covered that with a blanket, and then tied the bundle with rope. The body was put in the Higgins buggy and a sad little procession followed behind on the half-mile trip to the gravesite. Frank said, “There had been others buried there. Dad dug a hole according to Mrs. Yellow Bull's instructions ... the depth of the length of her cane. He hit a big rock, so she was a short cane deep. We covered her over; the ladies picked some sunflowers and put on the grave. Dad had orders to cover the grave with rock to keep the badgers from digging her up. We still didn't know anything about Tolo's history until the American Legion found where she was buried and placed a monument at the grave. Later the Centennial Committee headed by Harold and Eldene Wasem built a permanent fence and placed a stock crossing at the road. Chief Yellow Bull went to Nespelem, Washington for a memorial service for Chief Joseph. That same year, he and his wife died and were buried there also.”
12-19-02
The other day I picked up a brochure at the courthouse about the history of motor vehicles on Idaho, and it seemed like a good subject for this column. We’ve all heard about how the car transformed the way people lived, but I don’t think any of us that didn’t experience the transition can fully appreciate what a change the automobile brought to private and public lives. On the other hand, it was a gradual change in some ways. I’ll try to start at the beginning.
The automobile was not invented in a single day by a single inventor. It is estimated that over 100,000 patents were filed that led to the modern automobile. The first known ideas for such a vehicle were sketched by both Leonardo da Vinci and Isaac Newton.
The first automobile appeared within one generation after another life-altering invention came into use: the steam locomotive. The steam engine, which came into use for train locomotives this country about 1800, changed the world dramatically, both for transportation and for powering industry. The steam locomotive was the fastest vehicle on earth, and moved unheard-of amounts of goods at unheard-of speeds.
When the steam engine was first invented, experiments were tried with several types of vehicles. One of the first was a three-wheeled machine built for military use by Nicolas Cugnot in 1769. Some historians consider Cugnot’s vehicle to be the first automobile, and credit him as the inventor. Cugnot’s vehicle was used by the French Army to haul artillery at the blazing speed of 2 1/2 mph. It had to stop every ten to fifteen minutes to build up steam. In 1771, Cugnot inadvertently drove one of his vehicles into a stone wall, making him the first person to be in a motor vehicle accident.
Steam engines added so much weight to a vehicle that they were impractical for use on common roads. Steam tractors, like the ones in the town square park in Council, became common, and continued to be used for farming until the 1940s. Before people figured out that a steam-driven machine could operate better on rails, several steam-tractor-like machines were used to pull carriages. In 1801, Richard Trevithick built the first British road carriage powered by steam., Steam-powered stagecoaches were in regular service in Britain from 1820 to 1840. These were later banned from public roads—probably because these behemoths tore up the road and scared the heck out of horses. As a result of this ban, a better alternative, Britain's railroad system, was developed.
Steam-driven road tractors built by Charles Deitz pulled passenger carriages around Paris and Bordeaux up to 1850. In the United States, numerous steam coaches were built, starting in 1860. These continued to be refined and eventually quite sophisticated cars were developed. More on that later in the story.
In addition to steam power, early vehicle builders used electricity. Between 1832 and 1839 (the exact year is uncertain), Robert Anderson of Scotland invented the first electric carriage. The first electric cars were heavy, slow, expensive, and used batteries that had to be recharged frequently to be practical. Electrically powered vehicles were more successfully used for tramways and streetcars, where a constant supply of electricity was possible.
The next step toward the modern automobile was the invention of the internal combustion engine. A steam engine burns (combusts) fuel on the outside of the “engine.” The steam developed by this combustion is piped into the piston chamber from the outside. The first experiments with combustion inside of the piston chamber itself took place in 1680. (It must have seemed like a crazy idea to many people.) The first internal combustion engine to actually operate came from France in 1859. Another French inventor patented a four-stroke engine in 1862, but it was not until 1878 that Nikolaus A. Otto built a successful four-stroke engine. It became known as the “Otto cycle Engine," and as soon as he had completed his engine, Otto put it in a motorcycle. In 1885 Gottlieb Daimler built what is generally recognized as the prototype of the modern gas engine. Most modern gasoline engines are descended from Daimler’s engines. Early the next year (1886) Karl Benz received the first patent for a gas-fueled car. Histories of the car give Daimler and Benz a great deal of credit for “inventing” the automobile because their improvements to previous designs led directly to the first highly successful and practical gasoline-powered vehicles.
In 1889, Daimler invented a V-slanted two-cylinder, four-stroke engine with mushroom-shaped valves. Just like Otto's 1876 engine, Daimler's new engine set the basis for all car engines from then on. Also in 1889, Daimler and Maybach built their first automobile from the ground up instead of adding an engine to a buggy or other existing vehicle as had always been done previously. The new Daimler automobile had a four-speed transmission and obtained speeds of 10 mph.
Karl Benz’s first vehicles had three wheels, but he made his first four-wheeled vehicle in 1891. The company he started, Benz & Cie., became the world's largest manufacturer of automobiles by 1900.
To be continued next week.
12-26-02
When automobiles started to be noticed by the general public, the vehicle went by several names before a standard term was used. When Henry Sturmey started the fist British motoring magazine in 1895, he used the term “autocar.” This name didn’t catch on in Britain; instead, they called them “motor-cars.” Americans at first rejected “automobile” because it was a French word. When the Chicago Times-Heraldheld a contest to pick a name for the new vehicles, the $500 prize went to someone who suggested “motocycle.” As late as 1906, “motor-car” was still in common use, but it soon lost the hyphen and became “motorcar.” This term still persists in Britain. America eventually settled on “automobile” as the generic term.
Sometime between 1895 and 1898 the auto industry in the United States was born, with names like Duryea, Pope, Stanley and Winton leading the way. American experimenters leaped on the new invention, and it is estimated that by 1895 about 300 experimental cars had been built in barns, shacks and factories all over the nation. The pace of technical advancement was comparable to that of the computer. In 1898 a French car made it to a record speed of just less than 40 mph. Just seven years later, an American vehicle reached the staggering speed of 127 mph.
In England, the motorcar was often despised as a rich man’s toy. In America, even though a car was a luxury only the wealthier citizen could afford, the atmosphere was more democratic and adventurous. In 1900, well over 4,000 cars were sold in the U.S. By 1906 there were over 200 American automobile brand names.
One of the biggest handicaps to early auto drivers was the lack of roads. It’s hard for a modern person to imagine what roads were like at the turn of the twentieth century. Most roads, especially rural ones, were what we would categorize as four-wheel-drive roads. Often, they were little more than trails that a horse-drawn wagon could negotiate—at least in good weather. Early American cars were built with a wheels spaced the same width as farm wagons so that they could fit in the existing ruts.
Today we area accustomed to the controls in a car being in standard places. We depend on them to have a steering wheel, a gas and brake pedal, and a clutch pedal unless the car has an automatic transmission. In the early days of car manufacture, each maker had his own ideas about what controls should be where, and often put them wherever the linkage was convenient in the building process. Sometimes instead of a steering wheel, early cars had a tiller lever similar to a boat. Clutches and brakes might be operated by foot or by hand. The throttle was often a hand lever. In the Lanchester auto, the left foot operated the accelerator and the right foot’s only job was to step on the horn bulb. The Delahaye also had an accelerator operated by the left foot, but one pressed it to slow down and released it to make the car go faster. The Brotherhood-Crocker car had a gas pedal that was operated by swiveling the foot from side to side. One Duryea model had a tiller that steered the vehicle, controlled the engine speed and doubled as a gearshift. Since horse-drawn vehicles had been around for thousands of years, one maker built an automobile that steered by means of reins.
Not only did early cars have the controls in different places, they had some controls that most of us have never seen. The timing of the spark igniting the fuel in the cylinders is still important to the power and fuel efficiency of modern vehicles, but that is now done automatically. At first, though, this had to be adjusted by hand to fit various driving conditions. In addition, many cars had separate controls for adjusting air intake, fuel intake and a governor. All these had to be set properly for the car to run well enough to make it from one place to another.
Starting early cars was an ordeal. Electric starters didn’t come along for many years. First, one had to set the ignition timing and/or other controls to a position advantageous to starting the engine. Then one had to find the manual mechanism to wrestle. Some models required the turning of the flywheel. Eventually a crank wrench inserted at the front of the engine became standard. If a cylinder sparked at the wrong time, the wrench would sometimes spin violently back in the opposite direction. This caused countless broken arms.
Other aspects of operation were not automatic either. Instead of a radiator, there was sometimes a “condenser,” which wasn’t very efficient. The water level had to be checked constantly. There was no crankcase at first, and all the moving parts except the cylinder chamber (there was usually only one) were exposed and had to be hand lubricated. At least the tires were solid rubber, so the air pressure didn’t need to be checked.
It was very common to see a separate pedal or lever to put the car into reverse. The earliest cars didn’t have transmissions with actual gears, but were usually belt or chain driven mechanisms. When geared transmissions were developed, they could be a nightmare to shift. An early manual summed it up: “The sliding type of change-speed gear, which is now almost universal, is, from a mechanical point of view, a brutal system, because, if the driver is not skilful and careful, he is bound to bring the edges of the gear wheels on the primary and secondary shafts into fierce contact whilst they are revolving at different speeds. This will cause great wear, and may even chip off portions of the teeth. The act of changing properly is simply a knack, requiring some experience and a quick, delicate, and sympathetic touch.”
The standard practice of placing the gearshift on the right side of the driver came from the fact that teamsters usually held the reins more in the left hand, leaving the right hand free to use a whip. So it was natural to arrange controls so that the left hand could stay on the wheel while the right moved controls such as a gearshift lever. It was still not too convenient when two shift levers had to be moved at the same time. It could even be disastrous if opposite gears engaged at the same time and locked up the transmission.
1-2-03
As with most new things, cars didn’t make it to rural Idaho until several years after their novelty was wearing off in larger cities. The first local newspaper reference to one that I could find was in the Weiser Signal, Oct 30, 1907: "Joe Shilosky purchased an automobile in Boise Saturday and made the run to this city Sunday. This is Weiser's first machine and has attracted lots of attention." One can only imagine the crowds of curious onlookers as this car stopped along a Weiser street. The serious gawkers were undoubtedly men examining the fascinating mysteries of all the levers, pedals and moving parts. Women tend to focus more on what a gadget can do for them; men tend to focus on how things work and generally enjoy tinkering with them. And there was plenty of tinkering to do.
Early cars needed constant attention. One manual advised this routine each time the car was driven: 1- Oil every component that has an oil hole (repeat at midday). These were the spring shackles; brake linkages; change-speed linkages; clutch pedal bearings and linkages; the heads of the steering pivots all the way from the steering wheel to the road wheels; exposed shafts driving the water pump, magneto, fan, and lubricating system. 2- Screw down grease cups a turn-and-a-half to push grease into needed spots. (An early Rolls Royce had 63 grease cups.)
Attention to lubrication was critical partly because early oils and greases were of very poor quality. Also, many parts were exposed to dust and dirt. Dirty grease left in a bearing acted as a grinding paste and had to be flushed out and replaced with clean grease. Drive belts and chains needed constant adjustment, cleaning, dressing or lubrication.
A combination of incredible engine vibration and the rough roads continually loosened nuts and bolts. Carburetors sometimes fell apart, spilling out tiny screws that were never found again. As one writer put it, “The struggle to keep things together was a battle constantly waged but never actually won.”
Drivers were advised to perform these maintenance procedures about once a month: Check engine compression, replacing any bad compression taps or plugs; grind valves and replace springs if necessary; set tappet clearances; flush sediment from carburetor and check jets, float and needle valve (grind needle valve if necessary); repack water pump gland if leaking; disconnect radiator and flush; inspect every component of the braking system for wear or breakage; clean and gap spark plugs; check battery electrolyte level and specific gravity; clean distributor, contact breaker or points (and adjust their gap); inspect trembler coils, ignition coil or magneto; drain and flush engine sump, gearbox (if any) and differential casing, and refill with clean oil; clean out old grease from every nook and cranny and replace with clean grease, flush and refill sight feeds (glass tubes that fed oil-dripping lubricators) and regrind their needle valves if necessary; remove wheels and repack hubs. Failure to undertake this list for too long would result in severe damage to the car, or in the case of primitive braking systems, the death of its occupants.
This intimidating list pales in comparison to the scourge of the early tire. The first tires were either iron or solid rubber. Not only did they add to injurious shocks and jolts to the car and the people in it, but they made the vehicle harder (sometimes even impossible) to steer on anything but a smooth surface. Pneumatic tires had been invented in the 1880s, and were in use on buggies and bicycles, but were not tough enough for the weight of a car. In spite of their obvious unsuitability, pneumatic tires started to be used anyway. So began two decades (about 1900 to 1920) of constant headaches. The lack of suitable tires cost owners more work and money than all of the other parts of the car put together, and it prevented the automobile from becoming a dependable means of transportation for many years.
Air pressure had to be checked each time the car was driven. Tires were a thin layer of natural rubber molded over woven cotton fabric. A nick in the tire that exposed the cotton fabric to water cold quickly make it rot. The rubber had a zinc oxide filler that made them light gray or white instead of black. There was no tread, just a smooth surface. Horseshoe nails littered every road, and helped to make flat tires a certainty on any trip. When a tire went flat, the non-detachable wheel had to be jacked up—usually with a simple screw jack that required crawling under the car. This was fun on muddy roads. At least one side of the tire had to be laboriously pried off of the wheel without further damaging the fragile inner tube. The tube was removed and patched, and then put back under the tire. Threading the valve stem through the hole in the wheel as difficult because there was little or no room for one’s fingers to work under the narrow tire. After the bead of the tire was pried back on and seated against the wheel rim, the real work started. It could take up to 15 minutes of working a hand-operated air pump to bring the tire pressure up to the 50 to 90 or more pounds per square inch required to hold the tire on the wheel. And that’s if the pump was working properly. Air pump maintenance was a whole other ball of wax. Their delicate leather washers dried up or wore out very quickly. Drivers had to know how to maintain and repair their air pump in addition to their car.
I wonder what that first car that visited Weiser did for fuel. There wasn’t exactly a filling station on every corner. Gas was usually stored at a drivers home in cans or barrels. This driver must have carried a load of extra fuel, and I’ll bet his vehicle was decorated with extra tires and tubes.
1-9-03
In looking through my reference material, I discovered that I lied about the first reference to a car in this area being at Weiser in 1907. It was actually the first newspaper refernce that I found, but Lucy McMahan claimed that an automobile stopped on its way through Council in 1902. That seems awfully early, considering the state of motoring art at that time. The way Mrs. McMahan put it, the car created as much excitement in Council as when Lindbergh later flew nonstop across the Atlantic. Of course most people in the Council area had never seen a car. This soon changed, however, as auto technology advanced very rapidly. Amazingly, by 1910 there were almost half a million motor vehicles registered in the United States; one in twenty people owned a car. You can bet that one in twenty people in Idaho didn’t have a car. Even so, in the summer of 1910 the Leader announced, "Whiteley Brothers are the first residents of Council to bring an automobile to this valley. They have four which they recently shipped from St. Louis."
In 1913 Dr. Frank Brown bought a new Ford “runabout.” Doctors and other upper-income professionals were often the first in a community to aquire an automobile. Plus, doctors could justify the expense because of their need to reach their patients quickly in an emergency. The only thing lacking in that explanation is that cars were so undependable at the time. About that same general time, Judah Gray, the manager of Mesa Orchards, bought a car. These vehicles were undoubtedly the object of curiousily wherever they went.
References in the Council newspaper illustrate the seasonal nature of early autoing: nobody drove in winter. The December 19, 1913 issue reported, "The weather and the roads have been such that Dr. Brown has been able to be out in his auto up to Dec. 17, when the snow began falling." The next issue exclaimed, “Dr. Brown broke the record this year and he and his wife were out auto riding on Christmas day." There were at least three reasons why cars were put into storage for the winter. First, the roads were barely passable even for horses and wagons or sleds. Second, early tires had poor tread and little traction. Finally, antifreeze was nonexistent. In the spring following its report of Dr. Brown’s Christmas drive, the paper announced that the doctor was able to be out and about in his auto on March 18, and cited this as evidence that this area was “not such a bad place when the automobiles only have to lay off that long."
In the summer of 1914, Isaac McMahan made news when he bought a car. That fall, Bill and Lewis Winkler added sixteen feet to the north end of their blacksmith shop (on the northeast corner of Moser and Main), partly to make room for automobile repair work. They didn’t have much local auto work, so they must have been preparing for the occasional motorist passing through.
In 1915, Robert Coutts of Indian Valley was minding his own business, driving a single horse and buggy up Mesa Hill. Around a curve came an automobile, and as far as the poor horse was concerned it may as well have been a flying saucer. The next thing Mr. Coutts knew, he was lying beside his overturned buggy with a dislocated shoulder.
Bud Addington took what must have seemed like a big risk in 1916. After the 1915 fire in Council, the lots where the Overland Hotel complex had been stood empty for a year. Addington sold his sheep herd and invested in constructing the large brick building that still stands today and houses the Ace Saloon. The building contained a café at the east end, a hotel upstairs, and an auto sales and service garage called the Addington Auto Company where the Ace is now. They sold Dodge autos, at least at first. Bud’s son, Hugh, became the chief mechanic. He went back east to learn how to assemble and repair the cars. In those days, a car would arrive in crates via the local railroad depot, and had to be assembled.
The April 27, 1917 Adams County Leader contained an interesting note: "It is estimated that there are more than three autos in Idaho for every bath tub." In those days of ten-hour days of hard physical labor, people often took a bath once a week whether they needed one or not. In the fall of 1917, a car figured in the death of one of Council’s best-known pioneers. Levi Allen was hit and dragged 150 feet by a car while he was crossing the street in Spokane. In August of 1918, the Leader carried an ad that struck me as an interesting sign of the times: “"For Sale—California stake box wagon; also one Harley - Davidson motorcycle. J. Ingram."
In 1919 the Twite & Leonard Auto Company opened in a building that stood about where the Council Telephone Company building is now on Moser Avenue. The sold the Oakland “Sensible Six” touring car for $1245. If you wanted wire wheels, they cost an additional $75. In the fall of 1919 the Leader reported, "On Sunday two auto-trucks, fitted with racks that looked like miniature stockyards and loaded with sheep, passed through town on the way north. It is possible that, in line with the progress of the times, the same animals will be brought through town next spring loaded in airships. Sure, the world do move."
Photo numbers and captions:
00142 Bud Addington and his son, Hugh, with an assembled car. The license plate says 1918.
72046 Looking east on Moser Avenue about 1919. The building on the far left is the Twite & Leonaard Auto Company. The Addington Auto Company is visible on the right side of the street in the distance. The Pomona Hotel stands prominantly on the right. There is a barrel in the middle of the intersection. These were commonly used this way in Council to hold stop signs.
95062L The Addington Auto Company provides the background for this photo taken on January 1, 1917. The man on the right is pushing a lawn mower, which is supposed to be a humorous illustration of the unusual lack of snow and cold.
1-16-03
In the first two decades of the twentieth century began, automobiles slowly seeped into the lives of people in central Idaho. After the end of the First World War (1918), the U.S. went through and unprecedented social transformation. It was during the “Roaring Twenties” that the automobile rapidly became part of this transformation of American life. Until 1920 there were very few cars in the Council area. The Adams County Leader had more news items about local cars that year than all the previous years combined.
In May the Leader announced that a large sawmill would soon start operations on Pole Creek with a crew of about 25 men. The owner of the mill, W.C. Dodge, planned to use “auto trucks” to haul the lumber to Council. In July, George Gould’s new Oakland auto stalled on the railroad crossing (I assume it was the crossing at his ranch) just as a train was coming. George managed to get out before the locomotive hit the car. In the same issue, the Leader reported that three cars had to be abandoned on the road between Council and Midvale because of deep mud.
The front page of the Leader carried this story in its November 12, 1920 issue:
"There are many persons who predict that gasoline-driven automobiles will become obsolete when the newly-devised Baker steam car is produced in quantities equal to public demand. Specimens of the chief working parts of the car were on exhibition at the Addington garage during part of the week and attracted much attention. The mechanism of the car presents a completely new plan of auto locomotion, and upon inspection the method appears so sound and free from technical and delicate parts that one wonders why some genius did not think of it long ago. The engine is placed in the rear of the car. The boiler, a coil affair, occupies the place given to the driving apparatus of a gas car. Twenty-seven gallons of water is carried and, it is stated, this quantity is sufficient for 700 miles of travel. After the water has been converted into steam and served its power-making purpose it is returned to the tank through a condenser and is thus used over and over again. Any low-grade fuel oil is used and it is claimed that a gallon of crude oil, hard cider or such, will drive the car twenty to thirty miles. The engine furnishes up to 400 horse power and, it is said, is capable of driving the car at a rate of 200 miles an hour--if any person should be fool enough to want to ride that fast. It can also be driven at a snail's pace. All in all, the 'wagon' looks like a sure winner and the members of the Addington Auto Co., who are agents both for the machine and stock in the manufacturing company, predict that it is destined to put benzene buggies in general in the second-class division."
In 1921 an “auto stage” line was established between Weiser and McCall that made daily runs. The paper accurately predicted that this would hurt the P&IN railroad’s business. In fact the automobile (and trucks) eventually doomed the line.
In the winter of 1922, local handyman, Bob Zink, made an auto trip on the North-South Highway (now Highway 95) all the way to Spokane. It’s hard for the modern driver to imagine what a trial this trip would have been. The Leader reported, "At one place the car broke through the ice in the road and settled to the axles in water." This news items is notable because it is the first time the Leader used the term “car” to refer to and automobile.
The State of Idaho issued its first license plates in 1913, and 2,083 were issued that year statewide. Local newspapers carried little regarding auto licensing requirements, but in 1922 the Leader did mention that auto drivers must buy a license and have “the receipt pasted on the windshield...." I’m not sure exactly what this meant; it wasn’t until 1935 that the State required a driver’s license.
By 1922, Harlow Cossitt, Council’s local construction contractor and hardware store owner had a “vulcanizing shop” in C.L. Ham’s "auto service station," which I believe stood south of the town square about where Norm’s is today. Vulcanization is a heating process that chemically binds raw rubber to other ingredients added to it. It was invented in 1839 by Charles Goodyear. Apparently the vulcanization that Cossitt was doing was a kind of hot patching method for repairing inner tubes and tires. These patches probably lasted longer than an ordinary cold patch.
Also in 1922, the Leader advertised gasoline for 32 cents a gallon at Addington Auto in "barrel lots." The ad said the Weiser Oil Co had "installed a tank here," and advised customers to "Buy gas in barrel lots and save money."
95128L— Rupert Shaw took this photo at Landore, sometime between 1912 and 1916, when he took his 1912 Winton auto to the Seven Devils Mining District and made the first automobile trip over the Kleinschmidt Grade. The people are, left to right: Mrs. Wm (Emma) Brown, Dr. Wm Brown, Miss Olive Euler, Mrs. R.L. Euler, Ivey Shaw, Winifred Brown (Lindsay), Mildred Brown, Della Shaw, Louis DeHaven Shaw (on hood), Mrs. C.R. Shaw, George Jones.
95009—Eva Manning at Indian Valley about 1920, in what may be an early Durant auto. Notice the wooden spokes on the wheels.
1-23-03
The Model T Ford was the first car that was inexpensive enough for many Americans to buy. When the first Model Ts were produced in 1908, the $850 price tag was still too high for most people in rural Idaho. But by 1924 the price of a new Model T had come down to a much more affordable $260. It wasn’t long before two out of three families in the U.S. had a car.
There were three reasons why Henry Ford was able to produce cars for less than any other maker at the time. First, he used the concept of interchangeable parts so that a widget from any Model T could replace the widget on any other Model T. We take this for granted today, but it was a relatively new practice back then. Ford’s real innovation was the “push assembly-line” to speed up production dramatically. Instead of making one car at a time, as most other makers were doing, Ford had many Model Ts in production at once. In 1913 Ford replaced his push assembly line with a conveyor belt powered assembly line that moved the cars through the factory instead of their being pushed along by workers. This made manufacturing the Model T eight times faster. By 1925 the Ford Company was able to complete a new car every ten seconds. By the time production of the Model T ended in 1927, about 15 million had been manufactured—more than any other model of an American car to this day.
The third element of Ford’s ability to make inexpensive cars was that he broke the “Seldon Patent.” In 1895, a lawyer named George Baldwin Selden had somehow acquired the patent on the internal combustion engine. Carmakers had to pay Seldon a royalty on each engine they produced. Ford saw the absurdity of this practice and refused to pay the royalty. When the matter wound up in court, Ford won, and the patent was broken.
The first Model Ts didn’t have a battery, but ran on a low-tension magneto incorporated into the engine’s flywheel. At low speeds, the power was so low that the engine could stall, especially if you further loaded the magneto by honking the horn at the wrong time. The volume and pitch of the horn, and the brightness of the headlights varied with the amount of electricity that reached them. A skilled driver could produce some strange sights and sounds. In warm weather, the starting procedure went something like this: set the hand brake, open the throttle lever slightly, put the ignition timing lever to “full retard,” close the carburetor choke. If all these settings were at their optimum, the engine would start on the third pull of the crank wrench, and it was only necessary to race to the driver’s seat before the engine died. Since the driver’s compartment had no door, the quickest way to get in was to vault over the side. If the throttle was too far open or the choke wasn’t closed enough, the engine wouldn’t start. If the choke kept too much air from the cylinders they would be flooded with gas, wet the spark plugs and leave the driver to wait until they dried. If the ignition was retarded enough, the engine could fire at the wrong time relative to the position of the cylinders causing the crank wrench to spin backwards and break the starter’s arm. As I said before, this was not uncommon. Probably everybody who remembers Model Ts knows of someone who broke their arm starting one. The engine was hard enough to crank that few women could start one.
In cold weather, the starting procedure had an added element of danger. Because the oil in the early epicyclic gearbox was so thick when cold, it created enough force to the wheels to make the Model T move forward. To avoid getting run over as soon as the engine started, one had to jack up one of the rear wheels, put a block in front of at least one of the other wheels, and take off the hand brake so that the elevated rear wheel could spin freely. Next, a kettle of boiling hot water was poured over the intake manifold to help vaporize the cold gasoline. If the engine didn’t start after this rigmarole, the intake manifold was heated further by building a small bonfire of gas-soaked rags under it. Once started, the Model T was renowned for its dependability—at least in compared to other automobiles of the time.
You could get a Model T in any color, as long as it was black. The car had several nicknames; the most common were “Tin Lizzy” and “Flivver.” Even though the engine had only twenty horsepower, it was more powerful than many other cars at the time. This, coupled with its almost indestructibility, made it one of the most versatile machines ever made. It seemed to be able to go about anywhere. It was sometimes used to pull farm equipment. By jacking up the back end and removing a wheel, it could even be used to power things like a buzz saw. Some people took out all the housing behind the driver’s seat and effectively made the Model T into a pickup. (The Model T was also produced at the factory as a pickup.)
Photo captions:
95525— Fisk family about 1924 with their Model T pickup. Left to right: Hub, Dick (my dad), Amy, John, and their parents, Jim and Mary.
96109—George Kesler and two unidentified girls sitting on running board of Model T, probably sometime in the 1920s.
1-30-03 Missing
2-6-03
I thought I’d catch up on a few odds and ends this week.
First, I ran across some information about the balloon bombs launched at America during the Second World War. The following text comes from a Forest Service Publication, “Living on a Lookout” by Dan LeVan Jr. LeVan was stationed on McFadden Point near Big Creek in 1945.
A secret project that we were not supposed to talk about, except in coded words, was the “paper balloons” that the Japanese launched in the Pacific where they were caught by the trade winds that blew them toward and over the Pacific Northwest. These paper mache balloons were armed with several incendiary bombs that were meant to start forest fires in the West. Some fires were started in Oregon and Washington. Because of the secrecy the Japanese never knew their effectiveness. One way of reporting was to tell the dispatcher that there was some papers that the Air Force would pick up whenever they could stop by. Very few were spotted on the Payette National Forest, in our part of Idaho. No fires were started by them in our sector. Only one needed to be shot down over a forest in Idaho, and that was in northern Idaho, or so I was told.
One time, when I was not yet on a lookout, I was picked up at Big Creek landing field by an Air Force L-5 reconnaissance plane to guide the pilot to a definite named location where the remains of a downed balloon was reported to be. Just large fragments of what looked like gray cardboard were spotted. This sighting was actually a misplaced canvas tarp from somewhere. When balloons were actually sighted, the L-5 spotting planes would fly nearby until P-38s flew in and shot them down. These reported occurrences were few in number over Oregon and Washington. Military ground search teams went to all found or downed balloons to take care of the explosive devices. The L-5s, small Piper Cub type planes, were used for fire patrol over the backcountry and several of us, at one time or another, got to fly along as guides. This was high adventure for us young bucks.
Eileen Free wrote in July to say, “I really enjoyed your article on the Cottonwood school. Lois Higgins was my best friend and the family moved to Aloha, Oregon before she graduated. She had a sister Alice and tow brothers, Jim and Quentin. After I graduated, I went to Aloha and lived with her and her parents (Ben Higgins) and we worked in the shipyards together. She married Paul Pintarich in Portland and in later years I have lost track of her. Merle Heathco was in our graduating class of five or six. I have not seen him since. I am enclosing a picture of Helen King who went to school with us.” Eileen now lives in Cathlamet, Washington.
The picture of the Hoover packinghouse came from Sid Fry. The packinghouse stood on the southeast corner of Orchard Road and Missman Road. It was such a local landmark that when movie star Gary Cooper came through Council in the 1940s, he was given a tour of the plant. Sid says he would very much like to have a picture of the Orchard School that once stood on the southeast corner of Missman Road and Mill Creek Road. I’ve been trying to find one for years, and you may have noticed that Elinor Hoover had an ad in the Record asking if anyone had a photo of the school. If anyone out there has a picture of the school, please let me know!
Captions for photos:
1—The Hoover packinghouse. This is the only picture I’ve ever seen of this building. Kids are, L-R: Sid Fry, Jackie Duree, Rosilee Duree, Georgia Duree.
2—The photo of Helen King that Eileen Free sent.
3—This picture must have been taken in the 1960s. Nothing in the background exists today. Council Feed & Fuel on the left stood on the SE corner of Galena and Illinois (across the corner from Bear Country Books). Ham’s Texaco station on the right is now an empty lot used for parking. I have three requests. 1—If anyone has a good picture of Council Feed & Fuel, the museum would like to have a copy. We have one that is not very clear. 2—Same situation with the Texaco station, except we have no photo of it at all. 3—Somebody tell me what kind of car this is. (Model A?)
2-13-03
A few months ago I was contacted by Beth Wright Pany who used to live here, but now lives in Livingston, Texas. Her mother, Marian Wright, was the journalism, English, typing and drama teacher at Council High School during the 1953-’54 school year, and she was also the yearbook editor. Dick Wright was the area game warden for that brief period, of only about a year, when they lived here. Their sons, “Gard” and Mike were students at Council. Beth sent me a CHS yearbook for 1954, along with over 100 negatives from photos used in the yearbook and also showing other places and people around Council. I just got the prints back, and they are a fascinating keyhole into the past. I know they will jog a few memories.
Caption for Council Auto Beauties—
This photo was in the back of the 1954 yearbook as part of an ad for Council Auto Service. I featured a picture of Council Auto a couple weeks ago of George Kesler and Merlin Naser under the canopy that is shown in the background of this photo. The ad said that the garage sold Dodge and Plymouth cars and trucks, along with used cars. The phone number was 72. It ad didn’t give the names or numbers of the young women on the car, but you can reach three of them with a local call today. They are, left to right: Billie Clelland (now Kesler), Carolyn Clelland (now Menechetti), Laura Jenkins (now Camp), and Twila Van Oyen. Please let me know if I’m wrong on these, and I’ll atone for the sin next week.
Caption for outside of Ferd’s Sweet Shop—
Ferd Muller ran “Ferd’s Sweet Shop” on the southeast corner of Illinois Avenue and Fairfield Street—across the street east of the theater. I would like any information anyone has about the sporting goods shop on the left—who owned/ran it?
Caption for inside Ferd’s sweet shop—Inside Ferd’s Sweet Shop. That’s Ferd on the right. He doesn’t look much older than the kids at the counter. This was before he moved his shop to where the bank later operated in what now is the west end of Ronnie’s (Shaver’s for those of you behind the times…or the Merit Store if your hopelessly behind).
Caption for Evergreen Station 1953—A few weeks ago I said I was looking for a good photo of the Evergreen service station. Well here one is. “Evergreen Service” is printed on the window just left of the walk-in door. The sign at the left says, “Utoco.” The signs on the front of the station read, “Lubrication,” “Washing,” and “Motor Tune-up.” Notice the false-fronted building on the right. The sign on it reads, “Jeweler.”
Caption for Jeweler—Cal Marvin ran “Council Jewelers” about where the Adams County Real Estate office is now. (See Evergreen photo.) Does anybody know the earlier history of this building?
2-20-03
I guess I should have been a little more precise in my description of Cal Marvin’s “Jeweler” store last week. It sat just west of where Adams County Real Estate is now. The spot where the real estate office is now was Ralph Finn’s sporting goods and shoe repair shop. I think Ralph’s shop was there into the late 1960’s. I’m told that a dentist occupied the Jeweler building before Cal Marvin got it. I would be interested in knowing who the dentist was.
I’m told the sporting goods store next to Ferd’s Sweet Shop may have been part of Ferd’s business.
In case you didn’t pick up on it last week, Carolyn Clelland Menichetti and Billie Clelland Kesler are first cousins. Carolyn’s father was Troy Clelland, and Billie’s father was his brother, Andy Clelland. Andy ran the Council Food Market, which, as near as Billie can tell was in the building now occupied by the Chamber of Commerce office next to Buckshot Mary’s. In the photos, I’m sure you can’t read the signs, but in the meat case, hamburger was selling for 43 cents a pound, and the most expensive cut in there was 80 cents/lb. Of course wages were just a little lower then too! On the front of the store, the photo shows ads for Kool and Camel cigarettes, ice cream, and meats. All of the pictures here are from the Wright collection that I mentioned last week, taken in 1953 and ‘54.
I left a few videos at the Council library for anyone who is interested in buying one. They are $15 each, and the money goes to the Museum. The videos contain footage of both the original scenes from the first set of Dr. Thurston’s home movies from the 1930s and ‘40s, plus the footage from the second Thurston movies (showing the Circle C branding calves, the construction the dam at C. Ben Ross Reservoir and more Council scenes) and shots taken around the Council area by Carl Swanstrom, and movies filmed by the Van Hoesen family showing Mesa Orchards, and the Lost Valley Reservoir dam being raised with horse teams. The total on each tape is just over three hours of priceless historical home movies.
Captions for photos:
council food market.jpg—The front of the Council Food Market. Phone number: 144. That’s Laura Jenkins (Camp) with what looks like a bag of onions.
14.jpg—Inside the Council Food Market. Andy and Beulah Clelland behind the meat case. Beulah was Andy’s second wife; Billie’s mother was his first wife, Inez.
inside store.jpg—I’m not sure is this is inside the Council Food Market or not. Somebody please tell me where this is and who the people might be. Notice the adding machine on the counter. Do you suppose our merchants today would voluntarily go back to those at the checkout counter? What do you suppose these gals would have thought if you told them someday we would have “adding machines” that would have ten times as many functions and be smaller than a deck of cards?
electric.jpg—This must be Vern Newcomb’s electric and plumbing store, “Council Electric Service.” Newcomb’s sold “Hoffman Easy-Vison Televisions,” Hot Point and Sunbeam appliances, and Decca and Columbia Records. That’s Laura Jenkins (Camp) on right in light colored coat. Somebody tell me if I’m way off, but was this store where the Antique Peddler is now, formerly the Coast to Coast store, just east of the Record office?
23.jpg—This is the front of “Council Feed & Fuel” that stood on the SE corner of Galena St. and Illinois Avenue. Phone number: 48. The spot is a parking lot now.
19.jpg—Inside “Council Feed & Fuel.” The little girl is unidentified.
2-27-03
Since I write this column on Monday (sometimes Tuesday), it only leaves about 3 days for people to see the previous week’s column and call me with corrections or information. That’s why I may not get info into the very next week’s column.
I think I’ve made some progress on the building shown last week that I thought might be Newcomb’s electric. Vern Newcomb’s store was always on the uphill side of downtown, three buildings east of what today is Buckshot Mary’s and was the drug store before that. Newcomb started business there in 1936. The reason I was a little confused was that I didn’t know there were two electric stores in Council in the early ‘50s.
The “Council Electric Service” building in last week’s picture was built by Clarence and Clyde Steelman in 1948. As near as I can gather, it sat just east of the Feed & Fuel building. Council Feed & Fuel sat on the corner, diagonal (SE) from the Bear Country Books / old drug store building. The actual location is a parking lot now. Neither the Council Electric building nor the Feed & Fuel building are there today. Council Feed & Fuel burned; I think it was in the early 1970s—maybe a little earlier. It had been at that location on the corner since at least 1946 when the Leader said they installed a platform scale.
Now it gets a little complicated The July 25, 1947 Leader said that Fred Noll and Guy Reynolds of Emmett bought Steelman's "Council Feed & Fuel." Evidently Steelman (or the Steelman brothers) owned the Feed & Fuel, and after selling it, they built an electric and plumbing store just east of it. The November 19, 1948 Leader announced that the Clyde and Clarence Steelman were constructing a new building with hardwood floors and that they would “handle electrical appliances, do plumbing and electrical wiring and appliance repair work.” In December, the paper said the building was completed. I don’t remember whether this building burned along with the Feed & Fuel building or not. Anyway it’s gone now, and Doug McAlvain put up the building that is there now. It housed the Forest Service at first, and now contains the vet clinic and various other businesses.
Across the alley, east of these buildings, was the “Council Hardware” operated by Russell Evans and Kiefford Lawrence. What is now the Record newspaper building was part of the hardware store’s property and held various hardware items. In back of it was the lumber yard. The main hardware store was just east of this building, where the Antique Peddler is now. The last business I remember in there before the Antique Peddler was the Coast to Coast store. Russell Evans and Kiefford Lawrence rented the property from Norman Fliegel. I’m not sure if it was a hardware store before they got it. Evans sold his share of the business to Lawrence at some point. At one time or another, Ferd Muller may have owned the property.
I ran across a couple news items about the Evergreen service station. In 1937, the Leader said Marion Young retired from the Evergreen Service station, and that his father, Lewis Young, and George Winkler would continue to operate the business. The paper said that in March of 1949, the Evergreen station “almost totally burned.”
A few weeks ago I ran a picture of the Hoover packing plant on Missman and Orchard roads. Several of the kids in the foreground were from the Duree family. I’m told several members of this family died from eating bad canned spinach or some such vegetable. Can anybody fill me in on this?
Last week’s photo of the inside of a store, showing shopping carts, etc. was inside the Golden Rule store. The lady on the left is Fay Yantis; the other lady behind the counter is Carrie Draper (Mrs. Nute Draper).
In its November 29, 1940 issue, the Leader announced that two lots just east of the Weed and Weed store had been purchased from Ralph Finn by the C.C. Anderson Golden Rule stores, and that the company planned to build a department store. The Golden Rule store opened the following August (1941). The Golden Rule was in the east portion of the building, and the Adams County Bank occupied the west part. I think in the 1960s, after the bank moved to what later became the west part of the Merit Store (Shaver’s, now Ronnie’s), the whole Golden Rule building was taken over by the Idaho Department Store. Ed Ludwig bought the store in the late 1960s, and it has been the Council Valley Market ever since.
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Captions for photos:
g rule outside best.jpg—The Golden Rule Store, 1954.
Inside g rule.jpg —Inside the Golden Rule store. Somebody tell me who these ladies are.
In g rule2.jpg —This is a little out of focus, but it shows a little more of the inside of the Golden Rule store. The people are unidentified.
3-6-03
I’ve received several calls and letters about the identities of people in recent photos. Afton Logue Fanger wrote to identify several. In the February 13th issue, in the photo of Cal Marvin’s Jeweler shop, Pat Taylor is on the right. She is also on the left in the photo of the two girls in front of Council Feed & Fuel. In the photo inside the Golden Rule store, Afton thinks the girls at the counter may be Gail Foster, Day Bronson and Loris Addington. The girls sitting at the counter in the Ferd’s Sweet Shop picture are Loris Addington and Kay Bronson.
In last week’s shot of three girls outside the Golden Rule, Afton thinks the girl on the right is Anita Fausett. Betty Smith says the ladies behind the counter in the Golden Rule store are Mattie Wagoner (Wife of Erv Wagoner) and Gladys Reynolds (wife of Guy Reynolds of the Feed & Fuel store).
A week or two ago I asked about the dentist that occupied the Jeweler building before Cal Marvin. I’m told it was Dr. I. S. (Stanton) Carter. Dr. Carter’s brother, Oberlin, was one of the partners who established the first orchards at Mesa. Stanton had been a successful dentist in Chicago before his brother brought him to the Council area. Stanton's first wife, Minnie, died of cancer, and he remarried local girl, Mary Hoover, in 1920. They had a son, Stanton Jr., who grew up to be a well-known classical pianist. Frank Thompson says he heard that Dr. Carter was kind of a rough dentist.
In the early 1920s, Dr. Carter had an office in the Addington (Ace) building. In the fall of 1928 a fire burned several buildings in the area where Adams County Real Estate stands today. The Leader said the fire burned the old Fifer building containing Roy Snyder's baker, John Field's shoe shop and Keckler's barber shop. It also destroyed the abandoned Lowe store just east of it. After the fire, Lee Zink started construction on a building for John Field's shoe shop "on the lot immediately east of the Dr. Carter dentist building." It doesn’t say where Dr. Carter’s office was at that time.
Now to jump to the story of another building. In 1936 Claud Childers sold the Wayside tourist camp to Dr. Carter, and Stanton practiced dentistry in the upstairs of the main building. Alva Ingram had established the tourist camp in 1931. In the late 1940s, Andi Clelland owned and operated the establishment. He was probably followed by Ed Foster who ran it in 1954. Ed Ludwig bought the Wayside about 1956, and owned it until the early 1960s. Ed’s parents, Harry and Myrtle Ludwig, built the Starlite Motel in the 1950s.
I asked about the Duree family and the bad spinach a while back. Alvin Shaw called with info on that story. Dave and Ella Duree lived down Missman Road a short distance from the Hoover packing house. Ella was Alvin’s aunt (his dad’s sister). Dave and Ella’s son, Charlie, who was about 21 years old, came into the house one day and, spying a tin can of spinach on the table, started eating it raw. Ella took one bite. Charlie died that night, and Ella died the next day. Both deaths were from ptomaine poisoning. This was sometime around the late 1930s.
72122—Dr. Stanton Carter in the town square, January 7, 1938. The building directly beyond Dr. Carter is now Buckshot Mary’s. Dr. Carter is pushing a lawn mower. And you thought this year was short on snow!
95284—George and Dora Childers in front of the Wayside in 1935. This building is still standing on the corner as you turn north out of Council on Highway 95. It has been added onto on the southwest side.
Wayside.jpg—The wayside in 1954. The sign on top of the building reads, “Groceries—Beer.” The sign in front of the gas pumps reads, “Fishing and Hunting Licenses—Wayside Drive-In—Groceries—Cold Drinks” The sign to the right of the pumps reads, “Power up with Power-X—The Super Fuel” The round sign straight above it reads, “Sinclair H-C Gasoline.”
Orchard School.jpg—Finally! A picture of the old Orchard School. Sid Fry was able to locate this one take in 1926. The baby is Romaine Galey (2 years old) and an unidentified babysitter. The orchard school stood on the southeast corner of Mill Creek Road and Missman Road. The front of the school, shown here, faced west. It operated as a school until the mid to late 1940s.
3-13-03
I got some more information about Dr. Carter from Evea Harrington Powers. She wrote: “When I was seven years old, my mother took me to Dr. Carter to have a decayed molar extracted. It was the first time I had ever been in a dentist’s chair. From a child’s viewpoint, I saw Dr. Carter as Father Time! Dr. Carter may have suffered from osteoporosis, for he was quite stooped. His hair was snow white, and his nose turned down to almost meet his chin. As I recall, Dr. Carter muttered a few words to my mother which I heard as ‘Novocain will do no good.’ With that, he grabbed the forceps and yanked out my tooth. It was an experience one can hardly forget.”
“Above the Carter office was the home of Him Herron, his daughter Marjorie and son whom everyone called Slim. Bobby Hancock lived along there too.”
“Dr. Carter was married to Mary Hoover, a sister of John Hover. She played the piano at the theater. Well can I remember the William Tell ovature when Ken Maynard, Hoot Gibson, and Wm. S. Hart road madly across the screen. She was a quietly, lovely lady.”
“The Carters had one son, Stanley. Stanley was musical and played the piano in many events around town. He was a very good student, but Music was his master. The last I heard he was in Chicago.”
Last week I wrote that Stanley’s name was “Stanton.” That’s the way he is listed on one of the museum’s photos, but I also had another person who remembered him tell me his name was Stanley.
Someone told me another story about Dr. Carter; it may have been Bill Daniels. Dr. Carter drilled away on his tooth until the tooth was really hot, and then sprayed cold water onto the hole he had made. Ouch!
This week I’m featuring photos of the old drug store building on the corner of Galena Street and Illinois Avenue. Today it is the home of Bear Country Books. The building was built in 1913 by Dr. Frank Brown, and I think this lower, front part was a drug store from the beginning. The next spring, the Adams County Leader said that the Mountain States Telephone and Telegraph Company was moving its central office from the Odd Fellows building to the rooms over the Post office in Brown’s new brick building on Galena Street. The telephone office remained in this building (although it moved downstairs) until the 1960s.
Dr. Brown sold the building to Alva Alcorn in 1929, and soon after that the pharmacist there became Alcorn’s son-in-law, Charlie Winker. In 1937 the entire front of the drug store was remodeled. New windows were installed, and I suspect the glossy black tile shown in the picture was installed. The Leader said the upstairs was being remodeled for Dr. Leavall's dentist office in the former telephone office, and that "The balance of the rooms are being made over into an apartment." Mr. Alcorn died in 1944, and Winker ran the store for many years.
Drug Store.jpg –This building was the “Council Pharmacy” drug store for many years. It is now Bear Country Books.
12.jpg—Inside the Council Pharmacy. Pat Taylor on the left, and Delbert Ham on the right.
9.jpg—Another shot inside the Council Pharmacy. Somebody tell me who the lady behind the counter is.
Evergreen.jpg—Most of you will recognize this picture instantly. In case the picture doesn’t come out very well, the left sign on the roof peak and the one above the “Phillips 66” gas pump read, “Tavern.” The other sign on the roof reads, “Evergreen Park.” There is a neon sign in one of the windows advertising Lucky Lager beer. At the time (1954), this establishment was run by Cliff and Evelyn Ayers. Bob Coates told me a story about when his parents were running it. Bob’s father was sitting inside when a bullet came crashing through the front window and zipped across the room. Fortunately it didn’t hit anyone. They never found out who did it or why. I think you can still see where the bullet came through.
3-20-03
In last week’s picture inside the Council Pharmacy, someone thought it was Edith Selby behind the counter, but her daughter, Loraine, tells me it isn’t.
This week I have a challenge for you. To some it will be too easy, but it should be interesting. There are two sets of three pictures with this column. Each photo comes from the 1954 “Lumberjack”—Council High School yearbook. The ones in caps and gowns are Seniors, and the others are underclassmen. All of these “kids” are still living in the Council Valley. In each set (A,B,C and D,E,F) there is a connection between the three people. Who are these people, and what is their connection within their group of three? (Clue: The three in each group are connected to each other in the same way.) The answers are at the end of this column.
I got an email from Romaine Galey—she was the source of the Orchard School photo—with a story about the stained glass windows in the Community Church (formerly the Congregational Church). Many of you probably know some of the story, but here are some more details from Romaine:
“My father, Frank S. Galey, arrived in Council Valley in 1911 after buying a ranch three miles north of the town sight-unseen. Dad married in 1925 and he and Mother raised their four children there. They all attended the Congregational Church. I will never forget our minister, Miss Eunice Trumbo. Dad was from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and had been raised living next door and across the street from several members of the very wealthy Mellon family, the most famous one being Andrew Mellon. In the 1930’s, the Mellons decided to tear down the old Pittsburgh Presbyterian Church and build a bigger one. Dad’s family had attended that church with the Mellons. My grandparents, Samuel and Mary Galey, had been married there in 1880. Dad wrote to Tom Mellon and asked that some of the stained glass windows be donated to the church at Council. I think the windows arrived in Council about 1935—but they were too big to fit into the little church! They were stored in the Courthouse basement for many, many years until the church was enlarged enough to hold them. My brother, Frank, Jr. (Bud) and Gwen moved to the ranch in 1949 and raised their three children there. All of us have fond memories of the church.”
The answers to the challenge: A is Billie Clelland (Kesler). B is Don Kesler who is Billie’s husband today. C is Billie’s sister, Carolyn Clelland (Menichetti). D is Laura Jenkins. E is her brother, Nello Jenkins. F is Jim Camp who is married to Luara.
A B C
D E F
3-27-03
I couldn’t resist featuring a few photos of council folks when they were a couple years younger. All these pictures are out of the 1953-54 Council High School yearbook. See if you can tell who they are before looking at the end of this column where they are identified.
I received a couple letters from people about previous columns. Leta Howard, now of Cathlamet, Washington, wrote to add to the Duree food poisoning story. The Duree’s were Leta’s neighbors. She said, “As a result of this terrible tragedy, to this day my sisters will not eat canned vegetables until they are boiled forever.” Leta also commented on Dr. Carter: “I went to Cr. Carter and lived through it; he wasn’t all that bad. According o my family he couldn’t hold a candle to Mrs. Gerber.” Leta threw in a memory that many of us have: “How many of you remember when the family cow was out on early spring pasture and ate wild onions? Yuck—a taste I'll never forget.”
Elinor Hoover emailed me with some interesting information on the Carters, to whom she is related: “Oberlin Carter was a Vice President of a Chicago bank. He, his cousin, J. J. Allison, and George Weiser organized the Weiser Valley Land and Water Company, purchased land for the Mesa Orchards and the Council Valley Orchards. Oberlin also owned shares in the Council Valley Orchards. His brother, Dr. I. S. Carter, once had an office building on Moser Ave. It was a very small building (faced south) about two lots west of the Merit
General Store. It had the old style straight-front such as Building “F”, page 98, ‘Landmarks.’ This structure (I believe) has been enlarged and is now a restaurant (I forget the name but it is on the same lot as the old
dentist office). In 2001, I asked the present owner if the building had once been a dentist’s office and he said it had. Incidentally, all dentists were rough in those days! I have heard more than one old-timer talk about
how he took a pair of pliers and yanked out his own tooth. Perhaps Dr. Carter had an office upstairs in the Wayside Tourist Camp but I don’t ever remember seeing it. I am not familiar with the Jeweler building — it must have had a different name when I lived in Council. I do remember Uncle Doc’s office on Moser Ave; however, I don’t know if he owned that building.”
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Betty Stewart Smith is the only one wearing glasses.
There are only two boys—Fred McFadden has kind of messed up hair and a crooked smile
Jack Miller is wearing a shirt with a wild print.
Georgianna Glenn Parker is wearing a white blouse, has very dark hair and an earring is showing.
Keren Harrington Polson is wearing a turtleneck sweater with a necklace.
Maxine Glenn Nichols is wearing a dark blouse with white stripes.
Norma Gilman Ratcliff is wearing a dark jacket over a white blouse that has horizontal stripes.
Patty McFadden Gross is wearing what looks like a light-colored sweater and dark lipstick. Besides, she looks a lot like she looks now, don’t ya think?
4-3-03
Way back in November of 2001 I wrote an account in this column about four Indian men from northern Idaho who traveled to St. Louis to find out “if the sun was the father and the earth the mother of the human race.” My information said the journey was made in 1832, but at a ceremony commemorating the event and the gravesites of two of the men on Saturday, March 29 in St. Louis it was noted as being in 1831. My St. Louis correspondent, Bob Hagar, braved miserable weather to attend the ceremony, in spite of a bad cold and sore throat. Bob, being an old Council boy, noted a lot of Idaho license plates at the ceremony in the Calvary Cemetery. About 75 Nez Perce from Idaho traveled there to perform a ceremony at the site of the graves of the two Indian men who died while at St. Louis. Anne Schorzman was also there, representing the Idaho's “Lewis & Clark Trail Committee.”
Most of the information I have on the ceremony comes from the St. Louis Post Dispatch newspaper and from photos that Bob sent of the inscriptions on a monument that was erected in honor of the dead men. The Post Dispatch said the two Indians were both Nez Perce: Black Eagle and Speaking Eagle. The old manuscripts from which my information came for my previous article said that Speaking Eagle (Tip-ye-lak-na-jek-nim) was Nez Perce, but the other older man who died at St. Louis was a Flathead named Ka-ou-pu (Man of the morning, or daylight). The inscription on the monument lists them as Black Eagle (with his native name spelled Tipyelehne Cimuuxcimux) and Speaking Eagle (Tipyelehue lleesenin) “also called Man-of-the-Morning (Kaawpee).” The Nez Perce names of the other two men who made the journey but didn’t die in St. Louis are also spelled very differently and have accent marks on some of the letters that I can’t reproduce here. Under the list of their names on the monument is printed, “October 1831.”
If Ka-ou-pu / Kaawpee was a Flathead, it does’t seem to fit with the fact that Rosa Yearout, a Nez Perce women who says she is his great-great-granddaughter, brought dirt from Nez Perce country and water from the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater rivers to sprinkle on the ground near the sculpture. I suppose it could be that he married a Nez Perce woman and lived with her people.
Evidently nobody at St. Louis knows what happened to the other Nez Perce men who journeyed to St. Louis. Crystal White, a researcher with the Nez Perce St. Louis Warriors Project said that Rabbit-Skin-Leggings and No-Horns-On-His-Head (listed in my info as Ta-wis-sis-sim-nin (old or worn-down horns of the buffalo) died on their way home and that their whereabouts are unknown. Actually, Ta-wis-sis-sim-nin died somewhere on this side of the Rockies and was buried in the mountains near the headwaters of the Clearwater River. Rabbit-Skin-Leggings, for some reason, was unwilling to return to his people. He cut his hair, wore white men’s clothes and lived with trappers. His death or gravesite seems to be unknown.
The paper said, “The exact purpose of the trip is unclear. Some Nez Perce tribal leaders say they came to learn more about the white man's ‘book of heaven,’ or Bible. One inscription on the monument reads, in part, “Feeling pressure from an encroaching white presence in their homeland, these men sought information on the white man's culture and a greater understanding of the ‘Book of Heaven’.” That sounds like spin put on the actual reason by some white person to make it seem like the Indians were desperate to learn about Christianity.
My information says that the Indians had wanted to locate William Clark, but failed. The information released last week said they did meet with Clark. The men were said to have died a few weeks after arriving in St. Louis, received Catholic rites and were buried under the Christian names "Paul" and "Narcisse."
Another inscription on the monument reads, “We Nimiipuu honor these men who gave their lives for all of us. We respect the 15,000 people who share this site with the. Nuun eneestimipnisix.” Yet another inscription reads, "It's important to the Nez Perce people We Nimiipuu leave our ancestors in the bosom of this sacred earth. Their brave quest is honored and esteemed by our people and challenges us in our visionary quest. Yox kalo. March 29, 2003” Nimiipuu, which is the actual name of the tribe in their language, is pronounced “nee MEE poo.”
The Post Dispatch reported, “At the three-hour ceremony at the cemetery Saturday, 75 members of the Nez Perce tribe had a traditional pipe ceremony to ‘reclaim’ the Indians. They unveiled an 8-foot granite memorial sculpture of two feathers. The sculpture sits near a towering black walnut tree on the edge of the cemetery. Two empty-saddled appaloosa horses circled the gravesite three times. Monsignor Richard F. Stika, vicar general of the St. Louis Archdiocese spoke at the ceremony.
The Calvary Cemetery gravesite was not the original burial location for the Indian men. Their graves were moved at least three times because the city of St. Louis had relocated graveyards for health reasons.
4-10-03
Last week, four members of the Adams County Historic Preservation Committee (the Certified Local Government group appointed by the county commissioners who are working on the old courthouse) went to Boise for a workshop. The members who went, aside from me, were Mary Ann Masters, Elaine Johnston and Tim Toomey. The workshop covered the details of how and why a structure or site gets on the National Historic Register. A building that is on the Historic Register does not have any restrictions on use or alteration, but if it is altered too much it may be rejected as a candidate for the Register. The purpose of being on the Historic Register, as is our 1915 courthouse, is to: 1) document the existence, nature, location and description of a entity that is significant to our historic heritage…2) educate the public as to its nature and importance. The ultimate goal is to preserve historic entities by pointing out their value. Buildings on the Historic Register may qualify for government grants, etc.
On the second day of our workshop, we toured the buildings at the old State Penitentiary. If you haven’t seen it, you should make a point to visit it. (It’s out on Warm Springs Ave.) The old pen is a moving experience, as well as educational. Within the last year, the Historical Society has added a huge exhibit of weapons at the prison. It was donated by one individual. The items include weapons from thousands of years ago through the present. If you’re a gun nut, you won’t want to miss it. Included in the donated collection, but not in Idaho yet, was a Russian MIG airplane with all the original equipment, including the machineguns. The MIG has not been flown to Idaho yet because the Historical Society can’t afford the insurance.
Also on the second day of the workshop, we toured several sites along the Oregon Trail near Boise. The first spot was Bonneville Point, about 12 miles southeast of downtown Boise and 1.75 miles south of Lucky Peak Reservoir. This is the spot where Captain Benjamin Bonneville is said to have first spotted the Boise River Valley and marveled at the trees—Les Bois—in French, thus the name “Boise.” Standing on that spot and looking south at miles of nothing but sagebrush desert, one doesn’t have to wonder why Bonneville, and countless travelers who followed him, were moved by the site of a tree-lined river.
About five miles toward Boise from Bonneville Point is the first “ramp” that Oregon Trail travelers used to get down to the Boise River. There is a basalt bluff, about 20 to 30 feet high, all along the south side of the river for several miles where the Trail approaches it. This first ramp evidently was a naturally formed trail down off of the bluff. It is my impression that it was part of an old Indian trail. As to what this ramp is like, I'll put it this way; you would NOT want to take your four-wheel-drive vehicle down it…not even a four-wheeler. It’s steep, and the rocks are very formidable. It is an illustration of how important it was to those people to get to water as soon as possible. By that point they had been on the Trail for months, and water had been hard to find for much of the way. Plus, by the time they got to Idaho, they had become experienced in getting wagons through even worse spots.
The initial westward migration started in the 1840s, and by the mid 1860s Boise City had been established and traffic on the Trail was heavy enough that the Army blasted out a better ramp about a half-mile west of the first one. It is called the Kelton ramp because it became part of the vital road to Kelton, Utah where the nearest railroad (the first transcontinental rail line) was located. The remains of the Kelton stage stop can be seen at the top of the next hill above (and south of) the Kelton ramp. It is the Kelton ramp that you can see across the valley when you drive out of Boise on Warm Springs Avenue. You could probably drive a four-wheel-drive pickup down it if you moved a few rocks…and had nerves of steel.
It’s a little incongruent when you drive to the top of the Kelton ramp. Within the last few years, subdivisions have popped up all along the top of the bluff there. The old wagon ruts of the Oregon Trail are very plain to see, right across the street from expensive new suburban homes with immaculate lawns. I’m told that there are lawns in the area that still show faint remains of the wagon ruts where the Trail came through what is now someone’s yard. The Kelton ramp leads right down to the edge of another sprawling new subdivision.
About a mile past the Kelton ramp, the bluff ends, and there is a comparatively gentle ramp leading down off of the bench near the Surprise Valley subdivision. It is very easy to see as it comes off the top where fenced lawns butt up against the brow of the hill.
Caption for photo:
Looking north down the first Oregon Trail ramp leading to the Boise River. This picture doesn’t come close to showing how steep and rocky this thing is! The highway just beyond the ramp was built within the last five years or so to serve the exploding development of southeast Boise; it leads east across the Boise River. The Kelton ramp comes right down to the back yards of this subdivision, about a half mile to the left (west). Where this subdivision now sits, archaeologists have found evidence of gardens where pre-horse era Indians grew corn. After they got horses, the Shoshoni seem to have stopped farming.
4-17-03
John Gideon stood behind a sub-alpine fir tree, anxiously peering around it every few seconds to survey the Warren Wagon Road below him. He waved his arm at the swarm of gnats that clouded the air around him. It wasn’t even midmorning, and the pests would get worse as the day heated up. It was Friday, July 7, 1905.
Until a few days before, Gideon had been working at the Golden Rule Placer Company Mine, in the mountains between Warren and Burgdorf. He had only been employed there for about a month while he worked on a plan to acquire money an easier way. Saying that he needed to do assessment work on his claims nearby, Gideon quit his job and began preparing for what was to happen in the next few minutes. Gideon placed himself along the road a few miles out of Warren without being seen, and, as anyone knew was the best way to go about these matters, he found a steep part of the road where the horses pulling the stage from Warren to Meadows would be laboring slowly up the hill.
As the stage came into view, Gideon swallowed hard and fingered the two revolvers that were tucked into his belt. As he pulled the flour sack over his head, he worried once more if he had made the eye holes large enough, but he had not wanted to make them any bigger than he had to so that no one could recognize him. Squatting down behind some brush, Gideon made his way behind a huge boulder that sat right on the edge of the road.
To stage driver Jim Conroy it seemed the masked man appeared in the middle of the road from out of thin air. George Patterson, who was sitting beside Conroy on the driver’s box felt his heart almost stop when he saw the enormous holes in the ends of the pistol barrels aimed at his face.
“Everybody out!” the masked man yelled. The quiver in his voice betrayed his nervousness, but the three passengers (one of which was the Warren Postmaster) didn’t notice; they were too busy trying to keep their own quivering legs from buckling as they climbed out of the stage. After gruffly relieving them of $176, Gideon ordered the passengers back inside and turned to Conroy. “Throw down the sack!” Gideon ordered.
Conroy reached slowly down into the stage boot and pulled up a bag which bore a tag plainly stamped, “REGISTERED MAIL.” He tossed it down to Gideon who rifled trough it briefly, pulling out several items, which he tucked inside his shirt before speaking again. “Now throw down the other sack.”
Conroy was surprised that the outlaw knew of the second sack, but it occurred to him that anyone familiar with the mine knew that the Golden Rule sent out its yield of gold on the stage every week after “cleanup day.” The sack held two solid gold bars that were on their way to the U.S. assay office at Boise. [This square, stone building still stands, facing Main Street in Boise, and is on the National Register of Historic Places. Most of the gold mined in Idaho in the early days went through this building.] Combined, the bars weighed a total of 4 ½ pounds and were worth $1,480 in 1905 dollars – over $40,000 in today's dollars.
After lowering the sack, Conway was ordered off the stage himself. Gideon then leveled a revolver at Patterson and told him to drive the stage 40 or 50 feet ahead and stop. To Patterson, it seemed like hours before Jim Conroy climbed up onto the seat beside him. The outlaw was gone. There was nothing to do but hurry on to Lardo where the nearest telephone was located. [A telephone line was being built from Meadows to Warren at the time, but was not yet completed.]
Later that day, as Jim Conroy was making the return trip to Warren, a man waved him down near Warren and asked for a ride into town. There was something very familiar about the man. And then the stranger said something that stunned the stage driver. “That’s sure a shame the stage got robbed this morning!” Jim simply said it certainly was, but his mind was racing. He was sure no one in this area could know about the holdup. He had gone straight to Lardo and called the authorities in the lower country. How could the news have traveled here in that short a time?
To be continued next week.
This week I almost featured a list of the names of men registered for the draft in the early 1940s (about the time of World War II). The list was sent to me by Clara (Wooden) Glasscock of Weiser. Clara thought the list would make a good History Corner, but Editor Hohs and I decided it might be more appropriate to put this list on the Record’s web site instead of printing what is a very long list of names. To see this list of names, many of which you will recognize, you can find them at www.ctcweb.net/~record.
4-24-03
John Routson had been a Washington County deputy sheriff in Council in 1900 at the age of 27. Two of Council’s most notorious shootout / killings occurred that year while Routson was a deputy here. 1905 found Routson employed by the Golden Anchor Mine as foreman. Not long after Routson took this job, a man came walking into the mining camp and asked Routson for a job. Routson remembered the fellow, having run into him a few months before. At that time, the man gave his name as Gideon, and he was fishing with a friend named Pope. They said they were from Nampa and were in the area on a camping trip. Routson gave Gideon a job, and immediately noticed how curious Gideon was about various activities about the mine. He was especially inquisitive about cleanup days and bullion shipments. One day, Gideon quit his job and moved to a camp about a half-mile from the mine.
Every week, gold particles were cleaned from the flumes. “Mining” at the Golden Anchor was done with “giants,” also known as “monitors”-- big water canons that were used to blast the mountain apart, sending water, heavy with mud and sand, coursing through flumes. Riffles in the bottoms of the flumes caught the gold. Mercury was used to collect the smaller particles. After cleanup of the flumes every week, John Routson took the gold to Burgdorf to be shipped out with the mail to the assay office at Boise, and then on to the Denver mint.
A few days after John Gideon quit, and the next day after cleanup and the routine trip to Burgdorf with the gold, a rider came into the Golden Anchor camp with news that the stage had been robbed about eight miles out. In addition to the gold, the robber had made off with several hundred dollars that miners had mailed to their families.
That same morning after receiving news of the holdup, John Routson went out to catch some horses. On his way, he followed an impulse to stop in at Gideon’s camp. Gideon was not there, so Routson went on his way. On his way back past Gideon’s camp, Routson again stopped and looked inside Gideon’s tent. This time he found Gideon asleep. Two pistols - - a .38 and a .44 -- were lying near him. A pair of hobnailed shoes and a pair of pants -- both very muddy - - sat beside the bedding. When Routson put all the clues together, he was convinced that Gideon could well be the holdup man.
Gideon awoke, and the two men talked briefly. Routson remarked that he didn’t know Gideon owned two pistols. Gideon said he had borrowed the .44 from a friend, Frank Hubbard. Over the next few days, Routson’s suspicion of Gideon grew. Gideon has always been broke, but was now flashing a large roll of bills at local saloons.
News of the robbery came to Ross Krigbaum at Meadows soon after it happened. Since Krigbaum was the manager of the stage line, it may have been Krigbaum who received the first call from stage driver Conroy. Due to a lack of phone service to the Golden Anchor area, following leads on the crime was a slow process, but Krigbaum soon heard from mine foreman John Routson about Routson’s suspicion of John Gideon. Routson said that Gideon had left the area, saying he was going to Dixie for a haircut. Krigbaum was soon on the suspect’s trail.
Near the scene of the holdup, someone (very possibly Ross Krigbaum and/or John Routson) found where Gideon had built a fire at some point while waiting for the stage to arrive. There were remains of shavings that were used to start the fire. Those shavings had telltale marks on them that had been made by a uniquely nicked knife blade.
Checking at the Dixie post office, officials discovered that Gideon had insured a package to his friend, Frank Pope at Ontario, Oregon. The word was put out, and although the package was not found in the mail, a letter from Gideon to Pope was. According to John Routson’s daughter, Adelia Parke, in her book “Memoirs of an Old Timer,” Gideon’s letter read, “Am shipping you a St. Charles cream box tied with 3/8-inch rope. Fraternally yours, John Gideon”
The Weiser Signal newspaper reported that the letter said Gideon was mailing Pope a package containing “relics and samples” and to care for them as they were valuable.
Adelia Parke said the letter and package were mailed from Dixie, but 1905 newspaper accounts say they were mailed from “Hump, Idaho.” I don’t know where this Dixie was, but there was an area southeast of present day Cambridge called Dixie. The Gospel Hump Mining District was up around Florence, north of the main Salmon River.
One newspaper account said that authorities took Frank Pope into custody and promised him immunity if he would cooperate. Pope took them to the spot where he had buried the two gold bricks. Another, less credible account from the same newspaper said the box from Gideon was watched after it arrived by express mail at Ontario, and that when Pope came to pick it up, he was arrested, the box broken open and the gold discovered inside.
Meanwhile, Ross Krigbaum called deputy sheriff, Tom Pence. It isn’t clear whether Pence was a sheriff at Weiser or Ontario. At any rate, Pence set out to find Gideon on a tip that he might be in the area. The July 26, 1905 Signal reported that Gideon had arrived in Weiser with Harry Hargrove, another former employee of the Golden Anchor Mine, and that the pair set out for Ontario to get some horses.
Pence found and arrested Gideon in Ontario on Sunday morning, July 23 -- two weeks after the holdup. The Weiser Signal said “There is considerable doubt as to his guilt, but it is said he had little or no money while at camp and has been spending it quite recklessly since coming out. Post office inspector [Thomas] Clark came over from Boise Sunday and left Monday morning for Meadows where he will look up evidence against Gideon…. Mail contractor Krigbaum had been following Gideon since the time of the stage robbery. Krigbaum will receive the reward of $500 paid by the government in such cases.”
Continued next week.
5-1-03
During the time that the John Gideon stage robbery was making headlines, the July 29 Signal contained news of a “half breed” horse thief being arrested at Hanthorn & Hendrick's saloon at Meadows. It also mentioned a large forest fire raging along Middle and East Forks of the Weiser River as well as Mill Creek and Cottonwood creek.
During 1905, there was much written in the Weiser paper about a wagon road that was badly wanted from Warren to Thunder Mountain. It was surveyed, but not built at the time of the last issue available on microfilm. The paper also said that several hundred Japanese railroad workers were expected soon to build the P&IN line north from Council. It was hoped this railroad would link up with a line from northern Idaho eventually. The workers actually hired were Greek, and the line never went past New Meadows, which it didn’t reach until almost six years later.
After they were arrested, Frank Pope and John Gideon were taken to Boise. Here, Pope seems to disappear from the story—probably because of a deal he made with authorities. After a preliminary hearing at Boise, Gideon was taken to the State Prison at Boise on July 29. He remained there until he was transported to Federal court at Moscow, Idaho in mid October.
In reporting Gideon’s departure for Moscow, the Weiser paper remarked, “Inasmuch as the Postal authorities have secured a mass of circumstantial evidence against the prisoner, including the confession of his accomplice [Frank Pope] at least as to the location of the gold dust, the chances of the accused man before a jury are not regarded as the brightest in the world.”
The trial began in Moscow on Monday, October 23. The Weiser Signal said, “During the trial, officers have watched Gideon as few prisoners are ever guarded. In the courtroom a deputy marshal has sat at his side and whenever it was necessary to take him on the street, he has been handcuffed to an officer.”
It seemed to be an open and shut case from the start. When the authorities had dug up the box containing the gold bars, it also contained an old buckskin shirt that Gideon had worn all during his employment at the Golden Anchor mine. In the pocket of the shirt was a knife with a nicked blade that matched the marks on the kindling found at the fire near the crime scene. The tracks found at the holdup scene matched Gideons hob-nailed boots exactly.
John Routson, Don Ross (Golden Rule Mine superintendent) and George Patterson (the man who sat beside the stage driver during the holdup), were the principal witnesses for the prosecution. Patterson, who had said that he had never been so scared in his life as he had been during the holdup, was put on the stand. One of the attorneys held up the two pistols used during the robbery. The attorney asked him, “Mr. Patterson, can you identify either of these guns as the one held on you?” His reply was, “As near as I can remember, it was the biggest one.”
The Signal said, “The defense introduced no evidence whatever.” The jury returned a verdict of guilty on October 27. The Spokesman Review newspaper of Spokane, Washington reported on the sentencing:
“Without a tremor of emotion, though his face was flushed, John V. Gideon stood before Judge Beatty in the federal court this morning and heard himself consigned to the federal prison at McNeill’s Island at hard labor for life, after conviction for holding up and robbing a stage near Meadows, Ida.”
“He walked from the court room to the marshal’s office, where he was handcuffed to Deputy marshal Schattner, to be taken to the morning train. Before going, Gideon asked that his revolver and other personal possessions be turned over to his attorneys, William M. Morgan and G.G. Pickett.”
As Judge Beatty delivered the sentence, he asked Gideon, “Have you anything to say why the judgment of the court should not be pronounced upon you at this time?” Gideon replied in a low voice, “I am not guilty of the charge, your honor.”
The judge continued, “You say you are not guilty, but there is no doubt in my mind of your guilt. I have here further evidence of your guilt--evidence which the government did not possess yesterday. In a secret recess of your purse the officers have found this receipt for the registered letter sent from Hump, Ida., the receipt made but to Oliver Osborn. In my opinion there can be no doubt of your guilt. The officers also tell me that your body bears the marks of more than one bloody conflict. The law, in your case, gives me no alternative. I have no discrimination, and direct that you, John V. Gideon, be taken to the federal prison at McNeill’s Island and be kept at hard labor for the rest of your natural life.”( Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Nov 4, 1905 & Oct 28, 1905)
News later reached the Council area that Gideon escaped from McNeal Island by swimming the channel. He was recaptured before long. After that, he was sent to Leavenworth where he escaped again and held up a train with a hand-made tin gun. He was again recaptured and returned to prison, where, as far as I can tell, he remained until he died.
John Routson died at Weiser a few months after the trial.(Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, May 5, 1906)
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References for Gideon story:
1--The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, July 26, 1905 “ARRESTED AT ONTARIO FOR STAGE ROBBERY”
John Gideon arrested for Meadows - Warren stage robbery.
2--The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, July 29, 1905-- John Gideon pled guilty to robbing Meadows - Warren stage.
3-- Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Oct 4, 1905 “POSTAL INSPECTORS TURN NEAT TRICK” Story of recovered gold from Meadows - Warren stage robbery John Gideon
[There was something in between this mention and last listed here .. about sentencing?]
4--The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Oct 18, 1905 “GIDEON TAKEN TO MOSCOW”
John Gideon (Meadows - Warren stage robber) taken to Moscow for trial
5--The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Oct 21, 1905-- "John Routson will probably leave today for Moscow where he is summoned to appear Monday as a witness in the U.S. Court in the trial of Gideon for robbing the mails on the Meadows - Warren stage last July."
6--The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Oct 28, 1905 “ROBBER IS GUILTY”
John Gideon found guilty of Meadows - Warren stage robbery - details
7--The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Nov 4, 1905 “GIDEON SENTENCED FOR LIFE”
The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, May 5, 1906--John W. Routson died at Weiser. [See Memoirs of an Old Timer by Adelia Parke
5-8-03
I would like to ask a favor of you History Corner readers who have GPS units. It seems to me that it would be good for the Museum to create a list of historic place locations in this area. The locations of these placed could be recorded as GPS coordinates. That way the precise location would be easily found, plus it would keep the location from being lost. This is especially important for graves and other sites that tend to lose obvious visible signs of their location. Plus, it’s one thing to find a place on a map; it’s quite another to go right to it, especially if there is nothing left of something like a cabin, etc. So, send me all the coordinates you can, for any sites that are historic, or even just interesting, like the Devil’s Inkwell, etc.
I’ve been reading some of the writings of L.V. McWhorter (1848 – 1944) who was a self-taught scholar and student of the American Indian. “In the course of his life he became an ardent ally and supporter of various Indian tribes, strongly sympathizing with their resentment over the often bad treatment meted out to them by early white settlers and later by the military, ‘Indian grafters,’ and the Federal bureaucracy.”(Washington State University web site) McWhorter moved to the Yakima area in 1903 and studied Indian history and culture in the Northwest for the rest of his life. McWhorter left Washington State University a huge collection composed of 51 boxes of photographs and McWhorter’s writings that occupies 26 feet of shelf space.
McWhorter revealed an interesting insight into the reason why the Nez Perce were so accommodating to Lewis and Clark. In the late 1700s a Nez Perce girl was kidnapped by Blackfoot Indians. They sold her to a tribe farther east, and eventually a white family took her in. Although she was treated very well by the white family, she ran away, deciding to go back to her native area. It took her several months, alone and carrying her baby, to make the trip. By the time she reached the Selish tribe, who were friendly to the Nez Perce, her baby had died and she was very ill. The Selish nursed her back to health and brought her back to her people at White Bird. From that time on, she was known as Watkuweis (returned from being lost in another country). Watkuweis told the Nez Perce how good the white people had been to her, and the story spread throughout the tribe. Whites became legendary as good people, even before any Nez Perce had set eyes on one. In an interview with McWhorter in 1930, a Nez Perce man named Many Wounds said, “That is why the Nez Perce never made harm to the Lewis and Clark people in 1805. We ought to have a monument to her in this far West. She saved much for the white race.”
McWhorter told the following story, related to him by Many Wounds’s father, Red Bear: “There had been a prophecy about Red Bear and a new people, which was thus fulfilled in 1805. He met the strangers [Lewis and Clark]. They first have smoke. If no smoke, then they must fight. Red Bear made presents of dressed buckskins, and they gave him beads and a few other articles. They afterwards found the white man’s gifts to be cheap.”
Another McWhorter story comes from an old time Nez Perce Warrior, and it hits close to home. In the days before Lewis and Clark arrived, Black Eagle and his wife lived on the west bank of the Clearwater River, between present day Stites and Kooskia. At the time, there was serious conflict between the Nez Perce and the Shoshoni. While the rest of the band was away harvesting camas, Black Eagle and his wife hid out, camping in a thorn brush thicket. A large Shoshoni war party found and killed them both, leaving them scalped. The raiders took 16 horses and everything in Black Eagle’s camp, including a large brass kettle that he had used for boiling salmon. The Shoshonis’ route home traversed the Camas Prairie, White Bird canyon and then the main Salmon River up to Riggins. From there, they traveled up the Little Salmon to Salmon Meadows (present day Meadows Valley). All this way, they ran into no trouble, but at Meadows Valley they were ambushed by a group of Nez Perce warriors led by Koolkooltom, Black Eagle’s brother. The Nez Perce saw the leader of the Shoshoni riding one of Black Eagle’s best horses, and a warrior in the back of the group was carrying the brass kettle across his back with the bail around his chest. The Nez Perce first killed the leader with a volley of arrows, and then a wild battle ensued. Many of the Shoshoni were killed, and the rest were driven off. The Nez Perce recovered the horses and the kettle, and took many scalps.
Speaking of scalping, you’ve probably heard divergent stories of the origin of this practice. Here’s the real story, stolen from the internet:
“Scalping--cutting off the scalp of a dead enemy as proof of his demise-- was common practice throughout North America before colonists got here. It is described in Indian oral histories, and preserved scalps were found at archaeological sites. Europeans learned to scalp enemies from the Indians. (The European custom was to cut off people's heads for proof/trophies, originally, but scalps are easier to transport and preserve, so the colonists quickly switched to the Indian method.) Once they picked up the technique, the English did a tremendous amount of scalping, both of natives and of rival Frenchmen. Here's a bounty notice from 1755 offering varying rewards for the scalps of Indian men, women, and children. (These scalps, incidentally, were commonly referred to as "redskins," one reason why that is considered such a rude racial slur by many Native Americans today.) American and Canadian frontiersmen kept up the tradition of scalping until the turn of the 20th century.”
The Council Valley Free Library has at least two books by L. V. McWhorter: "Hear Me My Chiefs" and "Yellow Wolf - His Story. Both of these cover the Indian side of the Nez Perce War story and much more.
5-15-03
I’ve always been interested in the clash between European and American Indian culture. A hundred or more years ago, white society tended to see Indians as either noble savages, or just plain savages. The reality was that, like all peoples, the natures of Indians covered a range from savage and cruel to the heights of nobility.
Whites of a century ago would be considered, on average, as less refined and more prone to violence than people today. Warfare was a noble art. Conquest for the empire of your nation was honorable. Men felt obligated to fight—even to the death—over an insult to them, their country or a woman. Even a few decades ago, fist fighting was a common sport among young, Council area men. Similarly, American Indians followed cultural traditions that seem savage by any yardstick. At least in many western tribes, war was the main way that a man proved himself worthy of honor and respect. Although a display of bravery was the highest honor, killing an enemy was very much a part of the ethos.
It seems that some tribes or bands would be friendly to each other at times, or they could be involved in a long-term war of sorts. If one group was in conflict with another group, anyone or anything belonging to the enemy was fair game. The conflicts ranged from taunts and insults or petty thievery to an all out attack on a village to kill as many as possible. If a warrior from one group ran across a member of the enemy group, just the fact that they were designated an enemy was provocation enough to kill them.
Simple cultural differences and biases accounted for a high percentage of the historic conflicts between European and American Indian cultures. Every culture has its own signals. They become so automatic that they are unconscious. Facial expressions, such as smiles, are universal signs of emotion. Other signals are less universal. In the Middle East, sitting with the bottoms of your feet exposed to another person is an insult. The “OK” hand signal or “thumbs up” sign—both of which have positive meanings in our culture—have obscene sexual connotations in the Middle East.
To whites, Indians seemed sullen and reserved. This is too often true even to day. This is partly because in American Indian culture, silence is valued as sacred. Each person must have the opportunity to reflect, to translate thoughts into words, and to shape the words not only before taking a turn at speaking, but while speaking. White Americans often feel uncomfortable with silence. Patience was (and sometimes still is) required when speaking with an Indian, not only because of the silences, but because Indians often used many more words to say the same thing as a white person.
Among many tribes, Indian rules of etiquette said that looking an elder in the eye was a sign of disrespect. This has resulted in Indians being seen as insolent, especially Indian children in white schools. Another thing whites took (and still take) as a sign of sullenness is the lack of feedback when talking to an Indian. Traditional American Indians seldom provide cues, like nodding or saying anything to encourage the speaker; they listen without significant nonverbal engagement.
Probably the biggest cultural difference was and is the attitude toward land. European culture puts great value on individual ownership, while Indians generally are more socialistic. While white culture admires individuals as heroes, Indians put more emphasis on the community fabric and kinship networks than on the place of the individual. Indians also cherish the place of the individual within the context of the entire natural world, without which the individual has no value.
In L.V. McWhorter’s book about Yellow Wolf, there is an incident described by Yellow Wolf that hints at these cultural differences. This incident was aggravated by the Nez Perce War, which had occurred the previous year. Yellow Wolf and companions came to the camp of some white men. Yellow Wolf said, “We went to their camp. Nobody around. Those white men had not arrived. One man said, ‘Let us wait for them. That would be good, so we dismounted. While we sat around, our horses were eating. In a short while, I saw three white men coming. When they saw us, they called in a rough voice, ‘Get out from there!’ They brought down their guns, working the levers, ready to shoot. I thought to myself, ‘Well, I guess they want a little trouble!’ They were calling us all names they could think.” McWhorter once made the remark that, “The Indian language contained no words of profanity—that the most sever term of opprobrium that could be applied to another person was ‘bad man’. “ The result of the encounter was that one of the white men was killed.
Yellow Wolf said of another fight with whites, when the Indians saw no reason for hostility: “Those men came out with guns and hung around as if to shoot. I said to the man who talked English, ‘What is wrong with them? They are mad?’ They made no answer. Only held their rifles closer. This was just telling us, ‘Come on! We want trouble!’” Short version: they got trouble. The Indians didn’t wait for the white guys to shoot first.
The conflict between Indian and Euro American cultures in the early days of this country was such a tragedy. The Nez Perce War cost the lives of 141 white soldiers and volunteers, 93 Nez Perce (one third of which were women and children)—three times as many died in Oklahoma of illness while in exile—and $1,873,410.12 (and that’s 1877 dollars, which would be multiple millions today). All of this because the whites didn’t follow their own laws or code of decency—failing to comply with treaties, and not putting whites on trial for the murders of several Indians.
5-22-03
I have a question for you readers. I got a letter from a gentleman Boise, asking for historical information about a place located near the west end of Jackson Creek Road. I don’t know that area, but on the map it looks like, you go out Jackson Creek Road to where it crosses Johnson Creek and goes on up Little Johnson Creek. My map shows a road going up Little Johnson Creek, and the place in question is about a mile and a half or two miles west of the main Johnson Creek. The man said the property is bordered by Johnson Creek on the north (he may have meant Little Johnson Creek) and by Strawberry Spring on the south. The site in question may have been called “the old Mills place.” A few hunters have referred to it as “Turkey Flats.” There don’t seem to be any signs of anyone having built any structures there. If anyone has any information about this location, please contact me.
Another item of interest is a “hangman’s tree” located way off to the southeast of the Little Weiser River. It’s on Snowbank Mountain, close to Tripod lookout. Loren Thomas sent me a photo of it and the GPS coordinates, but he didn’t know the story behind it. It’s a little outside the Council area, but if anyone knows why this is called the hangman’s tree, please let me know.
I was given a clipping from a 1978 Adams County Leader. It’s an article by Hugh Addington about the history of what we know as the Ace Saloon building. After the big 1915 fire in Council, all of the businesses on the north side of Illinois Avenue rebuilt with brick structures made from local brick. The Overland Hotel, which stood where the Ace is today, also burned in the fire, but the owner, Chris Hilerbrand, sold the property rather than rebuild. The buyer was Sylvanus “Bud” Addington.
Bud Addington came to Council in 1888 with his father, Moses “Mode” Addington, and Moses’s father, James Addington. James and his wife, Matilda, moved on to live in the Meadows Valley. By 1894, Bud, who was 20 years old at the time, was living on West Fork on the ranch now owned by LaDell & Margaret Merk. He had married Anna Biggerstaff, daughter of Tolbert Biggerstaff. Tolbert Biggerstaff was a Fruitvale area pioneer who ran a stage stop on top of Fort Hall Hill. His wife, Harriet, was the daughter of Joseph Whiteley after whom Whiteley Avenue in Council is named.
In December 1894, Bud Addington’s wife, Anna Biggerstaff Addington, gave birth to their only child, Hugh. Meanwhile, Bud’s father, Mode, was running a blacksmith shop south of the town square in Council, where Norm’s is today. In 1899 the Weiser newspaper reported that John O. Peters had sold his meat market in Council to M.W. Addington. This would have been Mode Addington, but in “Council Valley – Here They Labored,” the meat market is said to have belonged to Bud. At any rate, the market was operated by Bud. It sat somewhere near where the Longbranch Saloon or Sam’s TV are today.
About 2:00 o’clock in the morning on January 20, 1902 a clerk who worked in the Haas Brothers’ store (#1 in photo 84008) was deep in slumber in the back part of the store. He was rudely awakened by searing heat and thick smoke all around him. A dash out the back door saved him from the inferno, but a number of buildings in downtown were not so lucky. Apparently the fire had started in a storage shed across the alley behind the store. By the time the sun came up, every building in photo 84008 was gone, except for #2 (Henderlite’s drug store, which stood where the Council Valley Market parking lot is now) and #3 (the Overland Hotel, where the Ace is now). After the fire, Bud Addington spread the meat from his market out on tables, and invited everyone to help themselves to what was now very well-cooked meat.
Just what Bud’s next career move was isn’t clear, but if the newspapers are to be believed, he didn’t let any moss grow under his feet. In 1906 he started off by buying a hotel, and then sold all his cattle. Before the year was half over, he had remodeled the hotel – adding a restaurant – and sold his ranch near Fruitvale to Charlie Ham. The 1909 papers reported that he sold a herd of dairy cows and was in the building supply and cement business. The next year he was the "purchasing agent for a large packing house." By 1912 he had traded property in town for another ranch. By the time of the big fire of 1915, Bud was in the sheep business. To buy the property where the Overland Hotel had burned, he sold his sheep.
Addington evidently still had a desire to own a hotel. He hired two Weiser contractors named Lowe and Reader to furnish and lay the brick for a large building he had in mind. Nine car loads of bricks came up the old P&IN railroad line for the project. Bud’s son, Hugh, and father, Mode, hauled every one of the bricks to the building site on a horse-drawn wagon from the railroad siding at the west end of town.
More on the Addington / Ace building story next week.
The Museum will begin its 2003 season when it opens on Saturday (May 24).
Captions for photos:
84008—July 4, 1901. The arrow points to the Council Meat Market, operated by Bud Addington.
84015—This photo was late in 1901. The arrow points to Bud Addington, wearing his white butcher’s apron and standing in front of his meat market. The pace of change was rapid. The building to the right of the meat market has been remodeled and a new structure erected beyond it. To the left (out of sight) the Cohen & Criss Store (number 1 in the other photo) now belongs to the Haas Brothers.
5-29-03
When work started on Bud Addington’s new building, people said the ground was too swampy and the building would settle and crack. Bud wasn’t about to be defeated, and dug a trench four feet wide and five feet deep for a heavy concrete footing. He started with a four-foot square footing, which then narrowed to 18 inches across at the top where the bricks would be laid. Johnnie Bass was in charge of the carpentry, Archie Poynor was the plumber, and Ernest McMahan was the electrician. McMahan worked for the Power Company at the time, and had been interested in electricity since his teenage years. In 1911, when Ernest was 19 years old, he had built an electric generator that was driven by ditch water at the family’s Fruitvale ranch. The next year, he went to Chicago for a week of electrical training. By the time work started on the Addington building, Council had only had only been reached by electrical lines the year before. This was to be a structure on the cutting edge of technology. By the time it was finished in the fall of 1916, it cost $25,000.00. Another large, brick building was being built at this same time—the Adams County Courthouse.
In 1917, Bud had a restaurant built onto the east end of his establishment (cost = $5,000.00), and rented it out to Harvey Hahn. The Post Office moved into the east end of this addition by 1924. At some point between 1936 and 1963, another structure was built against the east end of the Addington building. It was constructed primarily from lumber from a dismantled fruit-packing house on Orchard Road. This new structure housed the post office until 1968 when the current Post Office building was built.
Hugh Addington wrote:
“We had the agency for the Model T Ford, and Fordson tractors, and Dodge and Buick. They came from the factory in boxcars. There were six tractors in a car, six Model T Fords, and they were all knocked down. The engines were all together and the rear-ends, but from there they had to be assembled. It would take Mel Missman, Rollie Missman and I about 6 hours to put one together. The Dodge and Buicks were all together, ready to run.”
“Dad and I had an argument on the size of the door in front. I wanted the door to be 10 foot or 12 foot. Dad wanted them to be 8 foot, so he finally flew off the handle and said, ‘Any one that can’t hit that 8 foot door ‘by God, can stay out,’ so that was settled. Well some of them didn’t quite make it in. There was a man here that owned the drug store by the name of Len Griffith, and a man in New Meadows by the name of Krigbaum; they got down in the basement of the drug store and when they came out they were really feeling good. Griffith owned a great big six-cylinder seven-passenger Winton car. They got in it and came down the street like a runaway team of horses; went around the square and started to go into the garage. They didn’t quite make it and hit the pier on the left side of the door and slid it back on the cement a good ten inches. They got out of the car and left it. Everyone was standing around wondering if the building was going to cave in because there are three steel ‘I’ beams in the front—one over each side of the door, and one over the door. Dad phoned down to Weiser for the contractor to come up and fix it. They put jacks on each side of the pier to take the weight and built a new pier. And that is how the crack got in the front of the building. That cost $100.00.”
Last week when I said Bud’s father, Mode, helped Hugh haul the bricks from the depot, I may have been wrong. Bud also had a brother named Moses (often called “Mode” or “Modie”), so he may have been the one helping Hugh haul the bricks. By 1921, Bud’s 68-year-old father, Moses Addington, also called “Mode,” had moved back to his former home in Missouri. That August, Mode got into a heated argument with two men over the ownership of a house, and a gunfight broke out. When the smoke cleared, Mode Addington and Bee Middleton, were dead. Middleton’s son was seriously wounded.
In 1922 Bud and Annie divorced. Two years after that, Bud was driving one of his Fordson tractors on a soft piece of ground and the tractor went over backward with him. Bud was able to jump off in time to avoid being crushed, but one of his legs was badly injured. A month later he married Myrtle Perkins. In 1925 Bud sold the garage business to Charles M. Paradise of Weiser. Paradise, who moved the garage to an old livery stable. For a short time, Bud and Hugh continued in the auto business with Mr. Paradise under the name “Council Motor Company.” In 1928 Bud sold his big brick building to some people named Tucker. The old Addington building continued to operate as a hotel and restaurant a long time, but I’m not sure what happened to the garage area for a while.
Hugh continued to work as a mechanic, at first in partnership with George Phann and Ernest McMahan. Hugh had several mishaps over the next few years. In November 1929, he was welding a gas tank. It exploded, sending one end of the tank flying like a missile. If he had been standing at that end, it would have been his end. As it was, the wall of the shop and several cars were damaged. In the spring of 1931, Hugh carelessly tossed a cigarette aside. It landed in a pan of oil. The garage burned to the ground. Hugh moved to another garage building, and it too burned in 1933.
The Depression years saw hard times for the old Addington building. In 1931 the Tuckers lost the building to the mortgage holder. The next year the building was empty except for the post office. Bud Addington died in 1937. A short time later, Jim Ward bought the building from the mortgage company. Even though a pool hall named “Mac’s Place” was operating in the building, the former garage area was leased by the Utah Oil Refining Company, so the garage atmosphere hadn’t completely been lost. The next year, the pool hall moved into the old garage space. The Adams County Leader said, "The new location is in the same building, but is around the corner from its old stand. With the moving the name was changed and is now known as the Ace.Ralph Finn painted four aces in a deck of cards on the ceiling in each corner of the room and in the center." It has been called the Ace ever since.
Captions for photos:
95063L—February, 1938. The Utah Oil company sign is visible on the front of the old Addington Building. In another couple months this will become the “Ace.”
85005—Bud Addington, probably in the late 1910s or early 1920s. His building is behind the camera. Visible in the back ground are, left to right, the William Fifer building, Sam Criss’s store, the IOOF Hall.
99573—Inside the Ace, 1964. Clyde Stewart (center , far side of table), Allyn Gilderoy (location unspecified) The man on the right looks like Lloyd Brown.
6-5-03
Over the past few years, the County has given the museum a few of the documents it is no longer required to keep. Some of them are interesting. In April of 1915, the State of Idaho passed a law allowing “no possession of alcohol at all in dry territories without a special permit.” I’m not sure if the whole state went “dry” at that time, or whether it was only in certain areas. It’s interesting that people back then were more aware that a substance that was highly addictive, fatal if taken in overdose, and a factor in more murders, rapes, robberies and deaths than any other substance, might ought to be considered a dangerous drug. Idaho was ahead of the national alcohol prohibition laws, which came into being with the ratification of the 18th amendment to the U.S. Constitution four years later, in 1919.
Adams County records contained a few interesting letters and documents pertaining to the documentation required alcohol laws. A letter dated November 14, 1921, from the Blumauer-Frank Drug Co. of Portland, Oregon to probate judge Fred Michaelson, reads, “Enclosed please find Notice of Sale and Delivery of Alcohol to J. Edwin Thamert of New Meadows, Idaho.” The form attached is filled in to read, “Please take notice that the undersigned has this day sold and delivered to J. Edwin Thamert, whose postoffice address is New Meadows, Idaho, alcohol in the quantity of 7 ½ wine gallons, under the terms of a requisition, verified before the above named probate judge, under date of Oct. 23, 1921.”
Mr. Thamert was a pharmacist in New Meadows, and had been through this procedure before. A letter from him to Judge Michaelson, dated may 16, 1921, reads, “I am enclosing 4 Requisition for Purchase of pure alcohol. As I understand it you should acknowledge all and keep one for your files and send the other 3 to me, one of which I am to keep for my files for a period of two years, the other two I send to Sect. of the State and Blumauer Frank Drug Co of Portland. I am also enclosing a Pharmacist’s Permit to transport alcohol which you should also acknowledge and return to me.” The letterhead states Thamert’s business as “Thamert Pharmacy and hardware – Prescription Specialists,” and lists quite a variety of items and services available at this establishment: “General Hardware, Implements, Building Material, Furniture, Talking Machines [?], Caskets, Nyal Remedies, Drug Sundries, Eastman Kodaks.
A letter dated March 2, 1937 sheds some light on life in the area: “Hon. John W. Condie, State Superintendent of Public Instruction, Boise, Idaho. Dear Mr. Condie, There exists near here, it is in fact at what we call the North Hornet Mine; situated about twenty miles north west of Council. The people at the mine are in dire need of some funds with which to pay their Teacher. They are working and have worked every day all winter, getting out and sawing wood, for sale. But the roads are not so they can make delivery of their wood, and the Teacher says she cannot teach any longer without pay. They agreed to pay their Teacher $25.00 per month. This place where they live is in unorganized territory, and is not near enough to any other school, so that they attend, and they have appealed to me to help them to find a way out of their difficulties. I understand that some one of them wrote to you last fall to try to get a school district organized but they were not able, for some reason to get anywhere. If there is any possible way to get help for these children, and if you can help them I shall be greatly pleased. These people came here from Nebraska, some of them were up there last winter, but some of them came just last spring.” The copy I have is a carbon copy with no signature, so I can’t tell who wrote it. It was undoubtedly a County official.
Other forms and letters in County records deal with the “Idaho Insane Asylum” at Blackfoot, Idaho. A letter from the superintendent of the asylum dated December 31, 1918, reads: “Under separate cover I am sending a few copies of a Physicians Certificate, for committing the insane. From this date please us only this form. Additional copies can be secured of the Register Printing and Publishing Co., Idaho Falls, Idaho.”
A letter from the “Children’s’ Home Finding and Aid Society of Idaho” in Boise undoubtedly touches on a story that was only known to those involved: “12/12/ 1917--Probate Judge Weed, Council, Idaho. Dear Judge Weed; Bernice Combs came back safe and sound and quite improved in her general appearance. I thank you for you help in all matters. Sincerely yours, John W. Flesher, State Supt.”
A year later, Judge Weed received a more interesting letter from the Idaho Industrial Training School (commonly known as “reform school”) at St. Anthony, Idaho. I’ve left out the girl’s last name just in case there are living relatives someplace: “My dear Judge: Some time ago we paroled from the school Virgie __, a girl who resides at this time with her parents at Tamarack. She left the School after having made an excellent record, and we all had great confidence in her. Reports that have reached us since her leaving indicate that the girl has done well and we have felt very well satisfied until yesterday when we returned to the school a girl who had violated her parole, and found in that girl’s possession several letters from Virgie which plainly indicate that the girl is making little or no attempt to be a lady. She tells of some serious escapades and uses language which is quite indecent. Obviously the girl is not trying to do what is right, and I fear that it will be necessary for us to return her to the School – something which we always do with great reluctance and only after the case gives us no alternative. If you know anything about the case or can learn facts which would be useful to us without putting the girl in an unpleasant light, I should be glad to hear from you.”
Falk’s store
6-12-03
I need to thank Hank Veselka for the source of some of this week’s column. He loaned me a copy of an “Emmett Valley Scene” magazine put out by the Emmett Messenger Index newspaper. I had heard Falk’s Store on the Payette River mentioned many times, but didn’t know much about it until reading an article in this magazine. The location of this old town is along Highway 52, east of Payette.
Idaho was just starting to get settled in the early 1860s. The Oregon Trail had come through what someday would become Idaho since the 1840s, but few people took an interest in the future State until gold was discovered here in 1860. After one of the biggest gold discoveries in American history occurred at the Boise Basin in the mountains northeast of present-day Boise in 1862, people started pouring into that area by the thousands. To get there, travelers followed the Oregon Trail, most of them came east from Oregon and Washington. During the early years of that migration to the Boise Basin there were only a few places to cross the Snake River, and one of them was the Washoe Ferry near the present-day town of Payette. From there, the Payette River formed a natural travel route that led east to within a relatively short distance of the mines. Also, as the Oregon Trail proceeded northwest from what would become Boise City, one of its branches entered the Payette River Valley and so met the new travel route to the Boise Basin at a point about 40 miles from Boise, 17 miles from Payette, and 12 miles from Emmett. This intersection quickly became an important spot.
In 1862 David Bivens established a stage station at the intersection. In 1864 the general Payette River Valley area began to be settled. Two years later, a small fort was built near the Payette River near Birding Island. (I don’t know where that was/ is.) About this time, Charles Toombes established a business near the intersection. It was only a humble dugout, but it served as a store and post office. (Bivens may have moved on by this time; I’m not sure.) Toombes sold his business to A.L. McFarland in 1870. In 1876 Nathan Falk built a store about a mile above McFarland’s store. About this time, conflicts with Indians had been such a concern (this was the year of Custer’s disaster) that a bigger fort was built near Falk’s store, and it became known as Fort Jefferson.
In the 1870s, this community now known as Falk’s Store was even more prominent than Boise because of its location on the busy Boise Basin travel route. It is said to have been the only place between the Basin and Baker City to buy basic supplies, and so was a stopping place for almost everyone who traveled the Oregon Trail. Even long after it had other, competing towns in the area, Falk’s Store thrived on its established reputation as “the” place to buy supplies. At its peak the community had a school, post office, blacksmith shop, meat market, hotel, feed stable, two saloons, Falk’s store and a couple other stores.
Just as a point of interest, the original route from the Payette area to Falk’s Store went north of the river on the higher, drier ground than in the river bottom until it reached Falk’s. We modern folks have to bear in mind the state of the art concerning road building that existed before crawler tractors and the like; avoiding mud and/or lingering snow was a major goal. There is a bridge across the Payette River near the old Falk’s Store location, as there was in those early days of settlement.
So, the scene was set. People traveling the Oregon Trail, or traveling to or from the Boise Basin, were constantly passing through the Falk’s Store community. In 1876, the year Falk established his store, the first family - - the Mosers - - moved to the Council Valley. They had left Arkansas with the Robert White family, but, because it was so late in the fall, the Whites stayed in Boise for the winter. The Whites continued their westward journey the next spring. Whether they planned follow the Mosers to the Council Valley is not certain. If a story told by a colorful Irishman named W.M. Stewart about events that happened in 1877 is actually true, the White family planned to go elsewhere.
The following is a slightly edited version of the original story, found in Judge Frank Harris’s “History of Washington County.” It was said to have been written in Stewart’s own words, using phonetic spelling depicting his heavy Irish accent.
“Wan day, at the store [Falk’s] there was an immigrant [wagon] train coming down the road with a long tall yaller whiskered feller walking ahead, with an old Kentucky rifle on his shoulder. Whin the old feller got up to the well across the road from the store, he halted the outfit and told them that they would camp there for the night. Whin they got unhitched I wint over and axed them what part of Missouri they were from, whin wan of thim said they wasn’t from Missouri, they were from Arkansaw. Thin I axed them where they were goin’ whin wan of thim said they was going to the Two Wally’s [Walla Walla, Washington]. I told them there was no use in going there, as all the good land had been taken up and they wouldn’t find anything worth having. Thin I told them that there was a valley up the Wazar [Weiser] river, called Council Valley, where they could all find good land for their homes, with plenty of timber, water and grass and with the children they had, they could have a good school. They didn’t pay any attintion to this and said they would kape on as they had started for two Wallys, they would go through. I wint back to the store where there were four or five other fellers, and I says to thim, ‘There’s a foin lot of paple out there in that train, all from Arkansaw, and they are all good dimoctats and we have thim here and ought to try to hold thim.’ So we made it up that after they had had their suppers we would go over and begin to talk among ourselves for their benefit.”
“After a little, we wint over, and I says to the other, ‘Did yez hear about thim fellers cumin down from the upper Wazar country with all that deer and bear hides and coon skins and trading thim at Jeffrey’s?’ He hadn’t heard about it, and thin I told him that they had four horses packed and traded their load for their winters grub, tin gallons of whisky an a lot of traps as they intended to trap fur beaver, coons and martin during the winter; and they said there niver was the likes of the deer, coons and possums that there was up there and every trail along the river is loaded with wild honey. Thin the immigrants began to gether around and listen and wan of thim axed ’whar is that place? And I told thim that it was Council Valley, up the Wazar River where I was telling thim about the good land to take up, and wan of thim spoke up and said that’s the place for us, and the next morning they were up early and off, and that is the way I settled the Council Valley.”
Robert White became Council Valley’s first postmaster.
Like so many towns, Falk’s Store was victim of the lack of a railroad. In 1902 the Idaho Northern Railroad was built from Nampa to Emmett. Any town with a railroad quickly overshadowed any neighbor without that vital connection, and Falk’s Store immediately found itself completely out of the commercial game. Today, nothing remains of Falk’s Store but a small cemetery on a low hill nearby.
6-19-03
First, I have to apologize for a huge mistake in last week’s column. I emailed the wrong picture to the Record. All the museum photos are numbered, and I meant to attach photo number 72024 to my column, but instead somehow clicked on 72002. The photo was supposed to be of Robert and Elenor White; instead (as some of you savvy folks realized) it showed the Moser family.
This week I’m starting what will probably be a couple columns about old homesteads out on Johnson Creek.
Imagine coming to live in this area in the 1880s. Where would you have chosen to build your home? As you arrived in the Council Valley, it would have looked very different than it does today. For the most part we pay little attention to how vital irrigation is to the basic appearance of an area. Old photos show the area south of town almost bare of tress of any kind. It was little more than rolling, sagebrush-covered hills. Cottonwood and thorn thickets spread out for a short distance on both sides of the Weiser River, and this was the case for Hornet Creek and other streams that ran all year, but in general the valley was pretty dry.
Most people back then needed some farm ground; a majority of the nation depended, at least in part, on raising their own food. (Today the opposite is true.) So, as a new arrival here, you would have been looking for a spot with water and some ground where you could grow a garden, some hay, or at least harvest some native grass for hay. In those days all wells were hand-dug, so you would need someplace with either year around surface water (a river, creek or spring) or at least a location where ground water was within reasonable distance from the surface. Most people had no idea how well dry land crops would grow here. Some were clearly overly optimistic and settled ground that quickly defeated them.
It didn’t take many years in the 1880s before the choice locations in the valley were claimed. Early settlers who arrived in the late 1870s, like the Mosers, Keslers and Winklers, took some of the best farm ground. By 1888 the Weiser newspaper said the Council Valley “is now cultivated clear up to the timbered foothills." A decade later, the pace of settlement had not wavered, but newcomers were starting to feel the shortage of available land. One newspaper remarked, "The government lands in this valley are being settled very rapidly this spring, and if it continues thus it will be but a very short time when vacant land in this section will be a thing of the past." People kept coming, however, and they found places that they thought would support them.
Some people - - either because more prime land was already taken, or because they wanted more privacy - - chose more remote locations to settle. One of those areas was along Johnson Creek, which drains the southeastern slopes of Cuddy Mountain. You can get to Johnson Creek on of two ways. One is to travel up Cuddy Mountain from Pole Creek, etc. Johnson Creek Park is at the head of the creek. The other way is to drive out Jackson Creek Road, which goes west from Highway 95 about two miles south of Council. After leaving the green oasis of the Weiser River Valley, the Jackson Creek road winds through several miles of arid landscape, crosses Jackson Creek, and then Johnson Creek. Immediately after crossing Johnson creek, the road forks. One branch goes up Little Johnson Creek, which enters the main creek there from the west. The other branch goes north, up the main creek.
A few weeks ago I asked about the old Mills place, which is about three miles up the Little Johnson Creek road. I didn’t realize that I had been up to the old Mills place before. The first time was when I was 12 and on my first elk hunting trip. A couple years ago I drove up there again, but the road was terrible, even for four wheel drive - - narrow, with thick brush on both sides in places that about took my mirrors off. Robert Blaha now owns the place, and has rebuilt and/or rerouted the road. The road crosses a couple miles of BLM acreage composed of open, sagebrush ridges that level out to willow thickets and scenic meadows near the top before the landscape gives way to forest on the ridge tops.
The old Mills place was apparently someplace in these high meadows just below the timber. Gary Gallant called with what information he knew about the place. He said the last family that he knew of that lived there was named Kincaid. At one time it belonged to the Circle C Ranch, and they sold it to Crossleys. There was a man who lived near there who was called “Apple Tree Bill.” He traveled around, selling apple trees.
If you turn north, up the main Johnson Creek, you are immediately confronted with keep out signs beside a gate. When I drove up there the other day, the gate was open and my map showed it as a Forest road, so I kept going. The place just inside the gate is the old Bedell place. Fate smiled on us a few weeks ago when I mentioned the Mills place in my column. By coincidence, Barbara Bedell Kobs, who now lives in Coeur d’ Alene, was passing through town and chanced to pick up that issue of the Record (May 22). She sent me a very nice letter and even drew a map illustrating where things were that she remembered when she was growing up on Johnson Creek.
Barbara wrote: “In the years (1930-1930) I lived on Johnson Creek, my dad had 160 acres where Jackson Creek and Johnson Creek converged. [She obviously meant Little Johnson Creek, so I'll insert that from now on where she wrote Jackson Creek.] Johnson Creek was the main stream, and Little Johnson Creek was a much smaller stream. Our place was 9 miles from Council, 6 miles from the highway at Cottonwood. We walked it every Friday. I attended grades 1&2 in a one-room schoolhouse on upper Johnson Creek. Four children attended the school: myself, sister Lois, brother Aubrey and a neighbor boy Curtis Green. My first grade teacher was Oreana Martin, and 2nd grade teacher was Anna Barnum, then the school closed.”
“In the spring, Lois and I would go down to the bridge crossing Johnson Creek when bands of sheep came through. We would ask for ‘bummer lambs’ to cross ‘our’ bridge. They always accommodated us. The sheep were going through to high pastures fro the summer.“
“There was one small ranch near the head of Little Johnson Creek. One terrible winter the family with small children (Kincaids) were snowed in. They ran out of feed for their animals. The county sent help to plow them out. It took 2 days for them to reach our place.”
“One astonishing feature of that area was a canal Boney Whitely made. He made the canal from upper Johnson Creek that put water on the land between Johnson Creek and toward the Weiser River along the present road to Johnson Creek. In the ‘40s you could still see the remains of the canal.”
“Our family left when my sister Lois graduated from high school and our mother said we needed college educations. Lois became a teacher, and taught for years. I also became a teacher and retired after 28 years. Our brother Aubrey passed away this year at the age of 84. He became well known in the Northwest for his backpacking in the primitive areas of McCall and the Cascades.”
At the old Bedell place today, there is no sign of a house, although Henry Daniels remembers an old house that sat on the west side of the road there. It had a cellar under it. There are a number of plum and apple trees still growing there, and a number of old farm implements and vehicles are scattered about.
I'll have more on homesteads along Johnson Creek next week.
6-26-03
This is a continuation from last week, of my exploration of Johnson Creek area homesteads.
As the Johnson Creek Road climbs up to the north on the west side of the creek, the east side of the canyon is open and marked by frequent basalt bluffs. The right side of the road begins to drop of steeply and the distance to the bottom grows more intimidating, reminding one of Kleinschmidt Grade. Less than a mile from the convergence of the creeks, there is a spot where blackberries grow in profusion along a small creek that flows under the road, and there is a small, open ridge top nearby. I don’t know if this is a place of historical interest or not.
About a mile farther north, the road comes to a big open meadow that lies along the east-facing slopes that look off into Johnson Creek. From here there is a panoramic view to the south, with Cottonwood Creek and Council Mountain at the left edge and the Johnson Creek drainage ambling toward Goodrich at the right. It was here that a 50-year-old bachelor named Ruben O. Hall homesteaded land on both sides of the road in 1900. His 160 acres was mostly on the east side of the road, was bordered on the north by what was to become National Forest, and extended down the mountainside to Johnson Creek. Hall died here in September of 1915.
At the Forest boundary, the more traveled road turns west (left), and a dim track that is marked as a Forest road on the map continues northward. (Being unfamiliar with the area, I opted not to take the “road less traveled.”) The left turn takes you up a gentle rise through the big meadow to an old homestead. There is no structure still standing, except for an outhouse. The old home site is surrounded by tall shade trees, and a few weeks ago this place was alive with colorful roses, poppies and lilacs. I don’t know who first homesteaded this bucolic spot, but it was eventually bought by Marion and Aletha Prideaux (pronounced pree’-doe) sometime after 1914. Marion had formerly been an agent on an Indian reservation near Butte, Montana. The Prideauxs came here after their daughter, also named Aletha, married Tom Green. More about the Greens next week.
The Prideauxs seem to have come from a family with upper-class values, with hints of a little more money in their background than the average Council area homesteader. Marion Prideaux died here, and Aletha sold the place to Earl and Lidia Newman. They owned the place until after World War II. Some of us remember Mrs. Newman as the grade school principal at Council.
A hundred yards or so up the grassy slope to the northwest of the Prideaux/Newman home site sits the remains of a log cabin. Another hour or so in the courthouse records vault probably would have told me who once lived in this cabin, but for now, if anyone has information they would like to share, I would appreciate it.
As I walked up to the roofless cabin, a turkey hen trotted out of it and then hung around nearby. I soon found out why. Two six-inch-high balls of about 50/50 down and feathers, with homely, nearly naked necks and scrawny turkey legs appeared atop on the old log walls. After posing for a few pictures, these turkey chicks flew away with surprising adroitness for no more feathers than they appeared to have.
Just after leaving the Prideaux/Newman place, I saw a newly constructed building a couple hundred yards to the northwest. The only road that looked traveled led right to this new structure. As I approached it, a man came out from the building. Visions of the “KEEP OUT” sign at the foot of the grade came to mind, but by this time it was a little late. The gentleman was cordial enough, and introduced himself as Jim Warren, school superintendent at Midvale. Upon retiring, he and his wife plan to live there year around. I told Jim I was looking for the old Green place, and he told me about an alternate route, since the main road had a tree across it. It turns out the main road was the one less traveled that I didn’t take.
Next week, the old Green ranch.
Captions for photos:
Prideaux ranch.jpg - - “The Prideaux ranch on Johnson Creek, looking northeast. They raised sheep and other livestock, and appear to have had a big garden. The bare hills in the background are on the east side of Johnson Creek.
Mr&Mrs Prideaux.jpg - - “Marion and Aletha Prideaux (on left) at their house. The other man is unidentified.”
Priedeaux house.jpg - - “The Prideaux house. Photo is looking northeast. Mrs. Prideaux had a room upstairs set aside for canaries that she raised. In the summer she screened off the upstairs balcony so that the birds could fly around in it. She is said to have sold the canaries during the Depression for $5 each, which would have been a fortune. It appears that Mrs. Prideaux was quite a flower gardener; a number of flowers still grow at the old home site. This house burned down sometime around the 1970s.”
7-3-03
I must repent for another mistake. Mrs. Prideaux’s name was Edith, not Aletha. Aletha was Marion and Edith Prideaux’s daughter who married Tom Green.
On my drive of a few weeks ago, after stopping at Jim Warren’s under-construction house, a few minutes later, and just across the gully a few hundred yards north of the Warren house I drove up a washed out road to the old Green ranch. I had seen the old Green house from the road near Orchid Canyon on Cuddy Mountain for years. You can see it way off to the south very clearly at one point.
Charles Thomas Green, who, as near as I can tell was always called “Tom,” was a Kansas boy who came to Idaho early in the twentieth century. He worked for the Mesa Orchards when the orchards were first established, as a logger on the crew that supplied timber to the sawmill on Fall Creek that sawed the lumber for the seven-mile-long irrigation flume. In 1914, Tom married Aletha Prideaux and they lived at this place on Johnson Creek until Tom retired in 1950 and they moved to Council.
Green bought the place from Zeb Swearingen. I’m not sure if he was the original homesteader, but I wouldn’t doubt it. Three sons and one daughter were born here to the Greens: Everett in 1915, Marjorie, Curtis in 1922, and George in 1932. George was born in December, and the Adams County Leader reported in its Jan 13, 1933 issue: "Tom Green came in Monday with a sleigh, and took his wife and infant son home to Johnson Creek." George married my first cousin, Nelma Glenn, in 1956.
Marjorie Green married Henry Gibleau, and they raised a family at Council. Curtis died in the Second World War. He was reported lost in action in June of 1945. I was told he was killed when a bomb or shell hit a vehicle that he and other soldiers were riding in.
The November 12, 1926 Adams County Leader reported that a new school district- - the Johnson Creek district #18 - - had been formed from the North Goodrich and South Lower Dale school districts. The first teacher was Miss Coila Montrose of Bliss. At the courthouse, I found teachers listed for the Johnson Creek School, but it isn’t clear if the years listed here are the exact years they taught there. The names were written by hand, and sometimes not very legible, so I’ve added a question mark after one I wasn’t sure of:
1926 – Anna Barnum
1927 –Frances Alene Stewart
1928—Grace Hunter (?)
1929—Pauline Goldenstein
1932-33 - - Oriana Hubbard Martin
The school district “lapsed” in 1939, which I assume means it closed. The district was annexed to Council district #25 in 1954, along with many other outlying schools in the Council area. District #25 was consolidated into new, reorganized district B-13 in 1956.
Somewhere north of the Green house I’m told are to remains of an old steam-powered sawmill. There are a few bricks there that once enclosed the steam boiler. The Adams County Leader, June 3, 1927 said, "Messrs Summer and Teems, who have a sawmill on Johnson Creek are starting a lumber yard across the street from the congregational church parsonage." I’m told there was a mill pond there, and a bunkhouse for the workers. Across Johnson Creek to the north of the mill, there was once a Forest Service Ranger Station.
I would appreciate hearing from anyone with more information about the old homesteads on Johnson Creek, the sawmill, school or Ranger Station.
Captions for photos:
Aletha & tom.jpg – Aletha and Tom Green.
Green house ne.jpg - - The Green house as it looks today. It was reportedly built from lumber sawed by the sawmill nearby. The ruble in the foreground is from the woodshed and the covered walkway to it. The remains of several frame buildings and one log building are scattered on the meadows north (left) of the house.
Johnson crk school.jpg - - The Johnson Creek School. According to the map drawn by Barbara Bedell Kobs, the school was east of the Green house. The teachers often boarded with the Green family.
If you have room for this photo: (For some reason I like it)
Haystack.jpg - -Looking north from the Green house toward Orchid Canyon. At first I thought this was Aletha Green, but it probably isn’t. The boy must be a Green; he looks a lot like Tom’s great grandson, Curtis Clagg.
7-10-03
Over the weekend, I was fortunate enough to interview a 93-year-old woman who once lived on Little Johnson Creek. Her name is now Hazel Endicott, but it used to be Hazel Kincaid. She and her husband, Fred, lived for eight years on what I’ve been calling “the old Mills place.” When writing information about someone, it’s always tricky to get all the facts straight. I hope you readers, and especially Hazel, with forgive me for any blunders.
Hazel was born on Wildhorse Creek in 1910. She was emphatic that it has always been Wildhorse CREEK, not Wildhorse “River.” Her parents were Floyd and Emily Bailey. Emily was the sister of Dan Bisbee and Mary Emery. At the age of 18, Hazel left home and married Fred Kincaid who was 24 years older than she was. They were married at the old Adams County Courthouse by Judge Fred Weed. Carrie Lowe was one of the witnesses.
In 1931, Fred and Hazel acquired 160 acres on Little Johnson Creek that had belonged to Zeb Swearingen. Fred’s mother lived with the couple until she had several strokes and went to live with Minnie and Ben Houston.
The place had a cellar, barn a log house, and probably a few other buildings. A good spring supplied water to this place, as was also the case with the Prideaux and Green ranches. It was a beautiful place to live in the summer, but hard in the winter. The Kincaids stayed on their place during the winter, so being “snowed in” was routine, but, as mentioned in a previous column, one winter didn’t go according to plan. Fred always made a trip to Cambridge in the fall to get supplies, but one year it started snowing hard on October 9th. They didn’t see bare ground until May. They ran out of flour and all the staples. It’s odd how some things stick in your mind; for Hazel, the hardship that she most vividly remembers of that winter was when they ran out of sugar to put in their coffee.
One of Hazel’s most vivid memories of the place was the rattlesnakes. There was a snake den two miles above them on the hillside, and they constantly had to be watchful. This was a challenge with small children. Four children were born to the couple while they lived here: Viola (Vi Haas, who now lives in Council) in 1931, Walt in 1932, Dorothy in 1934, and Cliff in 1936.
The Kincaids and the Prideauxs had a falling out after an incident concerning Logan berries. Edith Prideaux had a large berry patch at her place and gave Hazel some Logan berry plants. After a time, the Kincaid berry patch produced more than the family ate, and Hazel sold some in town to earn grocery money. This seemed to offend the Prideauxs. Some time later, Hazel shot some grouse that were getting into her own berry patch, and the game warden showed up. She always felt that the Mr. Prideaux turned her in. Hazel explained to the game warden that the grouse were eating her grocery money, and the warden didn’t site her for shooting the grouse.
The Kincaids lived on this place until Fred became ill in 1937 and they moved to Boise. Fred died there at the age of 49. The place was later bought by Sivy Jacques (I have no idea if I spelled his name right) and the house burned down during the time he lived there. I’m told that it was Jacques who also recently owned the old Bedell place and put up the locked gate “keep out” signs. Mr. Jacques died a year or so ago, and that place is now in the hands of his heirs who may sell the land.
While I was talking to Hazel, Clarence and Jim McFadden dropped by. When the subject of Wildhorse came up, the topic of moonshiners accompanied it. There were several old boys who ran off a few jugs of homemade entertainment down that way. Clay Spicer was one that I hadn’t heard of. Frank Meyers, who delivered moonshine for Dan Bisbee in the 1920s, didn’t serve any time when Bisbee was arrested for the crime of manufacturing the illegal substance. While Bisbee was in jail in Council, Sheriff Bill Winkler had arranged his stay so that Bisbee was able to walk in and out of the cell if he wanted. He did so on one occasion and accidentally locked the door. He had to go explain to Winkler that he had locked himself out of jail.
Bob Barbour, who was the most famous of the area’s alcohol producers, had a still on Salt Creek near Barbour Flat. It was in a small (maybe ten-foot-square) building in the middle of a dense brush thicket with the creek running through the middle of the building. The mash was stored on one side of the creek in the building, and the distillery and kerosene stove was on the other side. Bob got busted for his operation and spent about a year in prison. When he got out, he changed his still location to Crooked River above Lafferty Park. He soon abandoned the avocation, however.
An interesting sidelight to the moonshine story is that the jail used to be on the middle floor of the old courthouse until prisoners were put to work digging out the basement area where a new jail was installed, probably sometime in the late 1930s or early ‘40s. I would like to get more information about this from anyone who knows about it.
7-17-03
A while back I got an email from some people in Ohio. They had found some old photographs in the attic of their house, and didn’t have a clue as to what they showed, when they were taken or where. They had never heard of Council before, but on the back of one of the pictures, someone had written, “Council, Idaho.” By searching on the internet, they found the museum web site and me. They said on the back of some other pictures was written, “Golden Rule Mine.” Of course that too was familiar, and I sent them the story of John Gideon and the stage robbery that appeared in the History Corner a while back. The best way for me to make sense of the photographs and where they came from was to see them myself, so the people were kind enough to mail them to me.
The Golden Rule mine was located north of McCall about 25 to 30 air miles. It was on Grouse Creek, which comes into the Secesh River (the river the Warren Wagon road follows to Warren after you get out of the Payette River drainage) from the north about three and a half miles east of Burgdorf. The mine was about a mile off the Warren Wagon Road, on the east side of Grouse Creek.
The first reports of activity at the mine come from the spring of 1902. A Grangeville newspaper said that Bohndel & Brahan had received the first payment from the Denver people who bonded their Grouse Creek placer gold claims. The partners were also trying to buy ground all along Grouse Creek. That summer, forty men were put to work building roads and a sawmill, and digging the ditches that would supply the water to wash out the gold. By August, sixty men were employed there.
By November, the Grangeville Standard newspaper reported, “There is a regular town at the Golden Rule Placer on Grouse creek in Secesh Meadows about 6 miles from Resort [Burgdorf]. The company has built 15 miles of ditch and will be ready to run 6 giants next year. Some 5,000 yards of gravel was worked this year and $9,000 in gold taken out. The company has a store with a $15,000 stock of goods, a sawmill cutting 10,000 feet of lumber a day and has fine quarters for the men as any company in the state. Two reservoirs are planned for next year, one covering 160 acres and the other 200 acres. These will give them an almost unlimited water supply. Manager C.L. Hathaway has shown himself a master in making things go.”
The method of getting the gold from the ground was not very subtle, at least not in the initial stage. Big pipes and hoses directed water by gravity flow, with as much pressure as could be produced. The business end of this arrangement was a nozzle where the water was concentrated into a blast that knocked the earth into rivers of muddy ooze. This system was called a “giant.” I don’t know where the name came from. How may giants a mining outfit had probably depended on the amount of money it had to spend. I suppose they could get by with one, but several were better. The Golden Rule had as many as five in operation for as long as the water lasted. The first giant’s job (there was often more than one of these) was the tear the earth apart and send it down the hill where it was funneled into a flume. Another giant was used to keep the dirt and gravel suspended in water and flushed down the flume into and through a sluice box. The sluice box had riffles or bars of some type on its floor to catch the bits of gold that, being heavier that all other material, would settle to the bottom. The Golden Rule mine used another giant to push the washed material away from the sluice box to tailing piles.
The early Golden Rule claims covered about 2,000 acres, and consisted of a gold-bearing gravel that averaged 22 feet deep. In 1903, this gravel was yielding an average of $2 per cubic yard. That $2 would be worth about $40 today. Conversely, a loaf of bread costing ten cents in 1903 would cost $2 today. A nine-foot-wide vein of coal was discovered on the mine property in 1903. I don’t suppose much was done with it, considering the relative value of coal and gold, but the company did open it up for at least 150 feet.
In the fall of 1903, the Idaho County Free Press reported, “C. L. Hathaway has returned from Boise where he took a consignment of gold to the U. S. Assay Office to have its value officially tested. The gold is from the extensive placer mining ground on Grouse creek. He has about 900 acres of ground that runs from 65¢ to $1.25 per pan. On Secesh Meadows he has several thousand acres that runs 50¢ to the pan. In a space of 25 square feet on Grouse creek, Mr. Hathaway cleaned up $7,000, the gravel there averaging over a pennyweight to the pan.”
The Golden Rule mine continued to be the foremost producer of gold of any mine in the Warren Mining District until at least 1930. The information that I have from newspapers may be a little off, but it seems that Frank Mathias, one of the first settlers in what is now the town of Council, owned an interest in the Golden Rule mine in the 1920s. When Mathias died in 1928, the Adams County Leader reported that Lewis Winkler now owned Mathias’s former Golden Rule interest. There may be some confusion between the Golden Rule and the Golden Anchor mines, since the names are so similar. The leader said in 1939, “The Golden Anchor Mine on the Cesesh (sic) River belonging to Wm and Lewis Winkler and A.L. Freehafer was sold. They bought it in 1914. Lewis was always the main ramrod of the operation, the other 2 having other responsibilities.” At the same time, a second hand quote from a Grangeville newspaper says, “A.A. Hepburn of Walla Walla has purchased the Golden Rule placer mine in Secesh near Burgdorf. The property was owned by A.L. Freehafer of Payette and William and Lewis Winkler of Council. This placer ground has been worked since the early 1860s.” This same source quotes the newspaper again from January 1940, “Filed at the courthouse this week is a mining deed by Elmer Winkler and wife to A. L. Freehafer and others giving title to Golden Rule Nos. 8,9, 10 & 11 claims. In another mining deed, one-fourth interest is granted by the Winklers to Lewis L. Winkler. All parties in the above transaction reside at Council.” It would take some sleuthing to straighten this out.
As nearly as I can tell, the Golden Rule mine operated in some capacity until at least 1942.
7-24-03
Andy Garritson was born in 1911 in Montana. His formal education stopped at high school, but he has a lifetime of learning- - learning acquired from 70 years of serious on-the-job study. Fortunate enough to find a job working at the Placer Basin Mine during the Great Depression of the 1930s, his motivation for learning was survival. In talking with Andy, his lifetime of knowledge became immediately apparent. Hearing this 92-year-old toss around names, dates and obscure geologic and mining terms off the top of his head made me feel like I was listening to a college professor.
Andy now lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, but he came to Council to revisit the area where he worked when he was a young man. In 1934, Andy came to this part of the country to work at the Cornucopia Mine, near Pine Creek just across the Snake River in Oregon. After six weeks, the man he was filling in for returned to the job, and Andy was laid off. Andy heard that Placer Basin was starting up, so he applied there and got on the crew of eight or ten men that Harold and Ray Hamill hired to mine the old Placer Basin gold claims. Andy started off making $2.50 per day, paying $1.05 for his room and board at the mine. With experience, he moved to a higher paying position and made a whopping $3.00 a day.
Andy said that the Hamills were farmers and didn’t have any experience with mining, but they hired Bill Hunsacker to advise them. Hunsacker was huge man with years of experience, and Andy learned a great deal from him. The initial shaft was inclined (dug down at an angle instead of straight down), and the excavation was done with a “whim,” which is a horse-powered winch. A couple horses from the Hamill ranch were hitched to a pole that pivoted around a big winch drum. The horses, which were started and stopped with voice commands, walked in circles, pushing the pole that turned the drum. At one point each time around the circle, the horses had to step over the cable, which went out to the side and up over a pulley type devise and fastened to a big bucket that slid up and down the incline. The whim had a clutch and a brake to start and stop the winch without having to stop the horses or have them hold it at a given spot. This arrangement is also how the men got in and out of the mine.
Initially the workers lived in tents or tent houses before a bunkhouse was built. When the first shaft stopped producing, a second inclined shaft was dug. At some point, the rear axle of an old Dodge car was hooked to the winch to lift and lower the bucket. When this second shaft got down to about 100 feet below the surface, it ran into old mine tunnels that were dug when the ground was worked in the 1880s. Andy said the old tunnels were extremely slimy. The new shaft eventually went down 600 feet.
At some point, it became apparent that there were gold-bearing quartz pockets right on the surface of the ground at Placer Basin. They sat just under the soft layer of duff that had accumulated from the evergreen trees. The crew went carefully across every foot of the area, stabbing through the duff with heavy bars, looking for quartz pockets. They could tell the difference in how hard the rock was when their bar hit it; the quartz was softer. Each pocket of quartz was excavated completely. A total of 100 tons (two train car loads) of ore were taken from these surface pockets. The gold in this quartz was slightly less concentrated because of weathering over the eons, but it was profitable, especially since the cost of mining it was lower than underground work.
Andy said they took out every bit of the quartz they found at Placer Basin because the gold in it was so fine that they couldn’t see it. Since that time, Andy has mined all over the world and never seen gold in such fine particles as was at Placer Basin. Another unusual characteristic of the Placer Basin ore was its uniformity. The quartz there consistently yielded a couple ounces of gold from every ton. Andy said the gold-bearing quartz at Placer Basin had no copper or other metals in it except for small amounts of iron that came in either a light or dark brown color. This was the same at Black Lake, but in the nearby copper mines, the ore contained a mixture of copper, gold and silver.
Andy told me about a little-known phenomenon. The moon has an effect on the solid parts of the earth similar to the tidal effect it has on the oceans, causing a very small up and down movement of the earth’s crust twice a day. He said in the mines he often would hear the timbers start to creak and rocks loosen when this phenomenon started. He said it was this effect of loosening the rocks was what killed Cecil Ball at Placer Basin. The quartz veins here often led right up into the tree roots. The crew would dig “stopes” up toward the surface from the horizontal tunnels that went out from the inclined shaft. A chunk of rock in the ceiling of one of these stopes loosened above Cecil Ball, falling on his head and killing him.
A bad tooth brought Andy into Council to see Dr. Thurston on one occasion. The doctor said the tooth had to come out, but the roots were hooked and it needed to be cut in half to get it out. Dr. Thurston gave Andy a swallow or two of whiskey and sent a boy down to the hardware store for a cold chisel. With no more than what little help the alcohol was, Dr. Thurston split Andy’s tooth with the chisel and a ball peen hammer. The rest of the procedure went well, and since Andy had avoided passing out completely, Thurston suggested that he take Andy’s tonsils out while he was at it. Andy was out the door before that conversation went very far!
In 1936, the Hamills sold their Placer Basin claims to the Smith Mountain Mining and Milling Co. owned by H.G. Hinsdale. The Hamills continued to operate the mine for Hinsdale. Around Christmas time, the company issued paychecks, but they were worthless. After a couple months of not being paid, the workers had had enough. They nailed the door to the mine closed and stood guard on it around the clock, armed to the teeth. The company made threats to have the men arrested, but didn’t follow up on them. The company found little sympathy in Council, where miners and the Hamills had run up charge accounts with merchants such as Sy Winkler at the Merit Store. The miners finally decided they would go back to work on one condition; they would excavate two carloads of ore, and the payment for these two car loads would go directly to the Hamills, not the company. This agreement was carried out, and everybody got paid. Right after this, however, mine superintendent Carl Ingram fired Andy.
Soon after Andy left Placer Basin, the company built an enclosure with a motor-driven winch over the mine entrance. They also built a ball mill to refine the ore instead of hauling all of it to a smelter. The mill eventually processed about $3 million worth of gold ore. The mill was dismantled and shipped to Montana in 1942, and I think that’s about when the mine stopped production. Andy thinks there is still gold in them thar hills.
7-31-03
This week’s column (and probably those for the next couple of weeks) comes from clippings out of the Idaho Statesman that appeared in 1879. The clippings were copied by Gayle Dixon while she was researching through the old microfilm files in Boise. Just in case some of you don’t realize it, the State Historical Library on State Street in Boise has a great collection of Idaho newspapers on microfilm. It consists of every issue of every newspaper in the state that could be obtained, from the earliest days of settlement, nearly to the present. It is a wonderful source of historical information. The microfilm viewers at the State Historical Library are kept busy every day of the week—much of the time by people doing genealogical research.
The articles that I'll be featuring were written by a Statesman correspondent who made a journey through this part of the state in the spring of 1879. At the time, the Council Valley had only a handful of settlers since only two summers had passed since the Mosers—the first family—arrived here. I will quote the text of the 1879 articles and make comments here and there. The writer uses the term “your city” to refer to Boise.
“Hall’s Ranch, Indian Valley, Washington Co., March 25, 1879”
“Ed. Statesman – A pleasant ride of fifteen house [sic] from your city upon the Umatilla stage brings us within the limits of this latest of our new counties at Weiser Bridge.”
I think “fifteen house” was a misprint meant to read “fifteen hours.” Just two years before, at the outbreak of the Nez Perce War, a Statesman correspondent had rushed to Indian Valley in 26 hours—what he seemed to think was record time. The “Umatilla stage refers to the fact that the main travel route to the west coast followed the Oregon Trail route over the Blue Mountains to Umatilla Landing on the Columbia River. Weiser Bridge was the name of the town of Weiser for a time when it was located east of the present town site and at a bridge crossing the Weiser River.
“From the bridge, the Indian Valley stage line run weekly by Solon Hall takes us by two days easy staging to this place. The winter has not been unusually severe throughout this county and there has been no loss of stock. Even here some farmers have not fed a mouthful of hay. Here and there a farmer throughout the entire Weiser valley has commenced plowing and were it not for the incessant rains farming operations would be briskly going forward. The snow, however, lies deep upon the range between the Weiser and Snake Rivers and also at the mica mine of Judge Curtis and beyond.”
I don’t know what mica mine he was referring to, but I haven’t found mention of the Middle Fork mica mine until 1900.
“The population of this county has increased about fifty per cent in the last two years and during the coming summer as during the last, a great many families will make it their permanent home. There is considerable desirable land yet vacant on Mann’s creek and a large body in the Middle valley, but in the Upper valley and Indian valley the best locations adjoining the creek are all taken and the intervals are rocky and fit only for grazing. Above that is, to the northward of Indian valley the stream divides into numerous branches, each having its narrow strip of the very best of land. This part of the valley is about thirty miles in length and there are yet but few settlers, not more than a dozen in all, and there are still some choice locations to be made.”
In the first part of that last paragraph, and in this next paragraph, the writer refers to Washington County, which had just been separated form Ada County in February of that year. It included what is now Washington and Adams Counties. Middle Valley was the location of present day Midvale; the town was not legally established until 1903.
“The principal topic of conversation is the election of the new county officers and the location of the county seat, and particularly the latter. This is a matter of sections. The lower valley and the upper portion have each about an equal number of votes and the middle valley doubtless holds the balance of power. The more natural place for the county seat would seem to be the Middle valley, but up to the present time not many people live there. In favor of the Lower Weiser it may be said that the trade of the county leads in that direction and a town is likely to grow up there on the stage road speedily, and for the Upper valley it is argued that emigration is likely to increase the population of this part of the country very rapidly. A new road is much needed to connect Indian valley with Boise City by way of Emmetsville, and a movement is on foot for that purpose. A subscription amounting to several hundred dollars has already been raised and it is stated that a thousand dollars will complete a first rate road. If Boise City knows when it is well off it will help this road.”
“Everything up and down the county wears a prosperous look. The schools are well attended. The one in Indian valley district is presided over by Mr. Wisdom, formerly of your city. We attended a customary weekly exhibition and listened to the oratorical efforts of the youthful statesmen with much pleasure; then followed a regular old-fashioned spelling school, in which your correspondent with the other outsiders was most gloriously beaten by the Valley’s mot beautiful and accomplished young lady. More anon. N.B.W.”
As the man said, “More anon” (next week).
I would like to thank Evea Harrington Powers for a very generous donation to the Museum in memory of Johnnie Harley Harrington.
8-7-03
Here is the second in a series of letters written by a Statesman correspondent.
“Idaho Statesman, May 3, 1879. An interesting letter from Hon. N.B. Willey of Idaho County. Little Salmon valley [Meadows Valley], Idaho Territory, April 10, 1879”
“Editor Statesman:—The mail route which extends from Indian valley to Warrens, after leaving the former place, generally follows the valley of the Weiser river quite to its source, a distance of about 40 miles. Council valley, where there is a post office, is a level and apparently very fertile enlargement of the main valley, 15 miles north of Indian valley. Hornet creek, a large branch of the Weiser, comes in here from the west. A large number of excellent locations of land my yet be made on this creek, as well as along the main Weiser, and its numerous other but smaller branches hereabout. Timber for all purposes is plenty on the hills near by, and water, if it should prove to be necessary for irrigation, is handy everywhere.”
The next paragraph gives priceless information as to the earliest travel route through the area just north of Fruitvale.
“About 8 miles above Council valley post office the wagon road practically ends. Mr. [Calvin] White, the mail contractor, has located a trail along the stream some 12 miles through the canyon to where the country again becomes open, but the ancient trail and the one latterly most traveled goes over the mountains west of the river. Last summer the troops, in their hunt for Indians, took their wagons over this route, under Mr. White’s guidance into Little Salmon valley and brought them safely away again. This road, such as it was, run in and out among the gulches and descended to the Weiser again at Fort Price [Tamarack]. A little grading for a mile or so will make this a pretty fair road, and the required work will doubtless be done the coming summer. From Fort Price there is a good natural road for about 8 miles into Little Salmon valley.”
It was not long after this article was written that Calvin White and some of the Winklers established a wagon trail over Fort Hall Hill, and then up the river bottom to Price Valley. The route crossed the Weiser River in the canyon between 26 and 37 times, depending upon which story you believe.
“This [Meadows] valley, I venture to say, is one of the prettiest tracts of agricultural land yet unsettled that can be found within the limits of the United States. It is open prairie some ten miles long by three wide, affords excellent grass without sage-brush and at least three-fourths of it awaits but the plow of the husbandman to yield the most bountiful crops. Little Salmon, a branch of Salmon river, runs northward through it, and streams, large and small come in from the hills on each side. A large portion of the surrounding hilly country is heavily covered with pine, spruce and tamarack, but there is very good summer range for stock outside the valley. The land is not yet surveyed. The standard meridian runs some six or eight miles west, and a persistent, and its is to be hoped successful, effort will be made by the present settlers and those contemplating settlement to have a couple of townships surveyed the coming summer. Surely their claims ought not to be disregarded, so long as the authorities are surveying tracts of land in the canyon of Salmon river, where almost no one but miners and few of them are ever likely to reside. “
“This valley is reported to be 400 feet higher than Indian valley, and the same distance lower than long valley of the Payette, which lies eight miles east, but I am not informed as to what means were used to determine these figures. Snow fell here about 18 inches in depth the past winter, but at present writing the ground is nearly bare and plowing will soon commence. Wild geese, swans, ducks and cranes abound, and just now make the air vocal with their discords—not music. All these birds stay here throughout the summer; make their nests and rear their young. Wild geese are especially numerous. Their nests in early summer may be found here and there among the willows along the streams and sometimes in low trees and even on large rocks, remote from water. Their eggs are prime eating if they can be secured before the process of incubation has proceeded too far. If the nests are at all disturbed or the eggs handled, the bird abandons the place. Salmon do not come up into the valley, the rapids and falls below apparently preventing them, but trout are very abundant. Towards the northern end of the valley is a hot spring. I have not seen it, but am told that a large volume of hot water flows out of the ground sufficient to keep the stream open in winter for a mile or two below.”
“Mr. Cal White commenced work here on the first of last June. He built a fine double house, fenced and broke about ten acres and, as late as it was, raised a splendid crop of wheat and barely with some potatoes and other vegetables. His wife, the only woman in the valley, with their seven children lived here during the entire Indian troubles of last summer not wholly unconcerned it is true, but still boldly and courageously and fortunately without molestation. Other settlers permanently established here, with stock, &c., about them are Messrs. Jennings, Jolly, Cooper, Williams and Smith. More families are expected within the coming summer, and there could hardly be a more suitable place for a desirable colony from the States.”
“Of course the fact of their being such a valley here is no new thing; it is on the direct road from Lewiston to Boise Basin, and hundreds, perhaps thousands passed through it in the early days. The Goose Creek House [Packer John’s Cabin] at the foot of the mountain, a mile from White’s was a noted hostelry, and abounded in good cheer in those days, and here some of the earliest political conventions of the Territory were held. But it has not been inhabited permanently for many years and is now a ruin. People in those times said that the valley was too high and too cold for farming; the frost occurred every morning, that ice would form upon standing water every clear night in August. But the experience of those who have stopped here the last two years show these statements to be altogether incorrect. No better crops were raised in the Territory than those of Mr. White last year. Everything that was planted came to maturity untouched by frost. It is undeniable, however that frosts may be expected here later in the spring and earlier in the fall than in many other of our farming districts, but it is a question whether many parts of Idaho are not a little too hot and dry for advantageous farming without expensive irrigation. N.B.W.
8-14-03
This is the last of my series of reports by a Statesman correspondent who described his journey from Weiser to Warren in 1879.
“Warrens, I.T., April 15, 1879”
“Leaving Cal White’s hospitable mansion at daybreak, Thomas Clay the mail carrier and myself, struck out boldly for the Payette Lake, 8 miles east. Glancing in at the once famous Goose Creek House [Packer John’s Cabin], we found the only occupants, a gray owl, moralizing upon its departed grandeur. A couple of miles up the mountain the snow grew deep and thenceforward snow shoes were our only practical means of locomotion.”
[I believe at this time, the trail from Meadows Valley to Long Valley went over the hill south of Goose Creek Canyon.]
“The trail just skirts the northern end of Long valley, which stretches away southward farther than the eye can reach. It is a splendid looking prairie country from five to eight miles wide, but it is not yet proven that it is not too elevated for the usual cereals to come to maturity. A short distance back in the hills on the east side of it are the mining camps of Lake City, Copelands, &c., and a dozen or more men make good wages there during the summer.”
“The lake was still frozen, but the last rains have raised its surface so as to leave a rim of open water. Once upon the ice however, we had about 10 miles of fine traveling up the lake. In every direction there is now a bleak wilderness of snowy mountains, utterly barren and desolate, but in summer there is a pleasant and romantic scenery here as any in Idaho. The Northern half of this lake is rockbound and very deep, the lower portion has many shelving beaches. The shores are everywhere of granite, but in the center are two islands of basalt, suggesting the idea of a crater of a long extinct volcano.”
“This is the home of the redfish. The Salmon swarm up the Payette as far as the lake in vast numbers, but do not pass it—the redfish are scarcely seen below it. They spawn in August and September along the sandy shores of the lake and up all the creeks of any size that flow into it, and have been and may yet be taken in large quantities. Other varieties of fish are also very plenty. Those who have occasion to pass over the lake when the first sheet of ice forms in winter tell marvelous tales of the abundance of piscatorial life visited in the clear and silent depths—one gazes through a window, as it were into another world. At the head of the lake the mail carrier has a comfortable cabin where he stops over night. Then another days tramp of 16 miles up stream brings us to a similar lodging place at the Little Lake. Here the snow has increased to 7 feet in depth. All this region is now completely silent, but in summer it is great game country.”
“The bears and eagles live upon the redfish and the deer and elk (some of these are huge fellows) upon the very luxuriant grass and in early winter some very fine pine-martins and fishers may be taken, but now they are all gone away—there is not even a rabbit track to be seen. In the mountains between this valley and the South Fork of Salmon river the white mountain sheep are said to dwell, but I have yet to meet the individual who has killed or even seen one. Shreds of what is claimed to be their white wool, however, are often found.”
“From the Little Lake, the route winds over the mountains, crossing the divide that separates the waters flowing into the Payette from those flowing into Salmon river, about 17 miles to the Warm Springs on the principal road from Warrens to Florence. Here mine host Burgdorf never fails to furnish the weary traveler a square meal and we find ourselves in the presence of a man who can mix a cocktail to some purpose.”
“Another day’s snowshoeing of 20 miles brought us to Warrens, where you must either stay or turn about and go back again. There is no place to go, unless you strike out into unknown mountains.”
“The snow in the Warrens basin is nearly gone, and placer mining has commenced. There has been nothing doing in quartz the past winter. An old pioneer of this camp, Chas. McKay, was found dead lately near his cabin on the South Fork of Salmon, 14 miles east of here, under circumstances which indicated that his clothes caught fire while in bed, and that in making for the river near by or returning from it he fell and died. N.B.W.”
That’s the end of this series of reports. I hope you have enjoyed it.
I would like to thank John and Colleen Spaulding for a donation to the Council Valley Museum in memory of Johnnie Harrington. Thank you very much.
8-21-03 Missing Contained notes from 1966 Leaders.
8-28-03
Once again I am indebted to Gayle Dixon who found some interesting information during her research. The following came from a publication called “Oregon, Washington and Idaho Gazetteer and Business Directory, 1886-7, Volume 2.” “Published by R.L. Polk & co., 15 First national Bank Building, Portland, Oregon.” It is a listing of various communities, their amenities and the people who operated businesses there.
“Council Valley. A settlement on the Weiser river, in Washington county, 55 miles northeast of Weiser, the county seat and nearest shipping point. Boise City is the nearest banking point. It contains a brewery, sulky rake, plow, wheat fan and wasing machine factories and several stores. Ships grain and produce. Poulation, 300. Mail, weekly.
Anderson, Rufus, blacksmith.
Anderson, Wm., hunter
Copeland, James, lives stock
Draper, John, washing machine mnfr.
Groseclose, Oscar, blacksmith.
Harp, Wm., wagon maker
Kesler, Alexander, shoemaker
Kesler, Lewis, furs
Loveland, Wm., plow mnfr.
Lovelace & Son, fruits
Minckler, George, brewer
Minckler, Martin, mnfr. Sulky rakes
Moser, Anderson, wheat fan mnfr.
Moser, George jr., carpenter
Thompson, John, carpenter
White Robert, general store.
Indian Valley
A settlement on the Little Weiser river, in Washington county, 45 miles northeast of Weiser, the county seat and nearest shipping point. Boise City is the nearest banking point. Settle in 1870. Ships live stock. Stages tri-weekly to Weiser; fare, $3.[About $60 in today’s money] Population, 200. Mail, tri-weekly. Bernard Snow, postmaster.
Adams, Andrew, general store
Cahill, James, blacksmith
Marksburry, Wm., general store
Ross, J.W., blacksmith
Rynearson, W.S., blacksmith
Snow, Bernard, live stock
Wilkerson & Bier, saw mill
Woods, E., constable
York, J.M., carpenter
John Day’s Creek
A discontinued post office on the creek of the same name, in Idaho county, 35 miles south of Mt. Idaho, the county seat, and 75 southeast of Lewiston, the nearest shipping and banking point. Fruit is shipped.
Photo Captions:
96049—The Alex and Martha Kesler homestead just north of Council, near the Kesler Cemetery. Probably Martha on left, then Alex Kesler. The other men are unidentified.
95323—Lewis Kesler—listed in the 1886-7 Gazetteer as a fur dealer. Like most of his contemporaries, he probably survived by means of several occupations.
9-4-03
This is the second part of information from a business directory from 1886-7, plus more info from a similar directory from five years later: 1891-92.
Meadows
Also known as Little Salmon Valley, is a village on Goose creek in Washington county, 90 miles northeast of Weiser, the county seat and nearest shipping point. Boise City is the nearest banking point. It contains water power saw and grist mills, and ships live stock and furs. Stages weekly; to Indian Valley, Population 100. Mail, semi-weekly. C.R. [Calvin] White, postmaster.
Campbell Bros., live stock
Clay, Thomas, live stock
Cooper, Thomas, live stock
Curtis Bros., live stock
Folsom, A.C., teacher
Foulkes, Wm., live stock
Irwin Bros., lives stock
Jennings, W.C. & Co., saw and flour mill
Knight, Frank M., barber
Kyle Henry, pack train
Levender, J.O., Live stock
Madison, C., live stock
White & Jennnings, live stock
Whitten, E.R., live stock
Middle Valley
A post office on the Weiser river, in Washington county, 25 miles northeast of Weiser, the county seat, and nearest shipping point. Boise City is the nearest banking point. It contains 2 churches, a saw mill and a district school. Ships grain and live stock. Stages tri-weekly to Wesier; fare, $1.50. [About $30 in today’s money.] Population, 150. Mail, tri-weekly. Lanie Canary, postmaster.
Canary, G.W., constable
Canary, J.W., assessor
Day, J.H., live stock
From R. L. Polk & Co.’s Idaho Gazetteer & Business Directory, 1891-92:
“Council valley. A post office on the Weiser River, a power stream, in Washington county. 55 miles northeast of Weiser, the county seat, banking and shipping point, to which there is a mail stage tri-weekly. Settled in 1876. It contains a saw mill. Ships grain and produce. A Union church is sustained. Population 40.
Batten, Mrs. Emma, dressmaker.
Biers, F.W. & Co., saw mill
Hall, G.W., blacksmith
Mathias, F.T., blacksmith
Morrison, Rev. A
Moser, G.M., stock raiser
Peters, John O., gen. Store
Townley, J.T., justice of peace
Whiteley, C., carp.
Wilkerson, M.L., restaurant
Crane:
A settlement on Crane creek, in Washington county, 35 miles northeast of Weiser, the county seat, shipping and banking point. A Methodist church is located here. There is no store nearer than Indian valley, 12 miles north. A blacksmith or storekeeper would do well here. Farm produce is raised. Stage to Indian Valley and Payette. Mail, weekly. M.J. Wheelhouse, postmaster.
---------------
Captions for photos:
84033 – This is the first known photo taken in what is now the town of Council. Milt Wilkerson (listed in the 1891-92 directory as M.L. Wilkerson), along with John Hancock, built this hotel/restaurant in 1891, so it was brand new when the directory was published. It was the first business establishment built in Council
72015 -- Reverend Abial Morrison
72020—Charles Whiteley and family. Came to Council in 1887.
72002?—Frank and Clista Mathias. Frank (listed as F.T. Mathias). In 1884 or ’85 Mathias started a blacksmith shop at his home, near what today is 303 North Galena Street.
9-11-03
Heroic stories of men in history are many, but those of women are not as common. Someone once said that most of history is “his story.” It certainly isn’t because women have lacked any of the virtues of men. The case of Marie Dorian is proof beyond dispute.
Not long after Lewis and Clark’s journey across the unexplored West, trappers made their way out into the unknown, to explore and seek their fortunes. One thing that amazes me is how numerous beaver were in the West back then. When Peter Skene Ogden led a group of trappers up the Weiser River in 1827, competing trappers had already eliminated most of the beaver; Ogden reported that his men “only” caught 17 on the first day, 13 on the second, and nine on the third.
The story of Marie Dorian starts earlier than that of Ogden; she traveled with the Wilson Price Hunt expedition of 1811. This ill-fated party set out in the dead of winter to find a water route to the west coast for John Jacob Astor. Basically, they followed the Snake River across southern Idaho. While in southern Idaho, the party got so low on food that, in desperation, they split up into five groups. Each group eventually made it to Fort Astoria on the Oregon coast, but not without extreme hardships.
It would have been hard enough to have been a part of this expedition, but imagine being responsible for a two-year-old and a four-year-old. Marie Dorian’s story has parallels to that of Sacajawea. She was the Iowa Indian wife of Pierre Dorian, a half-French, half Indian that Hunt hired as an interpreter. Her two sons, Baptiste (also the name of Sacajawea’s son) and Paul came along with their parents. To top off the astounding situation, Marie was about seven months pregnant when the expedition set out! At some point along the way, she gave birth, but the baby did not survive.
Two years later, in 1813, John Reed (also spelled “Reid”), a member of the original Wilson Price Hunt expedition, brought a group back to Idaho to trap. Marie and Pierre Dorian, and their boys, now ages four and six, were members of the party.
The men erected a building at the mouth of the Boise River (called “Reed River” on early maps) as a base of operations. This was just west of present-day Parma, and would become the site of the first Fort Boise. The trapping in this virgin territory must have been incredible. Marie stayed at the main camp, cooking, dressing furs, fishing and doing a multitude of other chores.
Most of the following information comes from a book, “Idaho’s Place in the Sun” by Helen M. Newell, published in 1975. Just how accurate it is in the details, I don’t know. On the evening of January 10, 1814, Marie and her boys were alone at the main camp when an Indian came riding in. He announced that a very hostile group of Bannocks were in the immediate area. Marie put her two little boys on a horse and hurried out into the night to warn the trappers, who were camped at huts along the river. It was snowing, and in the dark Marie got lost. She had to stop and make camp as best she could, wrapping the boys in a buffalo robe. All the next day, the storm made it impossible to travel, but the next day, Marie got her bearings and continued on her mission. On the third day, she reached the first hut and found a trapper named LeClerc badly wounded by the Bannocks. Everyone else at the hut, including Marie’s husband, Pierre, was dead.
Marie somehow got the wounded man on the horse and started back to the main camp. LeClerc was so weak from blood loss that he soon fell off the horse. The little party made camp in the snow, and that night LeClerc died. Marie covered his body with brush and snow and continued on. They had gone several days without food, and must have been miserable. When they reached the main camp, Marie was wary of approaching the building. She had left a large supply of dried fish inside, and it must have been hard not to rush in and eat. But she waited until dark in case hostile Indians were watching the camp.
When Marie finally entered the building, she saw a scene of unspeakable horror. Every remaining man in the trapping party lay dead inside. The men had been scalped and horribly mutilated. By now, several wolves were hanging around the camp. Marie ran off three or four that were near where she had left her children. Unwilling to stay inside with the bloody carnage, she built a fire and once again tried to make her boys as comfortable as possible for a long night in the snow. At least they were able to eat, as the raiders had left the fish supply intact.
The emotional and physical toll on Marie Dorian was terrible. The next morning, after going back into the building and returning to the boys with as much fish as the horse could pack, she collapsed. For several days she was unable to do much of anything. Her little boys must have been miserable and scared.
To be continued next week.
9-18-03
This is the second part of the story of Marie Dorian and her two children, stranded in what is now Idaho in the winter of 1814.
Finally Marie revived enough to travel. But where should they go? Here they were in the middle of a vast wilderness, in deep snow, with hostile enemies lurking about who wanted to kill them. Marie decided the only alternative was to try to reach the Walla Walla Indians who had previously saved her and the starving Wilson Price Hunt party. This meant a journey of several hundred miles across snow-covered desert and the formidable Blue Mountains. After nine days of struggle across the barren landscape, the horse gave out and could go no farther.
Marie coaxed the horse to a spot where a cliff provided a measure of protection against the elements. There was also a spring nearby to provide water. Here she killed the faithful horse that had served them so well. She smoke-dried the horsemeat and used its hide, along with pine branches, grass, moss and packed snow to build a shelter. Here the little family endured a miserable existence for the next 53 cold days and nights.
When their food was nearly gone, Marie realized her only chance was to continue the journey. On her back, she carried the remaining meat, some bedding and four-year-old Paul. It’s hard to imagine a worse situation, but it did get worse. After several days of difficult travel with sun reflecting off of the snow, Marie became snow-blind. They had to stop for several days to let her vision return. Finally, 15 days after leaving the camp where she had killed the horse, they reached the west side of the Blue Mountains.
Far in the distance, Marie could see smoke rising from an Indian village. But the horse meat had run out, and she was weak from hunger. She could no longer carry Paul, and Baptiste was exhausted. She wrapped the boys in the bedding, piled brush up around them and staggered off toward the smoke. It must have been terrible to have to leave those little guys there, alone, not knowing if she would be able to return.
Only by going a short distance and then resting could Marie make any progress. But she kept at it, all day and all night. By noon the next day she reached the Indian village. But who were they? Would they be friendly or hostile? For once, fate was kind. The Indians turned out to be members of the same Walla Walla group that had saved her and the Hunt party two years before. After making her comfortable, they hurried back along her dragging footprints to find little Paul and Baptiste and bring them to safety.
A small dam across the Walla Walla River in northeastern Oregon, near Milton-Freewater was built and named after Marie Dorian in the 1880s. It was taken out in 1997. A statue of Marie and her two children stands at Parma, and a monument dedicated to Marie stands in Caldwell.
I pulled another good one in my column of two weeks ago. When it comes to photos, I seem to be cursed with a tendency to mistakenly send in the one of the Mosers instead of any other photo. The Moser photo is museum photo number 72002 and the Mathias photo is number 72022. I apologize.
Captions for photos:
72022—The photo of Frank and Clista Mathias that should have been with my column two weeks ago.
Dorian Monument—The Marie Dorian monument in Caldwell. The inscription reads, “In memory of the Dorian woman who, with the Hunt-Astoria party, passed this way in 1811. She and her two children survived untold suffering. Erected by the Sons and Daughters of Idaho Pioneers, 1932.”
Dorian Statue—The statue of Marie Dorian and her children at Parma.
9-25-03
I was recently given some old pictures for the museum. I stashed them away and forgot exactly who gave them to me, so I’m sorry that I can’t acknowledge the donor. Since these photos were not labeled very well, if at all, I guess there’s only one way to find out who these people are, and that is to show them to you and ask you to identify them if you can.
I’ve put all the information that came with the picture with each one.
Alice & Charlie –This one said, “Love, Alice & Charlie,” so this must be Alice & Charlie. Anybody have a last name for them?
Braun Studio Caldwell—This one had no name, but the studio that framed it was in Caldwell.
Class of ’49 Cage Studio Spokane – This young fella from the class of 1949 was photographed in Spokane, Washington.
Ernie 51—This guy must be Ernie from the class of 1951. Anybody recognize him?
Ralph 1948—Ralph, class of 1948.
Sailor—Anybody recognize this sailor?
Unknown—I don’t have a clue who these ladies are.
10-2-03
Since I write this column early in the week, there hasn’t been much time for people to identify last week’s photos. I did get one call from Maida Lawrence identifying the young man at the top of the first column as Roger Helfrecht. His parents, were Ralph & Elizabeth Helfrecht. Ralph worked at the Council sawmill, as did his father (Roger’s grandfather) Henry (whose wife was Orpha). Maida thinks the family moved away before Roger entered high school.
Back in 1995 I received some interesting material from Edwin Graham Doyle who used to live at Council. (I believe he goes by “Graham.”) As I often am, I was busily running several directions at once about that time, and I filed Mr. Doyle’s material away and failed to do much with it.
Graham and his brother, Robert Doyle moved to Council in 1931 with their mother, Ethel. Mrs. Doyle took over the telephone exchange, replacing the Garrett family, who were moved on to another office. The telephone office was in the back of the drug store building at the time. (On the corner of Galena & Illinois- -until recently, Bear Country Books) The Doyles lived upstairs in the north end of the building, and shared a single toilet with Dr. Thurston’s office, which was on the south end of the upper story.
Graham wrote of his boyhood in Council: “We became Boy Scouts with Rev. Horton of the old Congregational church as our scout master, went on my first snipe hunt on a campout this side of Riggins, discovered girls, drank my first glass of 3.2% beer, when Fred Weed (brother to the Mr. Weed [Carl] who operated the Council Merc.) opened a little beer bar (about where Wilson’s is now). This was right after F.D.R. got rid of Prohibition and age hadn’t become a factor yet. If you had a dime, you could have a beer.”
The main thing Graham sent me was a paper that he had written in 1936 about the history of the Council area. He was a student at Council High School at the time. What makes it uniquely valuable is that he had access to a couple of the early pioneers of the valley: Bill Winkler, Robert Young and Matilda Moser. This brings me to the subject of just how objective and reliable the accounts of some of the old-timers were. Even though their stories came from personal experiences or things they heard were going on in their time, they didn’t always get it right.
The first issue that comes up is that of the story that the Nez Perce Indians called this valley “Kosnima,” which is supposed to have meant “red fish.” Graham Doyle stated his history with this bit of information. Well, the Weiser River was a major salmon stream, and natives did gather here from all over to harvest them, but the word Kosnima or any word resembling it is no where to be found in the Nez Perce/English or Shoshoni/English dictionaries. I once asked a Nez Perce man who spoke the language about Kosnima, and he had never heard the word nor had any idea what it meant. This word does not resemble the Nez Perce words for “red” or “fish” in any way. It makes me curious about where this notion came from and whether it has any relationship to reality.
In “Nez Perce Place Names of Elmer Paul” as recorded by David Chance, 1986 published by the National Park Service, it is recorded that the Nez Perce name for the Weiser River was “nutsohokh’ nimeh,” which means “Chinook salmon creek.” Nimeh is a Nez Perce word for river or creek. The name for this particular area at the present site of Council, or maybe the valley in general, was “hasoontip’ neewas.” It means “lick of an eel” or perhaps to the eel’s hanging by its sucker. The closest name in the Shoshoni language that I’ve been able to find is “seewooki,” which meant wooded countryside, and was used in a more specific way to indicate the Weiser River area and the people who lived here. While I’m on a roll, Skukumchuck is a Nez Perce word meaning powerful (skukum) river/stream (chuck).
Doyle said of the big festivals that Indians used to hold in the Council Valley: “In later years, a party, including W.F. Winkler, told the Indians meeting them somewhere on the Salmon River, never to come back to Kosnima Valley again. For many years the Indians did not show up and the white settlers were at ease.” There is no way to verify this story, but I’ve heard similar stories of whites ordering Indians to do this or that. I think the reason the Indians didn’t come back to the Council Valley after about 1878 was that after the Bannock War that year, the local Shoshone and many of their neighbors were badly defeated, destitute and at the mercy of the white culture that ordered them onto reservations. It seems evident this story came form Bill Winkler, who was only 12 years old in 1878.
Doyle continues, “It is generally accepted that their [the Indians’] meeting place was under five large pine trees, about a mile or so north and a little west of Council on the old Bill Spahr place. One of these trees is still standing. What tales it could tell. Also, there was a race track where the riders of different tribes would compete. In talking with Robert Young, I learned that, when a boy, he used to race with the Indians. He stated that the track ran from a ditch, by Hallet’s barn, northward for quite some distance; just how far he had forgotten.” The reference to Hallet’s barn is to the 1930s when Hallets owned that property. I’m not sure if the ditch was there at the time of the horse racing or not. If there is anyone around who remembers, would be good to record the location of Hallet’s old barn.
This horse racing story reminds me, the name “Council” Valley came from white men thinking the Indians were holding big council meetings here. I think they were here to trade, have a good time, and harvest salmon. Native American culture in general (at least in the West) seems to have been pretty keen on gambling of all kinds, and, in some locations, still is.
Hopefully next week I'll have a few more photos identified.
10-9-03
Well, I guess the pictures from a couple weeks ago must have been of people from outside this area. Aside from the one phone call, I didn’t hear from anyone. Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I got a nice letter from, Adelia Rouston Roberts, the granddaughter of John Routson, about my series on John Gideon and the stage robbery near Burgdorf. I had said that John Routson had died a few months after Gideon’s trial. I was mistaken; Routson died in Weiser in 1964 at the age of 91. Mrs. Roberts wrote: “He spent much of his life in the back country at Big Creek, Idaho, as a miner and mail carrier. He, along with his wife, Lettie McRoberts Routson of Midvale, raised 4 sons and 2 daughters there. The last of his children, a daughter, died in 2000 at the age of 96.”
Some time ago, I mentioned using GPS units to document local historic and geographic locations. My enthusiasm has been somewhat dampened by learning that GPS units are not as precise as I had thought. They can be off by as much as 100 yards. I don’t understand the technical details of why this is so, but it reduces their usefulness in locating exact locations of graves and other small features. Even so, it will help to have many locations documented. I would be interested in recording the location of the coal mine at Indian Valley for instance.
I’ve received a few letters over the past year or two that I didn’t manage to fit into a column before, but I thought I would feature two of them this week. Several years ago, Lloyd Hamill sent me a story from his childhood:
“In 1932 I was nine years old. At the time we were living at my grandparents’ ranch (G.T. Hamill), two miles south of Fruitvale. For many months I had been pestering my dad to buy me a .22 rifle. I insisted I had out-grown my BB gun - - a gun I had earned by killing ground squirrels for my grandfather. For each tail I brought in, I got a penny. One hundred tails later I had my BB gun.”
“One hot August afternoon, dad hitched a team to a buggy to get the mail at Fruitvale. For a nine-year-old it was a fun ride – west down the dirt lane to U.S. 95 and then north to the combination store/gas station/post office. Dad bought a few items and got the mail that included a box from Sears & Robuck. Back in the buggy dad said, ‘Here, son, this is for you.’ I tore the box open and saw the prettiest thing I could imagine: a shiny Steven Crack Shot .22 rifle.”
“In the years to follow I got a lot of hunting out of that wonderful single-shot rifle. My specialty was blue grouse from up around the Placer Basin Mine. I got so good at bagging grouse that dad joked that the bird might be put on the endangered species list in Adams County if I didn’t let up.”
Clarcie Ivie Abbott wrote about her experiences at the Fruitvale school: “We moved there from Pocatello the year I turned 9 years old –1926. This was a distinct change from a large school, and my older sister, Nellie, resented my being in the same room with her. Mrs. Marble, that wonderful little lady, was our teacher, and she kept us busy and interested, no matter which grade we were in. One of her ways of keeping the room orderly was to reward the row of students that were the quietest with some small gift. I will always remember the time my row won the prize! It must have been rare, for I only remember once. The prize, at least for the girls, was a small hand-held mirror about 5 inches long, including the handle, made from what we now would call plastic. I believe it was called celluloid then. I had that mirror for years.”
“Another thing I remember about the school was the game of Crack the Whip. In the winter the children would take hold of hands and run down the little slope. The one in the lead would stop suddenly, and it really cracked the whip on the child at the other end of the line, usually sending them tumbling. I don’t remember the girls playing, only watching and enjoying. But it had a sad ending for Willard Bethel. He was the boy on the end, and when it cracked, they were too close to the schoolhouse and his leg hit the foundation of the building. From the bruise on his leg he spent many days in the hospital with osteo___, (I can’t think of the name). He was on crutches, it seemed for years, and always had a bad leg the rest of the time that I knew him.”
Clarcie added, “Oh, yes, I had to start school in mid term in Pocatello, so was ½ year behind my friends (my birthday was October and they were overcrowded) so when we moved to Fruitvale, I was demoted ½ year, back a grade. But Gertrude Brandau (now McMahan, and still enjoying life) took me back up to the grade I should have been in by helping me take the 7th and 8th grades together. But this was in the two-room school house that my dad built on the hill [above the Fruitvale store].”
The picture with this week’s column is one that Fred Gallant gave me a copy of. It’s the only one I know of that shows the old store at Goodrich. The railroad tracks can be seen, going across the middle of the photo, below the buildings. The big building on the left is the Goodrich store. There is no date on this photo, but Abraham and Anna Schmid (Fred’s great grandparents) ran the store from about 1918 until 1941. The building on the right is, I think, the Schmid’s house. It sat about where Crossley’s new house is now.
10-16-03
I ran across a couple interesting stories while writing some family history.
My grandmother, Mae Baker Merk, was the oldest of the Baker kids. The next in age was her brother, Leslie, who everybody called “Spike.” Spike worked at the Tamarack sawmill about 1919, and brought home a friend, Alf Kite. Alf and Mae developed a relationship and were soon married. Mae’s marriage to Alf Kite ended tragically. His appendix burst and he died in 1921, when he was only 29 years old, leaving Mae with two small children to raise.
A couple years after he brought Alf home, Spike brought another friend from work: Bill Jones. Bill developed a close relationship with Spike and Mae’s sister, Ethel Baker. The Adams County Leader reported an accident involving Spike and Bill Jones in its July 14, 1922 issue:
“Wednesday night a car driven by Leslie Baker, and Will Jones, living near Fruitvale, rolled off the bank just south of Starkey, and is said to have been considerable of a wreck. The car was an Oakland and is said to have turned over two or three times, in spite of which fact both men were still in the car. Baker was badly bruised and Jones was also considerably hurt, but neither seriously, it is thought. Baker’s head was badly cut, and Jones was bruised up some, mostly internally, it is said. Judge Michaelson, who passed the place shortly after the accident, thinks the car is less injured than one would expect.”
Considering how steep and high the drop into the river is all along there, it’s a miracle they weren’t killed! Speaking of which, less than two months later, Spike was involved in another close call:
Adams County Leader, Fri. Sept 8, 1922
“A sack containing 24 sticks of dynamite, together with caps and other material, is reported to have exploded at Smith’s road camp, about 12 miles above McCall, last Friday, injuring Leslie ‘Spike’ Baker, and less seriously hurting three other men. It seems one of the men had 24 sticks of dynamite with caps, etc., in a sack, when someone called to him. He set the sack down and started to talk to some men in a blacksmith shop, when a spark from the forge started the sack to burning and one of the men grabbed it and undertook to dump it into the river. But the sack had burned somewhat and the bottom fell out, spilling the explosives on the ground. The resulting explosion is said to have changed the view of the landscape near the blacksmith shop quite materially.
Baker’s leg is reported to be quite severely injured and dirt and refuse were driven into the faces and person of the others. None, however, were seriously injured.”
Five and a half months later, Spike and Bill Jones were teamed up again in another “adventure.” Adams County Leader, Mar 23, 1923:
“W.R. McClure, prosecuting attorney and Vollie V.Zink, sheriff of Adams County, attended the dance given at the Ridge schoolhouse Friday evening, in an official capacity. The result of their visit was that two young men, Leslie Baker and W.B. Jones, are in the county jail serving sentences for having liquor in their possession and for transporting liquor contrary to the provisions of the prohibition laws.
When brought before the court for hearing, both men pleaded guilty and were fined, but refused to pay over any money and are laying out the fines in the county jail.
For some time past complaint has been made that at some of the dances being given somebody seemed to be disposing of intoxicating liquors in violation of the law, and the officials evidently concluded it was time to call a halt. Accordingly, the sheriff and prosecuting attorney went to this dance and proceeded to search everyone who came in, it is alleged, until a goodly supply of liquor and other evidence was secured, it is stated and two persons were found with the goods in their possession.
Both the young men came to the dance on horseback, it is alleged and the officers not only brought the men in, but brought the horses also.
Monday the two prisoners were taken to Payette before Judge Varian in the district court, and there adjudged to pay a fine of $100 apiece and stay in jail 70 days. The horse and saddles have one of theme been released and another man claims the other. If the claim of the other man is not made good, it is likely the animal, with saddle etc., will be sold to help pay the fine.”
Six months later, Ethel Baker married Bill Jones. The couple had five children together. In 1938, Ethel contracted meningitis and died. Bill tried to raise the five children for a while. They were: Ellen Nadine 13, Norman 11, Carol Jeane 10, Ronald Le Roy and Ladonna Lois (twins) 4 years old. Bill soon gave up trying to raise the kids, and they were adopted out to different families. Carol and Nadine were adopted by Mr. & Mrs. Fitz Mink, who had lived near the family at Glendale, but now lived at Weiser. Norman was adopted by the Catanzaro family at Midvale. I don’t know who adopted the other kids or whether the twins even went to the same family. Ladonna (the girl twin) died when she was still a small child—of meningitis, the same illness that killed her mother. The kids grew up, and eventually got to know each other again as adults.
Frank Thompson called me to identify the sailor in the unidentified pictures I featured a few weeks ago. He was George Dukavitch (I don’t know if that’s the right spelling). His family lived on the west side of the highway, just south of the football field. By lying about his age, George, with the cooperation of his father, joined the Navy at the age of 16 in the early 1940s.
10-23-03
I’m a little late in writing an article about Columbus, but I ran across some information after Columbus Day had already passed. Most people have heard or read something about protests against the celebration of Columbus Day, especially by Native Americans. These protests almost always point out that, by discovering this continent, Columbus started the genocide of the native people of America, but they say very little about what Columbus did himself.
We all learned about Columbus early in our educations. The story that every school child is taught is that he was a man of great character and bravery, who set out against the odds, persevered and discovered this magnificent continent. Let’s take a little closer look.
The motivation that Columbus had for establishing a direct trade route to the Asia (without detouring past the southern tip of Africa) was not some lofty vision of proving that the earth was not flat. This was common knowledge (at least in theory) among educated people at the time. (However, Bible scholars before Columbus’ voyages asserted that there could be no other lands than what were described in the Bible.) Columbus’s driving motive was a personal obsession. For years, he had been infatuated with the idea of financing another religious Crusade to conquer Jerusalem and deliver it from the infidels. He figured if he could get lots of gold, he could do this.
Columbus’s journey from the Canary Islands to the Caribbean islands took about 33 days. That doesn’t seem epic, considering whalers stayed at sea for a year or two at a time. Of course whalers were not out of site of land all that time. One of the myths surrounding Columbus is that the initial voyage was perilous, fraught with bad weather and lack of food, and that several sailors died on the way. The facts are that the weather was almost perfect and no one died on the way. There was a major storm on the return trip that almost sank the two remaining ships. (One ran aground in the Caribbean and was salvaged to build a fort.)
On October 12, a sailor named Rodrigo spotted land. The Spanish royalty had offered a yearly pension of 10,000 maravedis for the rest of his life for the first man to spot land, so Rodrigo was probably pretty excited. That would be about $540 in today’s money, and more than a year’s wages for a typical sailor of that day. When Columbus was told of the sighting, he said something like, “Oh…uh…well, actually, I saw land last night, so I guess I get the reward!” And he did.
In conjunction with Columbus’s goal of getting as much gold as possible, one of his stated goals was to bring Christianity to the heathens he encountered. One has to wonder about his methods. The first thing he did when he encountered the friendly Arawak “Indians” was to take them prisoner at sword point. He took six the first day.
Of the natives, Columbus said they “are so naïve and so free with their possessions that no one who has not witnessed them would believe it. When you ask for something they have, they never say no. To the contrary, they offer to share with anyone….” In the same breath, he noted that they would make terrific slaves.
On his second day in the New World, Columbus got serious about pushing the gold issue. He noticed that some of the natives wore small gold ornaments in their ears or noses. He continued to take prisoners and interrogate them about where they got their gold. The rest of the time his crew spent in the area followed a standard practice: they land, planted a cross, took prisoners and looked for gold. The most they found was a few specks in a river or two.
While Columbus was here on his first voyage, he only managed to murder two Indians. Some natives brought lengths of rope to trade, and when Columbus saw them coming, he claimed he thought they meant to tie him up. So they killed the natives.
Columbus sailed back to Spain without much gold, but he did take a number of natives as slaves. (I guess that was how he planned to make good Christians out of them.) Most of them died on the ship. When he got back to Spain, Columbus told wild stories of the many spices and “great mines of gold and other metals” he had found. Columbus offered, on his next journey, to bring back as many slaves as the nobles wanted. He said, “Thus the eternal God, our Lord, gives victory to those who follow His way over apparent impossibilities.”
The nobles swallowed Columbus’s pack of lies, and sent him back with seventeen ships and 1200 men. Meanwhile back on the island of Hispaniola, the 39 men Columbus had left to stockpile gold, went from village to village, bullying the natives and taking women and children to use as sex / labor slaves. When Columbus and his gang arrived, they found that the Indians had killed all 39 men. Gee, I wonder why. This incident has been used to illustrate how savage and impossible to civilize the natives were. It was Columbus himself who started the sex slave practice by giving his men native women to use as they wished.
To really understand what was about to occur, one has to look at the situation in Europe at the time. Like much of the continent, two percent of the people in Spain owned 95% of the wealth. There were two classes of people: the very rich and powerful, and the very poor and powerless. War was almost constant. People killed each other in the streets over trivial matters. Life was cheap…and short. Extreme cruelty was the order of the day, and it would be carried to the New World with a vengeance.
To be continued next week.
10-30-03 (The Record editor edited out some of the more graphic and questionable parts of this original text.)
Although it is not relevant to his actions or responsibility, I should note that Columbus is generally thought to have been Italian, not Spanish. His voyages were financed by the Spanish crown, and his crews were, at least primarily, Spaniards.
On Columbus’s second voyage to America, he had a fleet of seventeen ships and about 1200 men. Many of those were well-armed soldiers, including a troop of cavalry lancers. There were six priests to convert the heathens. As Wade Frazier remarked, “It was no friendly expedition, going to dance and sing with the natives, asking politely if they had gold.”
One of the most macabre weapons brought along were “man eating dogs.” I don’t use this term lightly. Frazier said:
“The dogs the Spaniards brought were large, strong breeds such as mastiffs and greyhounds, trained to kill. Dogs had been used in European warfare clear back to the ancient Romans, Greeks and Persians, which is where the phrase ‘let loose the dogs of war’ came from. In Europe, the warfare was against armored opponents, and the dogs often wore armor themselves. In the Caribbean, where the people were naked, and in the New World in general where warfare was practically unknown in the European sense (large battles of extermination), the dogs were murderously effective. The invaders would let loose the dogs and they would easily kill and maim the terrorized people.”
Upon arrival, Columbus used terror to get his gold. He set up a tribute system, demanding that any native over 14 years old was to give him a hawk’s bell (about the size of a thimble) of gold every three months. This doesn’t sound like much gold, but considering there was little gold in the Caribbean, the task was next to impossible. The natives who delivered enough gold were given copper tokens to wear around their necks. Any Indians that the Spaniards found without the tokens had their hands chopped off, leaving them to die a slow, agonizing death by blood loss. It is estimated that Columbus’s men murdered about ten thousand natives in this way.
To keep from being murdered, the natives had to stop growing food and taking care of themselves to search for gold. Those who were not murdered began to starve or die from disease- - that is if the Spaniards didn’t kill them for sport. (More on that later.) Any who tried to escape into the interior of the islands were hunted down with dogs and either hanged or burned to death. Mothers began killing their children before they took their own lives. The Taino Indians committed mass suicides by jumping from cliffs or poisoning themselves.
The main source of information about the crimes committed over the next few years was a young priest named Bartolome de las Casas who was an eye witness to much of it, and who later transcribed Columbus’s journals and wrote a three-volume “Hístory of the Indies.” He said the Spaniards “thought nothing of knifing Indians by tens and twenties and of cutting slices off them to test the sharpness of their blades.” Las Casas told how “two of these so-called Christians met two Indian boys one day, each carrying a parrot; they took the parrots and for fun beheaded the boys. The Spanish cut off the legs of children who ran from them. They poured people full of boiling soap. They made bets as to who, with one sweep of his sword, could cut a person in half.”
It’s hard to imagine anything more horrible than these atrocities committed by Columbus and his men, but it gets even worse. I mentioned the dogs of war. According to Frazier, “Infants’ bodies are soft, and were quite a tasty treat for the dogs, so the Spaniards regularly fed infants to their dogs, alive, and at times while the horrorstricken parents watched.” This could be exaggeration, but infants being fed to dogs was reported by some of the priests. In the years following Columbus’s governorship (and very possibly during his tenure) there were butcher shops throughout the Caribbean where Indian bodies were sold as dog food. A common sport was to hunt down natives with the dogs, letting them kill and eat their hapless victims. Another sport was to pit a native, armed with a stick, against a dog in a gladiator-like show. Frasier said, “The dogs killed their human prey by disemboweling them, although jugular attack was also used, sometimes leading to decapitation. The natives came to fear being thrown to the dogs more than any other fate. Ironically, the other animals the Spaniards took along for food were the dogs themselves. When the Spaniards found themselves starving in uninhabited territory while looking for natives to plunder, the dogs became the food of last resort. No historian has yet made this point (that I am aware of), but as the Spaniards made many unsubstantiated accusations of native cannibalism, they ate human-fed dogs.”
There are many more stories like these. Over the next hundred years, the native population of the Caribbean was all but exterminated. Some guess the original population at 8 million, and it was reduced to a few thousand by 1600. Even if these numbers are wildly exaggerated, it is very comparable to Hitler’s holocaust.
Although many Indians died form disease, there is one more quote from las Casas that I want to include to illustrate how the genocide was accomplished. The Indians were put to work in mines and fields, and worked so hard and under conditions that killed them by the thousands. Most babies died because their mothers’ bodies had no energy to produce milk. Las Casas said, “While I was in Cuba, 7000 children died in three months. Some mothers even drowned their babies from sheer desperation….In this way, husbands died in the mines, wives died at work, and children died from lack of milk,…and in a short time this land which was so great, so powerful and fertile…was depopulated….My eyes have seen these acts so foreign to human nature, and now I tremble as I write….”
Columbus cannot be blamed for all of this, nor can he be held responsible for the genocide that ensued in America for the next several centuries. He was a product of the time and violent culture in which he lived. But that is no excuse for the incredible horror of what he did. At least some of his crimes have already been detailed He is known to have been directly responsible for the torture murders of about 10,000 innocent human beings. Many of his atrocities are undoubtedly unrecorded. At his own request, he was appointed "viceroy and governor of [the Caribbean islands] and the mainland" of America, a position he held from 1493 until 1500, and as such was responsible for the treatment of native peoples under his governorship.
It is no mystery why people protest the celebration of Columbus Day. He has been compared to Hitler. There is one clear difference, however, between Columbus and Hitler: there is no national holiday celebrating Hitler.
For those who are interested in reading more about Columbus and the Spanish in the Caribbean, I recommend Frasier’s well-researched and documented article at http://home1.gte.net/res0k62m/columbus.htm and other articles at http://www.religioustolerance.org/genocide5.htm and http://web.mit.edu/thistle/www/v9/9.11/1columbus.html
11-6-03 (Not published in the paper)
In writing about Columbus for the past two weeks, I have probably made a few people uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable is often the first step toward really thinking, so I hope I caused a few people to think about what we assume we know about history.
I heard that some took the articles to be anti-Christian. The point of any reference to Christianity was to show what a hypocrite Columbus was. He claimed that one of his goals was to convert the peoples that he came across. His actions, however, were an insult to any concept of the teachings of Christ. The primary action he took toward native peoples was to torture, rape, enslave and kill them.
Some might argue that only telling the negative side of Columbus is one-sided, and they would be right. The history that we all “know” about Columbus has been one-sided--putting Columbus in a glowing, heroic light-- for 500 years, and a little balance is overdue on the other side.
“History” is always written by the winners—those in power. Imagine the story of the Revolutionary War that established this nation if England had won. It would be a story of how insolent, greedy, ignorant American rabble who were rioting and destroying the property of decent, civilized people.
Traditionally, histories of the United States, or of any other country for that matter, have tended to paint pictures of their leaders as heroes. It stirs patriotic heartstrings and feeds national pride. Is that always a good thing?
Of the hero stories we were fed as children in school, award-winning historian, Howard Zinn, said, “This learned sense of moral proportion, coming from the apparent objectivity of the scholar, is accepted more easily than when it comes from politicians at press conferences. It is therefore more deadly.” Emphasizing the heroism of people like Columbus while ignoring their crimes implies that we justify what they did. The horror gets swept under the rug and written off as mere collateral damage—the price paid for “progress,” or fighting communism, or doing “the will of God.” The more atrocities we sweep under the rug of history, the easier it becomes to accept them and repeat them. The more any group of people blindly portrays itself as heroic and/or assisted by God, the easier it is to assume that it can do no wrong. No better example can be found than the current self-righteous murderers who slaughter in the name of Allah. It’s an age-old story, and it continues universally. Every nation and every religion has its heroes that are extolled as evidence of the group’s righteousness.
Patriotism and other forms of pride too often blind people. A four-year-old child has an unrealistic view of its mother. Mommy can do no wrong; she is perfect, and anyone who threatens that idea is the enemy. As the child grows up, it learns that Mommy makes mistakes just like everybody else. As the child becomes an adult, they understand that making mistakes isn’t what separates honorable people from the not-so-honorable ones; it’s acknowledging mistakes, and then working to right them and avoid repeating them. People can’t improve unless they recognize their mistakes. It works the same way for a nation. If we have a “four-year-old attitude” toward our country’s history and behavior, then it can do no wrong in our eyes, but this certainly isn’t healthy for us or for the people with whom we share this little planet.
History shows that another trap we fall into with a self-righteous attitude is that when bad things happen to us, we automatically blame someone else or blame the victim. The Caribbean Indians that Columbus encountered were “inhuman savages.” In the ‘60s it was “ignorant, ungrateful blacks” who rioted and staged marches and bus boycotts. They were just “troublemakers.” The women and children mowed down at Wounded Knee were just troublemakers. Now we have a real enemy—terrorists dedicated to destroying us--and some people say, “Terrorists hate us because we are free.” Has there been nothing in our national policies that could possibly have contributed to any of the situations just mentioned? As long as we have done no wrong, we don’t need to think about the root cause of any problem; all we need to do is lash out with lynchings, Gatling guns and bombs.
Of course this conflict, like so may in history, is muddled by the emotions of religion. To a great extent the terrorists want to defeat us because we are non-believers—at least some of us. On the other hand, the feelings behind this conflict are by no means one-sided. U.S. General William Boykin has repeatedly stated, about his defeat of Islamic warlords, “I knew my God was bigger than their God!”
The point of this entire article can be summed up in the well-known words of philosopher, George Santayana, who coined the phrase, “Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it."
11-13-03
I ran across a few items of local interest in an old Fisk family diary containing entries between 1937 and 1946. Most of the handwriting is that of my grandfather, Jim Fisk, in his small, neat script. One of the first entries was on December 25, 1937, and reads, “Xmas dinner at Marks’- - 6 families.” My grandparents and the Bill Marks family were good friends, having arrived in the Council area together in 1911. The reason there were six families there may have been because, at some point, the four Marks girls married four of Robert Harrington’s sons. There was only one Marks boy, Lester. During the summer of 1938, Lester worked for wages on the Fisk ranch, and his time is recorded in the diary.
There are a number of entries referring to dances at “Essy’s” or “Essy’s Club.” This dance hall was on the west side of the highway in the canyon, near Evergreen. It is no longer there. A few of the more interesting entries about dances: Dec.31, 1937—“First dance at Essey’s. Good one.” Jan. 9, 1938—“Dance at Essey’s peaceable but rowdy, noisy too much wine, but no one really drunk.” Jan 29, 1938—“Dance at Essy Club, plenty fun. Music OK.” Feb 13, 1938—“Costume dance at Essy’s. Prize won by Gladys Holbrook as Indian Maid.” Mar 19, 1938—“Benefit dance at Essey’s for Cox Family” Two days before this dance, there was a dance at the Mormon Church in Fruitvale. There is no mention of these dances at Essy’s after 1938. At the end of the diary, there is a note recording money spent, and in the list are a dance ticket for 75 cents, and another for a dance at Glendale for 50 cents.
The entry for March 20, 1938 simply reads, “Ethel Jones died.” You may remember my mentioning Ethel a few weeks ago. She was my grandma Baker/Merk’s sister who married Bill Jones. The entry for the next day said, “Hub helped to dig grave. We buried Ethel Jones.” A couple weeks later, on May 5, the entry reads, “L.L. Burtenshaw died.” Burtenshaw came to Council in 1901 and was quite literally one of the founders of the town. He wrote the bill that created Adams County, and was the county’s prosecuting attorney for a number of years.
June13, 1938—“Kenneth & Lester had altercation with sheep man.” There was never anything like a range war in this area between sheep men and cattlemen, but there was occasional conflict over use of public rangeland. Grandpa was raised in Texas cattle country and seemed to have a certain amount of animosity toward sheep. On one occasion, a sheepherder brought a herd onto a section of State land that the Fisk family leased, thinking it was open range or that at least he had a right to graze there. When grandpa and my dad confronted him at his camp, the herder reached for a rifle so dad pulled out a pistol in time to stop him. Fortunately they were able to calm down and talk after that, and the sheep man realized he was in the wrong place. There is another mention in the diary of a possible conflict with sheep on that state land in June of 1940. A band of sheep came across that section by way of a fence that had been laid over and weighted down with rocks.
April 22, 1939— “Xray shows lung trouble, John.” April 27, 1939 –“John put to bed with T.B.” In those days, farm hands or friends sometimes stayed with the Fisk family, often sleeping upstairs in the house that I now live in. Dad always said Uncle John probably caught tuberculosis from one of those guests. July15, 1939—“John to doc. (up and around) getting better. See doc. again in 1 month.” Penicillin and other antibiotics would come along in just a few years after this, but for now, this was the beginning of a long ordeal for Uncle John. He eventually had one lung removed.
Jan 14, 1940—“Mr. Burt’s funeral” This would have been Charles Burt.
June 18, 1940—“Fred Glenn ½ day with team” This entry is notable because the ranch had a tractor or two around this time. It was an interesting time of transition from horses to tractors, and both were used.
Nov. 21, 1940—“Wired house for lights” Dec. 5, 1940—“Electric Power & our first lights late today. Works fine. We really see to read now.”
Oct 1, 1940—“Dick went to Evergreen with Ike [Glenn] to see the 3 critters said to be killed by train.”
Dec.25, 1940—“Xmas day, no snow but rained all day. Cattle all on grass yet.”
Dec. 29, 1940—“Wards man brot radio. Lots of static—awful racket.”
It must have been a short winter. March 5, 1941—“Cattle out…90T [hay] left- - early grass- - 169 calves & all. Frank Youngblood counted cattle. Nice day, cattle out doing fine.”
Nov. 16, 1941—“Went to see Grapes of Wrath. Great picture, true to life.”
On the 7th of December of 1941, grandpa Fisk turned 66 years old, but there was no mention of his birthday; instead, “Japan and U.S.A. started war today. Japs attacked Hawaiian Islands. Pearl Harbor.” The next entry shows a naïve hopefulness: Dec. 8, 1941—“War still going on. May last weeks or more. Battleships Oklahoma, West Virginia reported sunk.” Dec. 9, 1941—“Cars would not run. Very cold. U.S. fleet suffering heavy losses.” Dec.10, 1941—“U.S. fleet still getting pounding.”
Dec. 5, 1942—Roosevelt reelected
Jan 8, 1946—Electric Welder arrived on ranch
The late 1930s and into the 1940s was a period when many of the old pioneers of the area died. In 1940, my grandfather turned 65 and was contemplating his own mortality (although he would live another 15 years). At the end of the diary, he wrote a “List of Oldsters I know.” The list: Ed Holbrook, Freehafer, C. Martin, Bill Ham, Lucy McMahan, Mr. J.L. Johnson, Mr. Hancock, Jim Winkler, Chas. Lapin, Guy Marble, Wallace Ivy, Sam Warner, Frank Bocamper, Frenchie, Mrs. Harrington.
11-20-03
Part of Central Idaho’s history involves a unique period during the Great Depression when large numbers of young men were employed by state and federal agencies. It was estimated that, between 1933 and 1941, there were a quarter of a million young men between the ages of 15 and 24 who could not find work. Under President Roosevelt’s “New Deal” agenda, a program was designed to address this problem as well as make improvements on public land. There were already work camps in a few states, such as California and Washington, that co-operated with the Forest Service to provide employment. Germany, and a few other European countries, had established similar camps, with nature conservation as one of their goals.
These camps probably sparked the imagination of the Roosevelt administration.
On March 31, 1933, Congress passed the “Emergency Conservation Work Act. This act created and agency officially called “Emergency Conservation Work” (ECW), but more commonly called the Civil (or Civilian) Conservation Corps or “CCC.” Existing federal agencies became involved in accomplishing CCC goals. Various state and local agencies enrolled eligible young men under the oversight of the Department of Labor. The War Department was in charge of transporting the men to camps and for the administration of the camps. The Army supplied clothing, food, buildings or tents, and medical care. Branches of the Department of Agriculture (such as the Forest Service) or the Department of Interior were in charge of work projects.
Eventually there were CCC camps in every state. Each camp usually consisted of about 200 men. “Spike” or “fly” camps were smaller tent camps set up near work projects away from the main camp. Since the initial act only authorized the program for six months, tents were the standard housing unit at first. After legislation extended the CCC program, portable, prefabricated buildings were used at the main camps.
The main jobs that the CCC men did in this area were the construction of roads and Forest Service buildings, and fighting fires. But they also built telephone lines, trails, campgrounds, dams, and fire lookout towers. They also planted trees and poisoned ground squirrels and other pests. Besides receiving on-the-job training in the field, enrollees had the opportunity to attend educational classes during the evening hours.
A letter and numbering system was used to identify each camp, and many camps acquired a local name. An “F” before the camp number indicated a camp sponsored by the Forest Service, and “S” indicated a camp sponsored by a state agency. Numbers were usually assigned in the order camps were formed.
In 1933, several CCC camps were established on what is now the Payette National Forest. Camp F-56 was at Goose Lake, camp F-415 was at Lake Fork, and camp F-54 was at Paddy Flat. Camp F-51 was near McCall. Several of the buildings still in use at the McCall headquarters were built during that time. The log buildings on Lake Street in McCall were probably built by CCC men working for the state in 1941.
Camp F-68 at Council was a tent camp, established June 3, 1933. Most of the green and white buildings with the familiar X braced doors at the Council district headquarters were built by CCC crews in 1933 and ’34. The camp occupied the lots just south of these buildings.
The Council camp was occupied by 202 men from New York and New Jersey. Forest Ranger. A.E. Briggs said, “most of the youngsters had come from the slum districts in the big cities and many were repeaters in appearances in the juvenile courts. As we continued to work with the youths, we found many of them had come from broken homes, or no homes at all, and had been ‘kicked around’….Most of them gradually responded to encouragement, decent treatment, and patience, but there were a few incorrigibles who failed to respond.”
One story I heard was that when these city boys arrived out West, they had never seen so much open country. One of the boys expressed his wonderment by yelling, “Hey yous guys, look at all the doyt (dirt)!” Ranger Briggs said the boys had an irritating habit of “shouting at the top of their voices when talking to each other.” An Army officer told Briggs that they did this because they were accustomed to shouting above city noises, such as elevated trains.
Continued next week.
I would like to thank the following people for donations to the museum in memory of Lance Thomas: Bill & Pat Moffat, Bob & Kathie Moffat, Connie & Bob Rose, Ross & Cheryl Luekenga, Tony & Lezlie Luekenga, and Kevin & Jill Luekenga. Thank you all very much for your thoughtfulness.
Photo: 98408 - - Council CCC Camp F-68 in 1933.
11-27-03
There may have been a spike camp near the junction of Hornet Creek and Mill Creek where the CCC boys erected buildings for the Hornet Guard Station. One of those buildings was fairly recently moved to Council.
There was a CCC tent camp in Price Valley from 1933 to 1935. This group built several structures at the Price Valley Guard Station. They also built roads in the Price Valley area and a campground at Lost Valley Reservoir. The Price Valley Camp was later moved to Mann Creek. “Round Valley Camp” S-221 was also established “near Tamarack” in 1933.
“Camp Sooner Meadows” was located near New Meadows in 1933. Its camp number was “P-222,” the P indicating that most of its work was to be done on private land. “Camp Thorn Creek” F-56, established in 1934, blasted out three spillways at the falls on the Little Salmon River and built concrete headgates. Just what those headgates were for, I don’t know, but I’ve always wondered. If someone out there knows, fill me in.
In 1935 “West Pine Camp” F-169 was established near Cambridge. Initially, most or all of these men (128) were from Idaho. Their large work area encompassed about 200 square miles. By 1937 the camp was occupied by 156 men from Idaho and Montana. In January 1938, this camp was moved to Middle Fork near Council and officially called F-413. This camp was composed of many local men at first, and there was a great deal of trouble with them going home to do farm work. This company had 86 “unfavorable discharges,” which may have been a record for the CCC.
Possibly because of so much absenteeism, a new company was brought in, composed of men from Alabama and Louisiana. They arrived on July 9, 1940. Many of these young men had not wanted to come out West, and their moral was very low. Some of them said that a notice had been placed on a bulletin board in their previous camp near Reeves, Louisiana that promised that if they signed up, they would be sent to Hollywood or someplace close to it.
The boys bound for the Middle Fork camp were unloaded from the train at the Mesa siding. From there, they hiked over the hill to Middle Fork. According to the camp newspaper, after the men got off the train, “a rumor spread that a raid by the Indians was imminent, but we all too soon learned that Idaho is wild in looks only and that the once savage Indian has long since become mild."
The camp sat on the east side of the present highway on the north side of the river. Almost nothing remains today to indicate that the camp was there.
Almost every camp had a medical officer or camp physician. In the case of the Middle Fork Camp, this was Dr. Thurston. During one or two of his visits to the camp, Dr. Thurston filmed the camp and the men with his 8mm movie camera. The museum has put this footage on video, and it is available for $15.00. Check with Patty at the library on this since the museum is closed right now.
One of the main jobs for the men at the Middle Fork camp was building a road up the Middle Fork. As near as I can tell, they finished about seven miles of it. It was at the seven-mile point that a young man named Tom Fletcher slipped and fell on July 26, 1940. His head hit a rock, and he died soon afterwards. A bronze plaque is bolted to a rock face beside the road at this location in memory of Fletcher.
By the time the Middle Fork camp was established, the Civilian Conservation Corps was fading. The US economy was starting to improve and fewer men were joining the CCC. By the end of 1941 there were a total of 160,000 enrolled nationwide. The Middle Fork camp was closed June 30, 1941. After the U.S. entered WWII, a few CCC crews were used to fight forest fires, but Congress didn’t renew funding in 1942 and the program was discontinued.
I got a call from Fred Thompson of Bishop, California. He lived here years ago. He was surprised that no one had identified Alice and Charlie Fredrick whose picture I had in the paper a few weeks ago, along with several other unidentified photos. Alice and Charlie arrived at Fruitvale to live on the Lester McMahan place about 1939. They had three children: Clarence (oldest) Marguaritte (married Chuck Jones, a shoe repairman from Weiser) and Bob. Fred said in 1952 they were running the auto court that used to sit on the west side of the highway, north of where the highway turns north leaving downtown Council. This auto court was called the “Shady Rest” during the 1930s.
Alice & Charlie were still there in 1956.
I would like to thank Russell and Martha DeHaven of Rio Rancho, New Mexico for a donation to the museum in memory of Lance Thomas. Thank you very much.
12-4-03
I got a call from Frank Thompson, former Counilite who lives in Valley, Washington. The articles on the CCC camps jogged Frank’s memory of how the Assembly of God church building came to be. Soon after the Middle Fork CCC camp closed in the late 1940s, Hank Shaw, Bill Thompson and Bob Thompson (Frank’s father) moved what had been a barracks or kitchen building from that CCC camp to the present location of the church. They used a 1936 GMC ton-and-a-half truck and a Chevy truck of the same size and year. The building became a church, and Frank says J.T. Kendall was the first pastor. Of course now the old building has been extensively remodeled and added onto.
I ran across a couple documents that are especially meaningful during this hundredth anniversary of Council (even if the year is almost over). The first document is a “Petition for the Incorporation of the Village of Council.” It begins, “To the honorable board of County Commissioners of the County of Washington, State of Idaho - - We the undersigned residents, and taxable inhabitants, of the portion of Washington county, described within the following metes and bounds, would most earnestly but respectfully, petition your honorable body, to incorporate the same as a VILLAGE, to be known and designated as THE VILLAGE OF COUNCIL, in the County of Washington, State of Idaho, said metes and bounds thereof to be as follows:--“ What followed was a legal description of the area to become the town. The document ends with a restatement of what the name of the village will be, “in said County and State, and we your petitioners in duty bound will every pray.” It is dated January 12, 1903. It seems odd to think about the incorporation of Council taking place at the Washington county seat at Weiser, but of course this was part of Washington county at the time.
Signatures on the petition were evidently gathered by Lewis Shaw, as there is a document attached in which he swears that the signatures are “genuine, and that the persons whose names are annexed and signed to said petition are residents and inhabitants….” Shaw signed it on January 14th, and it bears the notary public stamp and signature of L.L. Burtenshaw.
Burtenshaw’s name is also the first on the list of signatures on the petition. Shaw’s is the second name. It isn’t a very long petition, having only 32 names on it. Some of the other signatures: J.L.B. Carroll, W.M. Perill, Joe Farielle, R.D. Hinkley (the town’s first constable), H.M. Jorgens, C.L. Weed, Sam Criss, Flora Criss, M.W. Addington, A.H. Carter, Isaac McMahan, R.P. White (first postmaster), S. Haworth & Co. [?], L.S. Cool (publisher of the Council newspaper), J.F. Lowe, Frank E. Brown, M.D.
The petition was filed by county clerk, Frank E. Smith at the Weiser courthouse on January 15. On the cover of the petition is a note: “Laid over for further consideration at April 1903 meeting of this board. Jan. 16, 1903” and signed, “N. Phillips, Chairman.” Immediately under this is written, “Reconsidered and granted, Jan. 20, 1903.”
The second document is what appears to be the actual legal document creating the village. It begins, “Upon reading and filing the petition of Lewis Shaw and others, praying for the incorporation of the VILLAGE OF COUNCIL, whereby it is made manifestly to appear, (First) That there is more than two hundred inhabitants, actual residents, of the territory described in the petition, (Second) That a majority of the taxable inhabitants of the proposed Village have actually signed the petition, THEREFORE, it is hereby ordered that the said VILLAGE OF COUNCIL, be and the same is hereby incorporated and the metes and bounds of such incorporation be and the same are as follows:--“ The document is dated January 20, and H.M. Jorgens, Lewis Shaw, J.H. Bolan, Isaac McMahan and John O. Peters are appointed as the board of trustees of the village “until the election and qualification of their successors, which said election shall take place on the first Tuesday in April 1903, and annually thereafter.”
12-11-03
In 1895 this area was a beehive of activity. People were moving here by the dozens, a railroad from Weiser to Council was in the planning stages and “progress” was the buzzword of the day. In February of that year, the editor of the Salubria Citizen newspaper said that he would like to see a telephone line between Weiser and Payette. He said there was already a line from Payette to Emmett and from Emmett to Caldwell that connected with the Bell Telephone Company's lines to all the important points in Ada County and other lower country counties.
Desire for better contact with the rest of the world has been around forever. A big part of human endeavor in history has been dedicated to finding better ways to communicate with other people over the barrier of distance. In 1876 – the year Custer met his demise – saw a huge leap forward in the field of communication. Well, at least in hindsight it was a huge leap; people at the time thought it was a joke. It was that year that 28-year-old Alexander Bell patented the first telephone just hours before fellow inventor, Elisha Gray patented his own version of such a device. A legal battle followed, with Gray challenging Bell’s patent. Bell won and was recognized as the official inventor to the telephone – at least for the time being.
Bell’s victory in the courts was bittersweet. The general reaction to his invention was ridicule. It is hard for us to comprehend that people in those days thought the telephone was nothing but a useless toy. One learned businessman proclaimed, ``It is an interesting instrument, of course, for professors of electricity and acoustics; but it can never be a practical necessity. As well might you propose to put a telescope into a steel-mill or to hitch a balloon to a shoe-factory.''
Many people thought the whole concept of sending speech or music over a wire was ridiculously impossible and declared the telephone a hoax. People of that day simply had no means of grasping the concept. Telegraphs were in common use, but the simple on-off spark of electricity through a wire was easier to comprehend than the miraculous transfer of the human voice.
Since Bell had developed his invention in Salem, Massachusetts, the editor of the New York Herald ran the headline “Salem Witchcraft'' for an article about the telephone, and said, “The effect is weird and almost supernatural.'' The Providence Press said, ``It is hard to resist the notion that the powers of darkness are somehow in league with it.”
It was as this point that Gardiner G. Hubbard, a promoter, lawyer, good friend of Bell’s and soon to be his son-in-law, joined Bell in promoting the telephone. Gardiner encouraged Bell to travel about the country giving speeches and demonstrations. For one of his first promotional events, Bell “borrowed” 250 miles of telegraph line between New York and Boston for a half hour, and connected a telephone at each end. He spoke to Sir William Thomson, who said he could hear Bell’s voice “elegantly.” Elegant probably would not be the term we would use for two men shouting at the top of their lungs, which was necessary with these first prototypes over any distance. Bell also played “Yankee Doodle” on a phonograph for Thompson who announced that he could hear it well enough to recognize the tune. The phonograph had been invented the same year as Bell’s telephone (1876), so this was a wondrous display of cutting edge technology.
The first telephones put into practical use were placed in Boston banks, but not because the bankers wanted them. A young man named E.T. Holmes nailed a telephone to the walls of five banks without asking permission. Only one banker ordered Holmes to take “that playtoy” out of his business. The remaining five phones were connected to Holmes’s office where he ran a burglar alarm business. These first phone lines served as telephone lines during business hours and as burglar alarm lines at night. Bell and his associates loaned these telephones to Holmes free of charge in an effort to promote the device, and in turn, Holmes did not charge the banks. This would be the way things went for quite some time; the telephone simply didn’t catch on, and people would not pay to have or use them.
In spite of the lack of interest, several small telephone ventures soon developed to serve businesses in New Haven, Bridgeport, New York, and Philadelphia. By August of 1877, there were 778 telephones in use. Even though the operators of these systems must have made a small profit, Bell, in an effort to promote his invention, took no income from them.
Ninety percent of Bell’s financing between 1872 and 1878 came from a man named Thomas Sanders. Sanders was not wealthy, but had a business that made soles for shoe manufacturers. When Bell first came to Boston in 1871, it was to help at a new public school for deaf-mutes in which Sanders’s son was enrolled. Bell helped Sanders’s son learn to speak, which gave Bell a special place in Sanders’s heart. Another connection with Bell was that Sanders was engaged to the daughter of Gardiner Hubbard, Bell’s partner and promoter. In the first couple years after Bell patented the telephone, he received virtually no money from it. Sanders borrowed money to support Bell’s work until he was on the verge of bankruptcy and $110,000 in debt – a sum equal to $1,785,900 in today’s dollars! At least the first 5,000 telephones were made with Sanders’s money.
At this stage of the telephone game (1877) the Council area (then known only as “Hornet” or “Hornet Creek”) was occupied by one or two bachelors, and three families—those of George & Elizabeth Moser , Robert & Elenor White and Zadock and Bill Lovelace (father & son). George Moser received a newspaper (probably once a week, delivered by Edgar Hall), so people here knew what a telephone was.
More on the telephone next week.
12-18-03
In the late 1870s, Alexander Bell and his partners, Gardiner Hubbard and Thomas Sanders, were trying to start a new technology at a very bad time. The U.S. was rife with Enron-type scandals in which investors lost millions. There were probably a hundred schemes to build railroads alone.
The men were struggling along, leasing telephones one or two at a time. But they were starting to step on the toes of a giant. It was to be both a nightmare and their salvation. The Western Union Telegraph Company was a huge corporation, and had a near monopoly on the wire communications business. Bell figured his best hope was to sell his patents to Western Union. But when he offered to sell for $100,000 (about 18.5 million in today’s dollars), the giant looked down its nose and said, “What use could this company make of an electrical toy?”
This continued to be Western Union’s attitude until a few of its
automated telegraphy machines were replaced by telephones. Suddenly
realizing that the telephone might not be a toy, Western Union
started throwing its massive weight around. It organized the
“American Speaking-Telephone Company,'' with Thomas Edison and
Bell’s initial competitor for the patent, Elisha
Gray, on their technical staff. The corporation “trampled
upon Bell's patent with as little concern as an elephant
can have
when he tramples upon an ant's nest.” It announced that it had “the
only original telephone,'' and that it was ready to supply “superior
telephones with all the latest improvements made by the original
inventors -- Dolbear, Gray, and Edison.''
The reaction of the business world must have left Western Union slack-jawed. Their plan backfired, big time. The very fact that this successful stalwart of commerce recognized the telephone as a valuable commercial technology caught the nation’s attention like nothing else had. Instead of rushing to buy the corporation’s telephones, magnates of the day flooded Bell with money and support.
The hard times were not over for Bell, however. The “transmitters” in the telephones of that time were crude. Thomas Edison came up with one that was far superior to Bell’s. Western Union now had the advantage. After several months of failure to produce a transmitter as good as Edison’s, along came Francis Blake. Blake had invented a transmitter equal to Edison’s and was willing to sell it for stock in what soon became the “National Bell Telephone Company.” The Bell Company finally started making money. Even so, over the next few years the company was challenged by thirteen national lawsuits, five of which went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. It fought 587 other suits of various natures; and with the exception of two trivial contract suits, it never lost a case.
The next challenge to Bell, and his customers, was the rudimentary state of telephone technology. The iron wire that the telegraph had been using proved to be poor for a more sophisticated sound signal. Iron wire produced excess noise, broke easily and didn’t stand up well to time and the elements. Steel wire was stronger, but less durable. The best conductors were silver or copper. Silver was obviously too expensive and copper was too weak. Eventually a method of making stronger, hard-drawn copper wire made copper practical. And here is where our area enters the picture.
As early as 1862, Levi Allen had discovered the Peacock vein of copper ore in the Seven Devils Mountains. At that time, copper was not in great demand; there wasn’t even a smelter in the U.S. The invention and use of the telephone and electricity changed that situation. By the mid 1880s, even western towns such as Boise were spinning webs of copper wire above their streets. That decade saw the beginning of the copper boom in the Seven Devils.
It’s easy to see why there was so much excitement about copper in the Seven Devils. The first pair of wires strung between New York and Chicago weighed 870,000 pounds -- a full load for a twenty-two-car freight train; and the cost of the copper alone was $130,000 (almost 25 million of today’s dollars). Before long one-fourth of all the capital invested in the telephone was going to the owners of copper mines.
More next week.
I got a nice letter from Alice Morrison Snyder who lives in Lewiston. Alice was the sister of Bricks Morrison about whom I wrote recently. She wrote about his death:
“The story was, as I recall it, that he was out checking on some cattle several miles from the ranch complex. He was on horseback and his dog was with him. He became very ill with pain in his midsection and thirsty. He dismounted to get a drink from a creek, and was unable to bet back into the saddle. His dog became tired of waiting, and went back to the ranch. He was taken to Holy Rosary Hospital in Ontario where he died a few days later. Cause of death was peritonitis from a perforated duodenal ulcer. He is buried in the Meadows Valley cemetery. Bricks was a redhead and had a temper, but came by it naturally—so was our father. To his younger sister, he was something pretty special.”
12-25-03
It is interesting, from the point of view of our time, that telephone technology and the huge business that it became were developed without any help from the government. The fact that Bell and his partners were able to get such a watershed business off the ground in the United States in the late 1800s was almost a miracle. During this era, big businesses, such as Western Union, dominated the country. Laws to regulate commerce were not well developed, and wealthy capitalists such as J.P. Morgan and John D. Rockefeller generally ran roughshod over anything and anyone in their way. Political bribery was rampant, and the moneymen pretty much had the U.S. Congress in their pockets.
The first communication between telephones was achieved with one telephone at each end of a wire. Obviously, if the invention were to serve very many people, a way had to found to link multiple instruments. By 1884 switchboards were developed, but they quickly became inadequate for the volume of lines. Exchanges were built with multiple switchboards that needed as many as half a dozen operators to handle a single call. Every time a call came in, a buzzer sounded; the clamor and confusion were unbearable. These switchboards became more and more elaborate until one cost a third of a million dollars. Even so, nobody could come up with a better method, and by 1887 twenty-one of them were in use. That year, at least part of the noise problem was solved by the advent of small lights instead of buzzers.
The bedlam was not helped by the use of boys as operators. Herbert N Casson described the scene:
“In Chicago all calls came in to one boy, who bawled them up a speaking-tube to the operators. In another city a boy received the calls, wrote them on white alleys, and rolled them to the boys at the switchboard. There was no number system. Every one was called by name. Even as late as 1880, when New York boasted fifteen hundred telephones, names were still in use.”
“From two to six boys were needed to handle each call. And as there was usually more or less of a cat-and-dog squabble between the boys and the public, with every one yelling at the top of his voice, it may be imagined that a telephone exchange was a loud and frantic place. Boys, as operators, proved to be most complete and consistent failures. Their sins of omission and commission would fill a book. What with whittling the switchboards, swearing at subscribers, playing tricks with the wires, and roaring on all occasions like young bulls of Bashan, the boys in the first exchanges did their full share in adding to the troubles of the business. Nothing could be done with them. They were immune to all schemes of discipline.”
A newspaper editor who visited the Chicago exchange in 1879 said of it: “The racket is almost deafening. Boys are rushing madly hither and thither, while others are putting in or taking out pegs from a central framework as if they were lunatics engaged in a game of fox and geese.''
The answer to this problem was to train young women to work as operators.
While all this modern hubbub was going on in the East at the end of the 1870s, central Idaho was still the very wild West. In 1877 panic swept through the Council Valley as the Nez Perce War ignited. The next year the settlers here built a fort just north of what is now Council as protection during the Bannock War.
I'll have more on the story of the telephone next week.
I would like to thank Harold and Rita Balderson for a donation to the Museum in memory of Joe Legradi. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated.
1-1-04 **
During the decade between 1886 and 1896, the telephone came out of its infancy. A practical type of apparatus was developed and was improved to a high point of efficiency. The advent of the multiple switchboard, copper wire, female operators, underground cables, and a central battery instead of one on each phone, all led to long-distance lines rapidly spreading across the country. By 1892 enough lines were in place that one-half of the people of the United States were within “talking distance” of each other. Before long, lines from the East reached across the plains to Nebraska.
This must have been an exciting time. A new miracle of science seemed to appear every day. Electricity, the light bulb, the phonograph, the automobile, the typewriter, the motion picture and refrigeration were beginning to change life in ways that people a generation earlier could not have even imagined. By the end of this period, the Indian Wars were over, the Western “frontier” was officially defunct, and the towns along the Weiser River were on the verge of unprecedented growth. The new life-changing miracles were mostly in distant cities, but people fully expected to see them arrive in Idaho in the near future.
It was during this period that telephones appeared in Idaho. As I mentioned at the outset of this series of articles, as early as 1889 people were advocating a line between Weiser and Salubria. A “base line” between Boise and Huntington, Oregon was completed in 1893. By 1895 there were lines connecting Payette, Emmett and Caldwell, and the newspapers said that line “connects with the Bell Telephone Co.'s lines to all important points in Ada County and other lower country counties.” This system was not connected to systems in other states, but three years later, it was linked with California, Oregon, Washington, northern Idaho and Montana. Meanwhile, the mining companies in the Seven Devils were contemplating a connection to the base line at Huntington. It would eventually prove to be more practical to bring wire from Weiser, via Council.
By the fall of 1899 the Salubria Citizen newspaper announced that telephone poles were being laid out along the new railroad grade that was being built up the river from Weiser, and that “The long distance telephone will soon be helloing in Salubria." The September 22 issue reported that long distance telephone service was available at the Inland Hotel in Salubria. The lines evidently outpaced the railroad, because the November 10 Citizen reported that the line had reached Council, about a year and a half before the tracks would reach the town. The paper said there was a long distance telephone at Henderlite’s drug store, which stood where the Council Valley Market parking lot is today. I would guess that this was the only telephone in town at first.
The first residential telephone in Council was installed in Minnie Zink's house and connected to Dr. Frank Brown’s office sometime after the doctor arrived here in 1901. The Zink house was on the northeast corner of Railroad Street and Central Avenue, where Dennis Maggard lives now. Dr. Brown’s office was a small, frame building that stood where the big brick building is now on the northwest corner of Galena and Illinois (until recently Bear Country Books). Dr. Brown tore down the frame building to erect the brick one in 1913.
By May of 1900, telephone poles were installed from Council to a point twelve miles up Hornet Creek. This was called the Council-Landore line. John Ferrell was paid $1.50 per pole to “spot” the poles along the route, which seems to mean that he was to deliver the poles to the location where they would be planted. That would be about $30 per pole in today’s money. My guess would be that he used separate sets of wheels on axles lashed to the poles to accomplish this task, plus a fairly skilled man with a team. Frank Harris was the foreman on the construction of the last part of the line that reached Landore, apparently that year (1900).
During the decade between 1896 and 1906, the telephone industry got up on its feet and discovered that its stature was approaching that of giants like the oil and railroad industries. By 1897 Bell and associates had spun as many cobwebs of wire as its former adversary, Western Union; by 1900 it had twice as many miles of wire, and in 1905 owned five times as many.
When the original telephone patent expired, the Bell Company found itself in competition with a maze of independent telephone enterprises. Duplication of phone services to some areas became a tangled mess. By 1901 there were six thousand of these little companies scattered across the nation. In spite of the confusion, these were the organizations that took the telephone to many rural areas. A large percentage of them were small mutual associations composed of farmers. Their efforts were assisted by J. J. Carty, who in 1901 invented a way to put four telephones on a single wire, with a different signal for each house. This development made the “party line'' possible and cut down on the need for so many lines coming into exchanges. Naturally, the small telephone companies had their problems in the West. The more interesting ones were said to be Indians who wanted the bright copper wire for ear-rings and bracelets; and bears, which mistook the humming of the wires for the buzzing of bees, and persisted in gnawing on the poles.
More next week.
1-8-04
The first telephone “book” was published in New Haven, Connecticut in 1878. It was one page long and held fifty names. As odd as it seems, no numbers were listed because the operator would connect you. The page was divided into residential, professional, miscellaneous, and essential service listings. The first “yellow pages” in a phone book came along in 1886. It was similar in design to modern directories, with business names and phone numbers categorized by the types of products and services provided.
For a number of years, Council, like many small communities, had only a local telephone system with no long distance connections. In 1898 Boise was connected for long distance calling to several western states. Salubria had long distance service in 1899. Early in 1900, towns in the Seven Devils mining district had only local exchanges, but lines were laid from Council to Cuprum by that fall. The lines were continued to Landore about the next year.
Sometimes towns didn’t last long enough for a phone line to reach them. Material for a line to the Thunder Mountain area was carried into the hills on mules, but the gold boom ended before the line was built. The materials could be seen where they were been abandoned along the trail for many years.
A major fire in Council burned most of the business establishments on the north side of Illinois Avenue in 1902. Just before the fire, H.M. Jorgens had purchased Henderlite’s drug store (it stood where the Council Valley Market parking lot is now) and moved the telephone office to another drug store he owned closer to the center of downtown. The fire destroyed both buildings. Jorgens rebuilt the business in which he had placed the telephone office. This building stood just east of the store that now houses Buckshot Mary’s (formerly Rexall Drug).
In 1903 a phone line was extended to Black Lake and Iron Springs. Trees were often used as a substitute for poles along stretches of these lines. Insulators are still attached to a few trees along the trail from Iron Springs to Rankin Mill. That year (1903), the use of telephones had increased in Council to the point that an exchange was needed. Just what had existed before then is not clear, but it must have been very rudimentary with only a few phones connected-- possibly all on one or two party lines. The Weiser Signal, Dec 16, 1903 reported, "The telephone business at Council has grown to such an extent as to warrant the employment of a telephone girl, and Miss Morrison... has accepted the position."
It was either in 1903 or 1904 that the Village of Council passed an ordinance allowing the Rocky Mountain Bell Telephone Company the right to place poles, wires, etc. in town. In 1905 the Weiser Signal reported that a telephone line was being built from Lardo (McCall) to Van Wyck (now under Cascade Reservoir) and from Meadows to Warren. In October of that year, the Meadows Eagle said a telephone line was proposed to connect with the independent line from Grangeville to Whitebird. The paper said, "With the completion of this line, and the line from here to Van Wyck, direct communication will be established between the north and Boise. At present the citizens of Grangeville, when they desire to talk with Boise, are obliged to talk all over the states of Washington and Oregon and the expense is so great that the luxury may be enjoyed only the rich." A similar route was necessary for a journey between those points as well, because there was no road connecting Meadows Valley and Grangeville.
In 1906 the Bell telephone company connected many local telephone systems in rural Idaho to each other, and the hoped for line from New Meadows to Grangeville was completed. The Weiser Signal said, "...a double line will be built to Council and other upper country points, making a metallic circuit." That year, Mr. Jorgens moved the Council telephone office and exchange into a small building next to his drug store. Minnie Addington would be the operator. The drug store must have been an interesting place during the time that the exchange was in it. Later that year (1906) Minnie Addington was replaced at the switchboard by Grace Taylor (see photo).
The last in this series about telephones next week.
I will be giving a presentation at the New Meadows library on Tuesday evening (Jan. 13th) at 7 PM. I will feature a number of historic photos of, and information about, Packer John’s cabin, the Golden Rule mine, the towns of Meadows and New Meadows, and more.
Photo caption for 95469---Telephone lines had reached the “Jewell House” at the Lick Creek stage station in1900. It may not show well in this newspaper reproduction of the photo, but there is a Bell Telephone sign on the building. This is now the site of the OX Ranch Lick Creek headquarters. The camera is looking northeast, and the OX shop now occupies the approximate spot where this building stood. The station was run by Al Jewell of Salubria at this time. The Cambridge Citizen said in its Oct 19 1900 issue: "The Al Jewell House on Lick creek is now open to travelers. Good accommodations. Telephone in connection. Hay and Grain."
95462—Sheriff Bill Winkler and telephone operator Grace Taylor in the telephone office next to Jorgens Drug store in 1908. Taylor is wearing Winkler’s pistol. The badge Winkler is wearing is now in the replica of his office in the Museum. The badge was made of Seven Devils copper.
1-15-04
By 1907 four hundred and fifty-eight thousand independent telephones were linked by wire to the nearest Bell Company lines. In1908 these were followed by three hundred and fifty thousand more. Even after this consolidation, there were still a fairly large number of independent companies. In 1910 the Council Leader editor noted that Council was the only town in the area using the Rocky Mountain Bell Telephone exchange. He urged Council to switch to an independent exchange, claiming it would bring cheaper rates and more freedom to local telephone users.
In New York City the number of telephone users leaped from 56,000 in 1900 up to 810,000 in 1908. In a single year, 65,000 new telephones were put on desks or hung on walls there -- an average of one new user every two minutes of the business day. Meanwhile, Midvale had 25 phones. Indian Valley had 27.
The Council Leader, Dec. 7, 1911 said a phone would be installed in “the hotel”soon and "we hope that before long phones will be placed in a number of homes." The next year, the paper reported that the The Indian Valley Post office and telephone exchange had been moved from the A.M. Henke building to the IOOF hall.
In November of 1912 a line was finally completed from Council to New Meadows and a central exchange was installed at New Meadows. This extended the “Weiser-Council toll line” from Weiser to New Meadows. H.J. “Jack” Ferrell was “wire chief” of the Weiser exchange, and he was in charge of maintaining this line. He was also in charge of the line to Landore. Where the line followed the railroad, the P&IN management allowed the repairmen to use speeders to reach trouble spots.
Reflecting back on his early days as a repairman in a 1926 Leader article, Ferrell said, “I'll never forget on Thanksgiving day when I left Weiser at 7 o’clock in the morning. A light snow covered the rails and the speeder, being equipped with rubber tires, would not hold the rails. If I pumped medium, the drive wheel would slip and when I would pump hard, it would jump the track. I reached Council at 5 o’clock in the evening, almost exhausted, and getting a team and sleigh, started toward Landore. All next day was spent repairing breaks. Coming back to Council late that evening, I was asked by Mr. [Walter] Schroff, our manager at Weiser, to get an early start and go clear trouble on the New Meadows line I was away from home just 10 days, working a day first on one line and then a day on the other. As I now recall it, the work didn’t bother me at all. The only thing that worried me was that the company paid me $75.00, which was a darn good salary in Weiser, but I had to pay my own expenses on these trips, and a ten day trip into these mining camps would make a whole month’s salary look like you didn’t get it at all.”
Evidently by 1913 Mesa and Indian Valley were not connected to the Weiser-New Meadows line, as the Leader reported that a movement was afoot to connect those areas. By the spring of 1914, they were still not connected. Another interesting note in the Leader that year concerned a phone line the Forest Service had just completed to Squaw Flat (located between the head of the East Fork of the Weiser and the head of the Middle Fork). The paper mentioned that it was a ten-hour drive to Squaw Flat from Council. I would guess this was an indication of the nature of the road at that time. All they had were horses and teams to make and maintain roads. Many improvements came to area roads after the advent of crawler tractors and other heavy equipment in the late 1930s. I think it now takes less than an hour to make the drive to Squaw Flat.
At some point between 1906 and 1914, the telephone office in Council was moved from the small building next to Jorgens store in to the Odd Felliows Hall. In 1914, the Mountain States Telephone and Telegraph Co. moved its central office from the Odd Fellows building to “rooms over the Post office in Browns new brick building on Galena.” This is the big brick building on the NW corner of Galena and Illinois that also housed the drug store at that time, and most recently was occupied by Bear Country Books. During the 1914 move, the phone system was updated with a new switchboard and wiring. The Council telephone office remained in this building until the 1960s.
In 1915, Mesa and Indian Valley were connected directly to the Weiser-Council line and Council people could call their neighbors there for 15 cents (per minute?) as opposed to some arrangement by which it previously had cost 40 cents. That same year, transcontinental connections were completed that gave Idaho nationwide service. For the next two decades, local changes in phone service were slower. In 1936, the Council telephone office moved down to the first floor of the same building. In the 1950s there was an operator on duty at the Council switchboard 24 hours a day. This was made unnecessary in 1959 when a dial system was installed. After that, the nearest operator was in Payette. Party lines were eliminated in the Council area in the early 1980s. It was sometime around then that it became necessary to dial the 253 prefix instead of just the last four numbers. This was just another step a sign another step in the long history of steps that Council has taken in catching up with the rest of the country. Today the local aspirations for change are better cell phone service and faster Internet connections. And so an old story continues.
To anyone who is interested in reading more about the history of the telephone, I recommend a lengthy set of articles by Herbert N Casson on the University of Virginia Library web site at:
etext.lib.virginia.edu/toc/modeng/public/CasTele.html
1-22-04
It was a quiet winter afternoon in a residential district of the small, but growing, town of Caldwell, Idaho. Christmas had come and gone five days earlier, and life was settling down to normal. People were looking forward to the new year of 1906. A skiff of snow had fallen during the day, and each gust of wind swirled clouds of flakes in the streets, covering or uncovering remnants of dried horse droppings and piles of those freshly dropped. The rumble of a steam locomotive across town was interrupted occasionally by its shrill whistle.
A well-dressed gentleman walked along the silent street. The 44-year-old was following a routine that was very familiar to him. He followed this route several times every day, walking to his business downtown, and home for lunch. After spending his lunch hour with his wife and children, he would walk back to work. It was the predictability of these daily walks that would enable what was about to happen.
Life is a complicated maze of actions and reactions—something like a cosmic set of dominoes. One domino falls into another, and that one falls into one or two others, and a chain of actions follow. As this businessman reached his house and put his hand on the side gate of his yard, a long series of falling dominoes, some of which he had tipped himself, was about to fall on him. News of the event that would happen in the next second would be splashed onto the headlines of newspapers across the U.S.
As Frank Steunenberg opened his gate, at some point even a quarter of an inch before the critical moment, if he had seen the fine wire attached to it--if he had stopped to investigate—the history of Idaho would have been written differently.
Frank had probably fired shotguns before. He may even have had a firecracker explode to close for comfort. But he had never experienced a firecracker like the eight by four inch, ten-pounder that was set to go off when the gate opened.
When the dynamite went off, it didn’t kill Frank Steunenberg immediately. He died at 7 PM that evening. Frank’s brother, Will Steunenberg, sent a telegram to their sister who lived in Iowa. In part, it read, “My dear sister. Frank died in my arms, and I hope the fellow that killed him will also die in my arms, only in a different manner.”
Frank Steunenberg had been out of the Idaho governor’s office for almost four years. He had served two tumultuous terms in which violence had erupted between the members of the Western Federation of Miners union and the mine owners in the Coeur d'Alene mining district of northern Idaho. He had received almost fifty threats on his life for his role in crushing the unions in the Coeur d'Alene mines.
Mining was a vital part of Idaho’s economy in the late 1800s and the early 1900s. It was during this time that the Seven Devils Mining District rose to national prominence as a potential copper producer. In Winifred Lindsay’s writings about the history of the Seven Devils, she made a point to say that the mine operators staunchly refused to hire anyone even remotely associated with unions such as those that had existed in northern Idaho. This, and the following History Corner or two will be an attempt to explore why the Seven Devils mine owners felt this way. Of course any mine owner might be opposed to a union, but the story goes much deeper. It is a story of extreme violence and injustice that pervaded the whole culture and legal system of the United States.
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, life was obviously much different than to day. We all marvel at how far we have come technologically, with such things as Bell’s telephone, electricity, automobiles, airplanes, etc. But the social changes in
1-29-03
Frank Steunenberg’s story in Idaho begins in the 1890s. It was a time when the West was coming out of its frontier days and trying to make itself more civilized. When settlers first came here, they were free to harvest trees in the forests however they pleased. This was meant to benefit the homesteaders and miners in their efforts to build homes and small businesses. Of course, before long big businesses grabbed the opportunity that this leniency allowed. To stop large logging outfits from stampeding through this loophole, Congress passed the Timber and Stone Act in 1878. The Act offered the sale of 160 acres of timber at $2.50 per acre, as long as the timber was to be used for a homesteader's personal use. This law was bent to the breaking point by big lumber companies who hired people to file for homesteads. The homesteaders would then sell the land to the companies.
Idaho lawmakers tried to fight this fraud in 1894, and hired C.O.Brown to survey and record timbered land areas so they could be set reserved for State ownership. Newly elected Governor Frank Steunenberg chaired the board that authorized the approval of these surveys and use of lands. Steunenberg became very cozy with C.O. Brown, and gave Brown the exclusive contract to survey state timberlands. In 1898, state authorities discovered that only 18.5% of Brown’s land selections had timber growing on them! By then logging companies had grabbed up a lot of timberland and the State couldn’t get it back. An investigation began that dragged out for years through one court after another. All fingers pointed at Steunenberg as the ringleader of the scam, but the case was so adulterated by a good-old-boy network or timbermen and politicians that it took some unusual twists and turns and got buried in a pile of legal maneuvers.
The way the plan is said to have worked is that the fake homesteaders, or “entrymen” were loaned money to prove up claims selected by Steunenberg. Then the entrymen would sell the proven claim to Steunenberg who would sell the claim to the lumbermen. In 1902 Steunenberg sold timberland to a syndicate composed of some of the biggest logging companies in the Northwest. It didn’t help the situation look above board when Steunenberg soon became the “General Agent” for a new operation-- the Barber Lumber Company. Steunenberg’s good friend, William E. Borah was the attorney for the company. This company was partially owned by the Weyerhaeusers, Lairds and Nortons. (The Barber Lumber Company later merged with the Payette Lumber Company to become the Boise Payette Lumber Company, which merged again to become the Boise Cascade Corporation.)
In the investigation, Special Agent Louis Sharp strongly felt the deal was illegal, but the General Land Office and the Federal District Attorney found the claims to be in order. During the investigation, Steunenberg withdrew from the Barber Lumber Company in April 1903. The State filed fraud charges, the political fur flew, and the case proceeded through a labyrinth of legal maneuvers. When Steunenberg was assassinated Dec 30, 1905 the State lost a key witness. In 1907 a Grand Jury handed down an indictment seeking the return of illegally obtained timberlands form Barber Lumber Company et al. William Borah, who by then was a U.S. Senator, was brought to trial first. Political overtones tainted the trial, Borah was found not guilty, and the whole case bogged down. Finally in 1912 the U.S. District Court of Appeals in San Francisco ruled that the lumbermen had been innocent victims of Steunenberg’s scheme. The State pushed the case toward the U.S. Supreme Court, but Borah interceded with the U.S. Attorney General and the case was dropped on March 16, 1912.
So, that was one episode in Frank Steunenberg’s life that shadowed him. Now I have to back up to pick up the story of other events during his time in the governor’s office that directly led to his death.
Since it was labor union trouble that spelled his demise, it was ironic that Steunenberg had won the Democratic nomination by endorsing "fusion" with the Populist ticket, and then went on to win the governorship by the biggest landslide in Idaho's history. The Populist Party was a left-leaning political organization that began as the Farmer’s Alliance in the 1880s. At Cleburne, Texas in 1886 the Alliance drew up what came to be known as the “Cleburne Demands”—the first document of the Populist movement. It advocated, “such legislation as shall secure to our people freedom from the onerous and shameful abuses that the industrial classes are now suffering at the hand of arrogant capitalists and powerful corporations.” The party was very pro-labor union and proposed regulation of railroad rates, heavy taxation of land held only for speculation and an increase in the money supply. Hannibal Johnson, better known as the poet “Seven Devils Johnson,” was elected to the Idaho Senate on the Populist ticket in 1892. Art Wilkie was an avid Populist and was the party committeeman for the Council precinct in 1900. He said that he was against both major parties, referring to them as "partners in crime."
More next week.
1-29-04
Frank Steunenberg’s story in Idaho begins in the 1890s. It was a time when the West was coming out of its frontier days and trying to make itself more civilized. When settlers first came here, they were free to harvest trees in the forests however they pleased. This was meant to benefit the homesteaders and miners in their efforts to build homes and small businesses. Of course, before long big businesses grabbed the opportunity that this leniency allowed. To stop large logging outfits from stampeding through this loophole, Congress passed the Timber and Stone Act in 1878. The Act offered the sale of 160 acres of timber at $2.50 per acre, as long as the timber was to be used for a homesteader's personal use. This law was bent to the breaking point by big lumber companies who hired people to file for homesteads. The homesteaders would then sell the land to the companies.
Idaho lawmakers tried to fight this fraud in 1894, and hired C.O.Brown to survey and record timbered land areas so they could be set reserved for State ownership. Newly elected Governor Frank Steunenberg chaired the board that authorized the approval of these surveys and use of lands. Steunenberg became very cozy with C.O. Brown, and gave Brown the exclusive contract to survey state timberlands. In 1898, state authorities discovered that only 18.5% of Brown’s land selections had timber growing on them! By then logging companies had grabbed up a lot of timberland and the State couldn’t get it back. An investigation began that dragged out for years through one court after another. All fingers pointed at Steunenberg as the ringleader of the scam, but the case was so adulterated by a good-old-boy network or timbermen and politicians that it took some unusual twists and turns and got buried in a pile of legal maneuvers.
The way the plan is said to have worked is that the fake homesteaders, or “entrymen” were loaned money to prove up claims selected by Steunenberg. Then the entrymen would sell the proven claim to Steunenberg who would sell the claim to the lumbermen. In 1902 Steunenberg sold timberland to a syndicate composed of some of the biggest logging companies in the Northwest. It didn’t help the situation look above board when Steunenberg soon became the “General Agent” for a new operation-- the Barber Lumber Company. Steunenberg’s good friend, William E. Borah was the attorney for the company. This company was partially owned by the Weyerhaeusers, Lairds and Nortons. (The Barber Lumber Company later merged with the Payette Lumber Company to become the Boise Payette Lumber Company, which merged again to become the Boise Cascade Corporation.)
In the investigation, Special Agent Louis Sharp strongly felt the deal was illegal, but the General Land Office and the Federal District Attorney found the claims to be in order. During the investigation, Steunenberg withdrew from the Barber Lumber Company in April 1903. The State filed fraud charges, the political fur flew, and the case proceeded through a labyrinth of legal maneuvers. When Steunenberg was assassinated Dec 30, 1905 the State lost a key witness. In 1907 a Grand Jury handed down an indictment seeking the return of illegally obtained timberlands form Barber Lumber Company et al. William Borah, who by then was a U.S. Senator, was brought to trial first. Political overtones tainted the trial, Borah was found not guilty, and the whole case bogged down. Finally in 1912 the U.S. District Court of Appeals in San Francisco ruled that the lumbermen had been innocent victims of Steunenberg’s scheme. The State pushed the case toward the U.S. Supreme Court, but Borah interceded with the U.S. Attorney General and the case was dropped on March 16, 1912.
So, that was one episode in Frank Steunenberg’s life that shadowed him. Now I have to back up to pick up the story of other events during his time in the governor’s office that directly led to his death.
Since it was labor union trouble that spelled his demise, it was ironic that Steunenberg had won the Democratic nomination by endorsing "fusion" with the Populist ticket, and then went on to win the governorship by the biggest landslide in Idaho's history. The Populist Party was a left-leaning political organization that began as the Farmer’s Alliance in the 1880s. At Cleburne, Texas in 1886 the Alliance drew up what came to be known as the “Cleburne Demands”—the first document of the Populist movement. It advocated, “such legislation as shall secure to our people freedom from the onerous and shameful abuses that the industrial classes are now suffering at the hand of arrogant capitalists and powerful corporations.” The party was very pro-labor union and proposed regulation of railroad rates, heavy taxation of land held only for speculation and an increase in the money supply. Hannibal Johnson, better known as the poet “Seven Devils Johnson,” was elected to the Idaho Senate on the Populist ticket in 1892. Art Wilkie was an avid Populist and was the party committeeman for the Council precinct in 1900. He said that he was against both major parties, referring to them as "partners in crime."
More next week.
2-5-04
To understand the political situation in Idaho during Governor Steunenberg’s tenure, you have to look at the national picture. Starting in the 1830s, and accelerating rapidly during the Civil War, mechanization reduced the need for hand labor in many industries. In 1830 it took about 61 hours of farm labor to produce an acre’s worth of wheat. By 1900 it took under 3 ½ hours. These changes helped accelerate the division of society by wealth. In short, the rich got richer and the poor got poorer.
Adding to mechanization were the laws, or more accurately the lack of laws, regulating labor. Congress made the laws, and rich industrialists owned Congress. Bribery was rampant. Thomas Edison paid legislators $1000 each to congressmen in exchange for favorable legislation. Daniel Drew and Jay Gould paid $1 million to New York legislators to legalize their issue of $8 million in worthless stock on the Erie Railroad. Industrialists paid to get high tariffs to keep foreign competition out. In 1900 J.P. Morgan was making $40 million a year in profits. (That’s the equivalent of over $830 million in today’s dollars.) Meanwhile, he worked employees in his factories 12 hours a day for wages that barely kept their families alive.
Even the courts sided with the rich men who ran the country. In 1893, Supreme Court Justice David J. Brewer stated, “It is the unvarying law that the wealth of the community will be in the hands of the few . . . . The great majority of men are unwilling to endure that long self-denial and saving which makes accumulations possible . . . and hence it always has been, and until human nature is remodeled always will be true, that wealth of a nation is in the hands of a few, while the many subsist upon the proceeds of their daily toil.” What “long self-denial and saving” it must have taken those like Gould or Morgan to bribe Congress.
The underlying philosophy that more wealth should naturally equal more power dates back to the very beginning of our nation when only persons of a certain financial level (land owners) could vote. Of course you had to be the right color and gender as well. The prevailing philosophy after the Civil War was summed up by Russell Conwell, a Yale graduate, minister and author of best-selling books: “. . .the number of poor to who are to be sympathized with is very small. To sympathize with a man whom God has punished for his sins . . . is to do wrong.“ In other words, if you are poor, God is punishing you, so it’s your fault. If you are rich it is your reward from God for being righteous.
With this sense of entitlement, wealthy businessmen felt justified in using any and every tactic to achieve even more wealth. Men such as Jay Gould, James Fisk, Commodore Vanderbilt and Daniel Drew ran huge monopolies that brutally crushed their competition. After forcing out competition, monopolies would often charge exorbitant prices. The railroad robber barons were a classic example. There was no real alternative to rail transport in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Railroads held the power of life and death, as illustrated by towns killed/created by railroads such as Weiser/(new) Weiser, Meadows/New Meadows, Roseberry/Donnelly. There were countless others all over the U.S. The typical practice was for the railroad to buy up land near the existing town, build the tracks to a depot they would erect on that land, and then reap windfall profits by selling lots to businesses that had no choice but to move to the railroad.
Back in those days, more people were farmers--or at least lived in farming communities—than were city dwellers. Farmers finally banded together to fight the railroad monopolies. The “Grange” was one of the organizations formed for this purpose. By 1875 the Grange had 800,000 members. They fought to have laws passed that were designed to outlaw unfair rates and special privileges. Of course passing laws did little good if the monopolists simply paid Congress to stop legislation or turn a blind eye to corruption.
Rich employers spent as little as possible on safety measures. Workers were expendable. In the 1890s, over 2,000 RR workers were killed in accidents each year, and 30,000 were injured. The average wage for a common railroad laborer was $124 per year-- $2,384 in today’s money. Seven-day workweeks of 70 to 80 hours were not unusual.
In urban factories, working conditions were unbelievable. Some were filthy fire traps with the doors barricaded for fear workers would smuggle out goods or take unauthorized breaks. As late as 1911 a fire broke out at the Triangle Shirtwaist Co. on New York's lower east side. About 150 employees – almost all of them young women – died when the fire swept through the upper floors of the loft building in which they worked.
Child labor was common. They were often used because their little hands would fit into dangerous tight spots. If a worker was injured on the job, they were often simply fired. If they were killed, it was just tough luck—or maybe God had something to do with it.
For some reason, the rich were more prone to the view that wealth was a gift from God, and the common people didn’t see it that way. And they were tired of being used like disposable commodities. From 1881 to 1885, there were about 500 labor strikes per year in the U.S., involving about 150,000 workers, total. In 1886 there were over 1,400 strikes, involving 500,000 workers. In the 1890s there were about 1000 strikes per year. By 1904 that number had exploded to 4,000 a year.
The wealthy fought back with laws against free speech, which sometimes put anyone who dared to breath the word “union” in jail. Local, State and Federal authorities usually sided with wealth. Often, all it took to break a strike was one phone call to bring in squads of men with clubs and/or guns to bust a few heads—or kill a few, claiming they resisted arrest.
Many workers turned to the Socialist Party, formed in 1901. Helen Keller and Jack London were avid Socialists. To some, it seemed clear that there was no progress unless violent action was taken to force big business to change. When a labor dispute broke out in the northern Idaho silver mines, it was not surprising that violence came with it.
More next week.
2-12-04
The stage for violence in the silver mines of Northern Idaho was set by a long history of abuse by employers across the country. We take so much for granted today that it’s hard to believe that before the Clayton Act of 1914 employers were legally able to treat employees as if they were machines, with few rights. It took the Clayton Act to establish a basic human right - - that “the labor of a human being is not a commodity or article of commerce.” This gave people the legal right to hold peaceful boycotts and picket for the first time.
Meanwhile, back in the dark ages, by 1892, silver mining in the Coeur d'Alene mining district had fallen into a severe slump. The mine owners couldn’t make a profit, so they closed the mines. After negotiating a shipping rate reduction from the railroads, they offered to open the mines if the miners would accept a pay cut. The miners refused and declared a strike. They had fresh memories of all the underhanded tricks that had been pulled on workers all over the country, and thought pay cuts were nothing but a ploy to make more money for the greedy mine owners. The mining companies brought in outside workers, protected by private company armies. This outraged the miners. By this time, Idaho had a constitutional amendment barring private, company armies, but it was not enforced.
The violence started with miners beating up the “scab” workers whenever they had a chance. The situation was pushed over the edge when the miners discovered that their union secretary was a Pinkerton agent spy for the mining companies. A small war erupted, and shots were fired. On June 11, 1892, some miners dynamited an abandoned mill at the Gem mine.
A newspaper reported, “…five men are known to be dead and 16 are already in the hospital; the Frisco mill on Canyon Creek is in ruins; the Gem mine has surrendered to the strikers, the arms of its employees have been captured, and the employees themselves have been ordered out of the country. Flushed with the success of these victories the turbulent element among the strikers are preparing to move upon other strongholds of the non-union men….”
Their flush of success didn’t last long. Governor N. B. Willey (a former mine superintendent from Warrens) proclaimed martial law in the area. Six hundred miners were arrested. Because the local jails couldn’t hold that many prisoners, the “bullpen” was invented. Bullpens were basically prison camps. The scab workers were brought back in, the union leaders were fired and the strike was broken.
Even after the 1892 setback, the Western Federation of Miners succeeded in unionizing the Coeur d'Alene district by 1899--except for the major lead silver producing company of the region, the Bunker Hill and Sullivan. By this time, the Populist party had made inroads there in Shoshone County, and the local sheriff and other officials were not inclined to side with the mine owners. When the union asked for a pay raise, the company refused and, to prepare for trouble, tried to raise a private army. On April 29, about a thousand miners came down the canyon from Burke and Mullan to Wallace and Kellogg. They arrived on a train loaded with 3,000 pounds of dynamite. The company guards were quickly overcome, and the Bunker Hill and Sullivan concentrator was blown to bits.
By this time, Frank Steunenberg was Idaho’s governor. In spite of his proclaimed allegiance to the pro-union Populist Party, he took a very tough stance. Steunenberg said, "We have taken the monster by the throat and we are going to choke the life out of it. No halfway measures will be adopted. It is a plain case of the state or the union winning, and we do not propose that the state shall be defeated." Steunenberg declared martial law and asked President McKinley to send federal troops. Hundreds of union activists were arrested and kept in bullpens for months without trials.
Martial law was enforced through the rest of Steunenberg’s term (a total of two years), and no miner was allowed to work in any mine in the district without a state permit. Permits were only issued to miners who could prove that they had not participated in the Bunker Hill and Sullivan dynamiting. No member of the Western Federation of Miners Union could obtain a permit without withdrawing his membership, and when the mines reopened, there were no Western Federation miners working there.
In order to bring anyone to trial for participating in the dynamiting, Governor Steunenberg replaced the Populist county commissioners and sheriff with new appointees. Two Boise attorneys, James H. Hawley and William E. Borah, undertook the prosecution of the financial secretary of the Burke union for conspiracy in the incident. Ironically, Hawley had originally served as attorney for the miners in 1892, and had suggested organization of the federation of miners in the first place. He hadn’t anticipated the violent result.
As far as prosecuting all of the miners, it would have been very expensive to take each one through a trial, so the State concentrated on a few. One conviction was achieved on July 28 (apparently the union secretary). Ten more miners were convicted of delaying the mails, and wound up in San Quentin for two years. The remainder of the miners who were scheduled for trial “managed to escape” from the bullpens on August 28.
I'll have the last in this series next week.
2-19-04
The strong feeling that Governor Steunenberg had betrayed them after they had supported his election smoldered in the memory of the Western Federation of Miners. Frank Steunenberg was aware that he might be a target for the union’s vengence. As he lay dying at his home in Caldwell in 1905, he said, “It’s the Coeur d'Alenes!” After Steunenberg’s murder, local investigators searched the room of a stranger who was visiting the small town, and found bomb-making materials. The stranger was Albert Horsely. He was going by the alias of “Harry Orchard.”
For some reason, the media referred to Horsely by his alias, Harry Orchard, so he is better known by that name. For that reason, I will use that name from here on. Harry Orchard was no novice to murder. He had already been paid to assassinate many union enemies. One example of his murders was that of Fred Bradley, manager of the Sullivan and Bunk Hill mine, then living in San Francisco. Orchard put strychnine in Bradley’s milk when it was left at his door in the morning. This attempt to kill Bradley failed. In November 1904, Orchard planted a bomb that blew Bradley into the street when he opened his door one morning. Orchard had also killed 14 men in a single event when he blew up a train loaded with miners getting off the night shift.
After lengthy interrogations by legendary Pinkerton agent, James MacParland, Harry Orchard confessed. Not only to the killing of Frank Steunenberg, but also to blowing up Bunker Hill buildings in 1899, and to a number of other murders. Orchard was the most prolific mass murderer in American history to that point . . . and he said he did it all on the orders of the Western Federation of Miners.
Orchard named William Haywood (general secretary of WFM) and Charles Moyer (president of WFM). He also claimed that a union member from Caldwell, George Pettibone, had also been involved in the plot. All three were charged with murder. At the time these three men were in Denver. The story of how Haywood, Moyer and Pettibone were brought to Idaho is a story in itself. Short version---fearing the red tape involved in extraditing the men would give them a chance to escape, James MacParland and other Pinkerton agents kidnapped them.
The trial began in the summer of 1907. Legendary attorney, Clarence Darrow, specialized in defending union leaders, and acted as defense attorney for the men. Steunenberg’s old buddy, Willam E. Borah, who by then was a U.S. Senator, headed the prosecution. Reporters from all over the U.S. flocked to what was billed as “the trial of the century.” The case consisted primarily of testimony by Harry Orchard. When he appeared in court, people crowded to the front of the courtroom and you could hear a pin drop as Orchard calmly related the details of his gruesome work.
Borah and Darrow---both larger than life characters of the day---threw every ounce of their oratory skills into the fight. One example from Borah: "I remember again the awful thing of December 30th, 1905. I felt again the cold and icy chill, faced the drifting snow and peered into the darkness for the sacred spot where lay the body of my dead friend. And saw true, only too true, the stain of his life's blood upon the whitened earth. I saw Idaho dishonored and disgraced. I saw murder. . .no, a thousand times worse than murder. I saw anarchy wave its first bloody triumph in Idaho. Let us be brave, let us be faithful in this supreme test of trial and duty."
Darrow, referring to “Big Bill” Haywood: "Gentlemen, it is not for him alone that I speak. I speak for the poor for the weak for the weary. For that long line of men who in darkness and despair have borne the labors of the human race. The eyes of the world are upon you, you twelve men of Idaho. If you kill him, your act will be applauded by many. Where men hate Haywood because he fights for the poor and against the accursed system upon which the favored live and grow rich and fat."
After three months, since there was no other evidence against Haywood, Moyer and Pettibone except Harry Orchard’s testimony, they were acquitted. Orchard was sentenced to death, but at the last minute, in exchange for his confession and testimony, his sentence was commuted to life in prison. He died at the old State pen in 1954.
This trial occurred while Steunenberg was being accused of fraudulent dealings involving state timber land. In death, Steunenberg became an instant hero, and, with Senator Borah’s help, the fraud case fizzled. The Steunenberg-as-hero movement immediately set out to immortalize him by erecting a statue of the former governor. It stands today in Steunenberg Park in Boise [in front of the state capitol building] and bears an inscription sentimental enough to erase any memory of his possible criminal activity:
"Rugged in body, resolute in mind, massive in the strength of his convictions, he was of the granite hewn."
Even though mine operators were appalled by the failure to convict the conspirators, things were never the same for the mining unions. As I said at the start of this series, the Seven Devils mine operators shunned union workers like the plague. The northern Idaho mines adopted anti-union loyalty oaths as a means of keeping the federation out of their workforce.
Caption for Harry Orchard photo: Albert Horsely, a.k.a. Harry Orchard. The Idaho Statesman said, "The face of the man suggests cruelty, cunning and contempt for everything that appeals to the ordinary person. The eyes being of that shifting character that suggests an evil nature. He is the devil incarnate."
Caption of for Steunenberg photo: Frank Steunenberg, governor of Idaho, 1897 – 1900. Murdered Dec. 30, 1905.
2-26-04
I ran across an article in the June 28, 1940 issue of the Adams County Leader that has some interesting information about early mail routes and carriers. It was written by Lee Highley, who was the New Meadows postmaster at the time.
As has been said many times, it was gold that brought the first non-native settlers to Idaho. It must have been an exciting time for men who rushed from one gold field to the next in search of riches. The idea of going out into the wilderness and digging money out of the dirt might make anyone feel a little bit energized. The first discoveries of gold in the Orofino area in 1860 were soon followed by those at Florence in 1861. In 1862, James Warren found gold at a location that would be named after him.
In this wilderness, people yearned for contact with the outside world. Aside from keeping in touch with friends and loved ones, business matters required some type of communication. And then there were legal matters too; claims had to be filed, etc. In a time before telephones, radio or TV, the mail was the main means of getting news and of communicating. Of course the telegraph was available in many areas, but lines never reached most remote camps, mostly because the communities didn’t last long enough.
The first mail route into Idaho followed the same route that brought the miners—up the Columbia River, and then to Lewiston. For a number of years, mail from the eastern U.S. traveled by ship around Cape Horn to the Columbia and on into Idaho. When Boise was established in 1863, mail and freight soon arrived there from Umatilla Landing via the old Oregon Trail route over the Blue Mountains. After the transcontinental rail line was built in 1869, shipments started coming north from the tracks at Kelton, Utah. The Kelton route soon replaced the one via the Columbia for any commerce to and from Idaho.
According to Highley, a mail route from Boise to Indian Valley and on north was established in 1874. It came up through Emmett and the Crane Creek area. An 1877 Statesman newspaper said this stretch covered 75 miles via wagon road. From Indian Valley, mail went to Council, Meadows Valley, Warren, Florence, and finally Mount Idaho (Grangeville area). The Statesman said, “From the point where the Little Salmon trail leaves the mail route to the Main Salmon river at the mouth of the Little Salmon, the distance is 50 miles. Between the last named points the route is difficult, passing over a high and rugged mountain to avoid the deep canyons on the Little Salmon River." The total distance from Boise to Warren was listed as 175 miles. From Warren to Florence, 50 miles, and from Florence to Mount Idaho, 50 miles.
Highley said the journey from Boise to Warren took seven days. This mail route was contracted to Calvin White and his partner D.W. Jennings. These ambitious Meadows Valley pioneers also established the first road between Council Valley and Meadows Valley in 1878. White and Jennings did not carry the mail themselves, but subcontracted the work to men such as Solon Hall and his sons, Edgar and Abner. Edgar Hall, and Tom Price were two of the best-known mail carriers on the route between Indian Valley and Warrens.
Tommy Clay was another well-known mail carrier on this route for twelve years. His stepson, Ed Osborn also carried mail here for two years. Lee Highley interviewed Ed’s wife and got a couple of good stories about Tommy Clay. One occurred in the late fall of 1875. Winter snow came early that year, and twelve inches fell one night. Clay was on his way north from Indian Valley one horseback with three packhorses. The packhorses were in the lead as they reached a river crossing at present-day Tamarack. There was a dead horse lying near the crossing, and several wolves were feeding on it. Highley wrote: “At his [Clay’s] approach they moved away singly and in pairs to the nearby timber. One of their number, however, was more reluctant to depart than the others. He had leaped to the saddle of one of the pack horses, ripped the canvas covering with his claws, pulled out a small square of bacon and sat contentedly but hurriedly eating his dessert course. It was so much better than frozen horse meat that he would not relinquish it but made away through the snow to the timber. He was fortunate in this, that Mr. Clay never carried a gun, but always relied on a trusty blade beaten out from a rasp of steel.”
Food was stocked at cabins along the mail route, especially during the winter. One spring, the weather warmed up quickly and the food at one of the cabins didn’t keep as long as expected. Highley related the tale of one of the mail carriers who had cooked extra food and left it at a mail cabin for his return trip several days later: “Upon reaching the cabin again, he was weary from the load of mail and the travel in soft snow. He ate and fell asleep only to awaken wrought with pain and threatened with ptomaine poisoning. Morning found the worst over and after a fire and coffee he managed to get out on the crust and make away for the next station.”
I got an email from Fran Caward that I thought I would pass on to you readers in case any of you might have information. Fran wrote: “I'm on a search for any information that might be in the Adams Co. records for my relative, Arthur Edward ("Kid") Garden, who died at Meadows Nov. 14, 1918. He is buried at Meadows Valley Cemetery. (We only ascertained that recently by a very brief obit filed with Idaho Historical Soc.) It appears he was buried on the same day as his death, according to the cemetery records at New Meadows. The cemetery records show an "A.E. Gorden" buried on 11-14-18. He was married to my great-aunt, Viola Perkins, but we don't have that date. They were married at either Council or Cambridge, according to Johnny Carrey, who knew them. If there are any volunteers who would be interested in working on this project we would really appreciate it.”
3-4-04
The August 6, 1937 Adams County Leader contained a story about one man’s impression of some of our local tourist distractions:
“Jerry Davis, 22, from Nebraska, blew into the Leader sanctum Tuesday on [his] way south, doing his best to get back home. This is what he said: "I'm from Adams county, Nebraska, and I understand this is Adams county, Idaho. Well, I'm getting out of this Adams county, Idaho as fast as I can before I croak. I've been scared stiff ever since I came into this bloomin' county. Everlastingly up on some pinnacle of a road in these mountains, ready to drop off and fall a thousand feet into some roarin' creek or lake, a winding around on such short turns I don't know whether I am at the jumping of place or not; bobbing up over some point where I can't see over the hood to know whether the road is makin' a turn or going straight ahead. I'm getting back to Adams county, Nebraska as fast as I can. We do not have mountains there, thank goodness."
The Leader editor commented: “If you'll stay a few days we'll take you out to the Seven Devils and show you the Snake river canyon and the Kleinschmidt grade, then you can go home convinced that you have seen something, because you "ain't seen nothin' yet."
The September 14, 1923 Leader had a short article that documents early technical advances in the timber industry: “NEW TRUCK FOR NORD & CO.—Horses Become Back Number With Big Lumber Concern—Nord & Company, Tamarack lumbermen, are using a new five ton Mack truck, which arrived on the ground only recently, and which the company claims is doing excellent work. The truck hauls over 3500 feet of logs at a load and is making five trips a day a distance of three miles, whereas a four horse team of horses cannot haul anywhere near that amount to a load and are able to make only two or three trips a day. Later, when the wet season approaches, it is planned to add a caterpillar to the equipment, as the Mack may not work out so well in that section on soft roads, whereas the caterpillar will move right along regardless.”
This seems awfully early for logging trucks to be operating around here, I always thought the first ones came along in the late 1930s. Paul Phillips told me he thought “bull dog” Macks were the first logging trucks in this area. He didn’t say when they started being used here. He said they had hard rubber tires, and were first used on Pole Creek.
According to information from the Campbell River Museum in Campbell River, British Columbia, the first logging trucks had hard rubber tires and ran on wooden plank roads known as “fore-and-aft” roads that were constructed of hand-hewn timbers laid on crossties. There was a guardrail on the outsides of the planks to keep the trucks on the road. On steeper grades, a length of cable or rod bent in a zigzag pattern was spiked to the deck to provide traction. I would guess that this method was used because loggers were used to building railroads into the hills to log with Shay locomotives, so building a wooden proximity of a railroad for a truck would seem natural. It also may have been more dependable than the primitive dirt trails that could be scraped out with a team of horses.
Apparently trucks became fairly common in logging operations in some parts of the country in the 1920s. It seems there was a logging industry boom in Canada during that decade. Down here at that time, most logging was still pretty much done the same way it had been for generations. Most Council area outfits did everything with horses. In many other places, though, logging was being done with steam locomotives. Horses skidded the logs to the tracks. Trucks proved to be easier to use, but a combination of the Depression in the 1930s and the lack of availability of enough trucks, the logging industry in America didn’t really take off until after World War II.
The new equipment made it possible for smaller logging operations to be competitive. Logging with the old Shay steam locomotives was only practical with large crews. With a couple chainsaws, a truck, a cat and some way to load the logs, a crew of only a few men could succeed. The new equipment also changed the lifestyle of the logger. Logging had generally been accomplished by crews who camped near the area being logged. Now loggers could have a home life and commute to work.
Caption for 95214L—The way it used to be done, before trucks. This is C.F. Scroff, driving a team owned by S.P. Wilson, in the 1920s near Tamarack. This load made 2,940 board feet of lumber.
Caption for 95307—This undated Forest Service photo shows an early logging truck coming down a steep grade with a load. This one looks like it has pneumatic tires, so it’s not one of the very first ones. Considering the crude state of the art of brakes in those days, I’m not sure I would want to be driving this truck.
3-11-04 3-11-04
During course of moving into the new courthouse, the County came across a number of items that it no longer needs to keep, and the items were given to the museum for their historical value. Among those items are a number of letters written to and from various county officials. Prosecuting Attorney, Carl Swanstrom, wrote one such letter to Caxton Printers of Caldwell in 1938:
"Gentlemen; Will you kindly mail by return mail, to the Probate Judge of Adams County, Idaho, one dozen each of the printed forms commonly used in the commitment of feeble minded people to the State School and Colony at Nampa. These would be the applications, court orders, commitments Etc." It makes one wonder how many "feeble minded people Mr. Swanstrom figured would be found in the county.
Then there is the following letter, written in pencil in the summer of 1938. It was mailed from Council to the reform school in Saint Anthony, Idaho. I will leave out the names, just in case there is someone who was involved in this matter, or related to them, still around.
"My Dearest girl M___, I have been looking for you to come home as I want to see you. I see the kids at the post office every day and I give them money like I did to you to get them candy and ice cream. I just heard today you was at St. Anthony and Dear M___ I want you to hurry home. I am lonesome and I want you here. I have thought about you so many times since that day we went over to the river and I went home with you. I still have that book you give me, and when you come back home I will give you some more money if you will come home with me some day when I am at the post office, and we will go back over to the river way down in the timber and thick brush where nobody will see us. We will have a good time. Will you Dear M___ come home with me and I will give you some money. Let me know when you are coming home and I will see you at the post office, but come by yourself alone so you can go home with me. Oh M___ my Dear girl please do come soon as you can. I am lonesome with out you and I miss you so. Please don't you let anybody read this letter but tear it up after you have read it yourself, and don't you tell your mama I wrote this letter to you. Be a Dear good girl and come home to me soon as you can. Please M___ write to me soon as you get this letter. I hope to see you soon. Good by with lots of love to your and many XXXXXXX kisses."
Well, obviously she didn't tear it up. I don't know if she was caught with the letter or whether she turned it over to the authorities. The letter is "signed" with a rubber stamp with the writer's name and "Council, Idaho." I'll print his name here as S__.
The next item in the file is a Probate Court document that reads, in part: "Carl H. Swanstrom, Prosecuting Attorney of Adams County, Idaho, being first duly sworn on oath, deposes and says that he is personally acquainted with one S__, of Council, Adams County, Idaho, whom affiant believes to be insane; that said S__ is so far disordered in mind as to endanger health, persons or property, in that said S__ is a senile dementia with sexual psychopathology involving illicit relationships with extremely young female persons. WHEREFORE, Complainant prays that the said S__ may be examined by this Court, pursuant to the statute in such cases made and provided, concerning the charge of insanity, and to ascertain the fact of sanity or insanity; and if the said S__ shall be found on examination to be insane, that he may be committed to one of the State Hospitals, as provided by law." It is signed by Carl Swanstrom and J. L. Johnson.
The next in the pile is an arrest warrant for S__, dated June 25, 1938. Next is another Probate Court document ordering that Alvin S. Thurston, M.D. and J.F. Dinsmore, M.D., were subpoenaed to appear at the hearing to examine S__ and "certify their findings" as to his sanity. It says that S__ had no lawyer, was broke and unemployed, and that John J. Peacock of Weiser was appointed as his attorney "at public expense."
S__ appeared in court on July 7. The Criminal complaint says that "on or about the 15th day of August, 1937" S__ did "knowingly, wrongfully and unlawfully contribute to the delinquency of a minor girl, to-wit of M__, then and there a female person of the age of about 14 years, by then and there engaging her in lewd and laviscous [sic] conduct; by encouraging her with indecent familiarities and practices and by inducing and persuading her to expose her person, and by exposing to her his person in lewd and laviscous manner." My dictionary doesn't have "laviscous" in it, so but it does have two words that are close in spelling: "lascivious," which means: lewd, lustful, expressing a strong desire for sexual activity...and "lascious," which means: loose, lascivious. Either way, it seems to amount to the same thing.
If there is more to this paper trail, I haven't run across it yet, but I would bet S__ wound up at the Asylum at Blackfoot, which was the main mental hospital at that time.
3-18-04
In the obsolete records given to the museum by the county, there is a large envelope containing correspondence concerning the military draft during World War One. The war started in Europe in 1914, and a majority of Americans were against joining a pointless conflict over European political boundaries, colonies and spheres of influence.
A manipulated change in the country’s mood was accomplished almost overnight when the British ocean liner Lusitania, carrying a number of Americans, was torpedoed and sunk by a German submarine in the spring of 1917. U.S. officials used this “monstrous German atrocity” of attacking an innocent, unarmed vessel as their reason to enter the war. But, as with so many other wars, our leaders lied. The Lusitania was carrying thousands of cases of ammunition for the war.
The First World War was the first major war fought with weapons of mass destruction: machine guns, tanks, aircraft with bombs, and poison gas. It was a slaughter never before seen, and seldom since. An estimated 10 million died in battle, and 20 million more perished from hunger and disease related to the war. Historian, Howard Zinn said, “And no one since that day has been able to show that the war brought any gain for humanity that would be worth one human life.
In August 1914, a volunteer for the British army had to be a minimum of 5 feet 8 inches tall. In the first three months of the war, almost the entire original British army was wiped out. By October, minimum height was reduced to 5 feet 5 inches, and later that month to 5 feet 3 inches. A letter from the Idaho Adjutant General’s Office in Boise, sent out to all county draft boards in August of 1917 reveals that the U.S. was already reducing its requirements for draftees. Changes in height and weight minimums are listed, but the more interesting criteria is section 2: “Mouth, nose, and faces. In the case of defective teeth the following may be allowed: A well fitting artificial denture parenthesis bridge or plate parenthesis is allowed to take the place of missing teeth, provided the natural teeth present are sound and serviceable. If dental work will restore the teeth so as to meet requirements of proper mastication, the man should be accepted.”
From an anti-war atmosphere, the U.S. public in general was methodically goaded into rabid nationalism. Restrictions on constitutional rights, like the “Patriot Act” are nothing new in this country; in June 1917 Congress passed the Espionage Act. What appears to be a typed carbon copy of this act is in the envelope of county draft records, although it is dated February 14, 1917. This act was used to imprison anyone who spoke out against the war. Under the Espionage Act, a filmmaker in Los Angeles was sentenced to ten yeas in prison for making a movie about British atrocities during the American Revolution. The judge said it cast our ally, Britain, in a negative light. About 900 people in the U.S. were imprisoned under this act during the war.
Not everyone did the about-face to nationalism, and draft evasion and desertion was widespread. Vigilante groups were organized in many states to deal with this. Loyalty tests were given to anyone suspicious, especially immigrants. Anyone with a German accent was subject to scorn or even overt violence. The Postal Department started canceling mailing privileges for newspapers or magazines that printed antiwar articles. Among the items in the county draft records is a notice from the Idaho Adjutant General’s Office, Boise—September 28, 1917: “A reward of $50.00 is payable for the delivery at the nearest Army Camp or Post of a deserter.” It goes on with details and is signed by Chas. S. Moody, Adjutant General of Idaho.
One letter is from C.A. Barton, who was chairman of the Idaho District Draft Board. Unless there was another C.A. Barton in this part of Idaho, this must have been the head of the Boise-Payette Lumber Company logging operations. Ironically, the company lost roughly a third of its employees, on some crews, to the draft. They were logging the Boise Basin area at the time, and would soon move into Long Valley.
A telegram from Adjutant General Moody to the Adams County draft board, complete with misspellings: “How many assistant formen, log deckers, saw mill foreman and plainers and trimmermen can you furnish to be entrained for Vancouver Barracks for July 29th? Only white men qualified for special or limited service are to be inducted under this call, except that volunteers in Classes 2 & 4 qualified for general military service may be accepted.” At the bottom of the letter, someone scribbled four names: Claude Emery, Missman, Frank Myers, and a name I couldn’t make out.
Letter to chairmen of all county draft boards, 8-30-17: “In order to provide for the segregation of races into regiments and other organizations and to arrange for compliance with state laws requiring the races to travel in separate coaches, it has been found that it will be necessary for the Adjutant General of each state to know the number of colored and white men certified from each district…” Several of the notices to send a certain number of men, or a percentage of the county’s quota, specify white men only.
There are a lot of telegrams in the envelope. Most are to Sheriff Charles L. Ham concerning technical aspects of complying with paperwork. The messages were handwritten on forms of the Central Idaho Telegraph & Telephone Co. Each from had a liability disclaimer issued by Edgar M. Heigho, President and General Manager of the Company. Since he was also the President and General Manager of the P&IN, it would be safe to bet that the telegraph company and the railroad were closely related.
3-25-04
The first newspaper at Council was published in 1901, but didn’t last long. The first lasting paper here was the Council Leader in 1908. The Idaho Citizen newspaper preceded any Council paper by ten years, and contained semi-regular news from this area. The paper was printed at Salubria, and it’s first issue came out on June 19, 1891. The Citizen got a new editor in 1895, and the first issue he put out, on February 1, 1895, bore the banner “Salubria Citizen.” To find news of Council earlier than 1891, one has to look farther south, to Weiser. The first paper that I know of there was the Weiser City Leader, and the first issue that I made note of in my research was for August 3, 1882. Before that, the only news of settlements along the Weiser River were found in the Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman.
Soon after the Weiser paper started publication, Robert White wrote a letter to the paper, with a description of the Council Valley. It was printed in the September 23, 1882 issue, which for some reason was volume 1, number 1. The editor must have printed a few issues before starting a volume and issue number system.
Bob White’s letter follows, along with my comments.
“Council Valley is situated on the main Weiser River about twelve miles north of Indian Valley, and has a population of nearly 100 inhabitants. The first resident, on the south, are L.S. Case, David Wedell and Jacob Groseclose.” The first two names are unfamiliar to me, but the Groseclose family moved from Indian Valley to Cottonwood Creek, south of Council sometime after their son, Jacob Jr., was killed in the Long Valley Massacre in 1878. The post office at Cottonwood was named “Rose” after their daughter, Rose Ann. Not long after Mr. White’s letter was written, the family moved to Lick Creek where Rose Ann married Arthur Robertson.
“The last named gentleman [Groseclose] has this year grown a nice lot of sugar cane which is well matured and is now being converted into syrup.” This is not the only case of someone growing sugar cane in this area. With our short growing season, it seems remarkable.
“The next residence is that of G.M. Moser, an energetic and well-to-do farmer.” The Moser cabin was on what is now the southwest corner of Moser Avenue and Michigan Street.
“A little higher up we find William J. Loveless and his father.” William’s father’s name was Zadock, which is where Robert Zadock Harrington got his middle name. Zadock Loveless’s daughter, Martha, married William Ryal Harrington, Roberts father. Bill and Zadock Loveless lived just northwest of what is now Council. Their homestead was the site of the Council trees, and the fort was built on their land in 1878.
“The next ranch is owned by A. Kesler, who by the way, is the champion watermelon raiser. He is now converting the juice of these melons into syrup with good success.” Why Mr. White used first names for some of his neighbors and not for others is a mystery to me. It was very common for men to be mentioned in newspapers by using their first two initials and their last name ( R.P. White, L.L. Burtenshaw, etc.). A. Kesler was Alex Kesler. The Kesler Cemetery sits on what was his homestead.
“Farther up the valley is the residence of your humble servant, the present postmaster, and one-legged justice.” I wish I knew where this place was. I know the Whites lived just south of town not too many years after this. Bob White was Council’s first postmaster, first school teacher, and first justice of the peace. As far as I know, the “one-legged” reference was merely 19th century humor.
“North of this, one mile, is the residence of G.A. Winkler, where the weary traveler can refresh himself with a good, square meal at any time. This ranch is situated on Mill Creek.” The George M. Winkler place is now the Gould ranch, three miles north of town. It is not Mill Creek, but not far north of it. The Winklers ran a stage stop / roadhouse of some kind. There are a few mentions of it in old accounts, but no real descriptions.
“Further up Mill Creek, and to the east, we find the farms of G.M. Winkler and William Harp, who are successful farmers.” George M. Winkler was the son of George A. Winkler, and were followed by many generations of George M. and George A. Winklers as a result of a tradition that seems to continue to this day. Just how many Winklers there were and are by these two names, I don’t know, but it makes for confusing research at times. There were a number of Harps in this area very early. Some of them lived at or near Fruitvale, but none of them lived in one place too long. Their descendents are still trying to figure out who lived where, and when.
“One mile east on this creek [Mill Creek] is an almost natural mill-site, with any amount of timber accessible, awaiting only capital and the saw to convert it to lumber. To the north we find the farms of Mrs. Harp, James Copeland and Samuel Harp. It will be remembered that this is on the east side of the Weiser River, while on the west we strike Hornet Creek Valley which runs north and west, and nearly parallel with the main Weiser. This valley is settled up for a distance of twelve miles, and has received quite a number of new settlers this season. Several families who have traveled for months on this coast have settled here and seem to think they have found the place of their choice for a future home. The majority of the newcomers seem to have some means and present the appearance of an intelligent and industrious class of people. ”
“Society is as good here as elsewhere. We have a good school house, and the school now in session is largely attended. Mr. D.J. Richards is teacher and is master of his honorable profession.”
“There is none of the sage brush or bunch-grass lands taken up as yet, but ere long the weary emigrant will find here his ideal of a home, erect him a corner of stone with the assurance of future prosperity and happiness. Bob.”
4-1-04
I’m delving into the 1951 Adams County Leader newspapers. That year, Eunice Trumbo was the pastor at the Congregational Church. Gordon Geer was pastor of the Seventh Day Adventist Church. I have no idea where that church was. George Kiser was pastor of the Highway Tabernacle (Pentecostal Church). Nello Jenkins was the Presiding Elder at the L.D.S. Church. George Finch pastured the Nazarene Church.
Orley Hart was the Adams County Assessor. Mabel Hoover was county clerk. The commissioners were Sylvester Farrell, Lewis Daniels and Frank Johnson. Treasurer: Rachel Card. Sheriff: Jackson Soden. Probate Judge: Robert Young. Prosecuting Attorney: Carl Swanstrom. The total of expenditures for the sheriff’s department for the last quarter of 1950 was $672.
The March of Dimes was fighting polio. 1950 had the worst outbreak in Idaho History. In the U.S. there were about 100,000 cases of polio in the years 1948-’50. This was double the number during 1945-’47. It was said that 4 out of 5 people over the age of 15 had come in contact with the polio virus.
The Wayside was still renting apartments. The phone number for reaching Dr. Edwards and Dr. Strouth’s office was 7.
An ad ran in the January 5 issue for a farm near Midvale. The place had 160 acres of good farm land, a six-room house, a 13 stanchion milking barn, and a horse barn. Some farm equipment even came with the deal. The price: $12,000.
January 19 issue: Bert Hoffman and Dick Benson of Council, and Gene Ratcliff of Indian Valley were about to be inducted into the army. Owen Mink, Alton Stover and Dick Parker had just joined the Weiser unit of the National Guard.
February 23 issue: “Bill Welty of the Council Sale Yard reports this week that he will hold his first auction sale for the year, next Monday, February 26, and will hold a sale each Monday thereafter.” He already had “quite a few” cattle consigned, and said he had buyers coming.
John Gould was president of the Council Mountain Stock Association; Fred Lappin was secretary. T.C. Mink was vice president, and O.C. Mink, Gilbert Shaw and Art Thorp were advisory board members. Helen Rogers sent the first buttercups of the year to the Leader office from Wildhorse.
March 2 issue: Plant superintendent, Irving Lystad, announced that the Boise Payette sawmill in Council would resume operations for the season with an adequate supply of logs until loggers can get into the woods.
“A beautiful wedding took place in the Congregational church, Saturday evening at 7:30 P.M., when Amy Eleanor, only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Schmid, of Cambridge became the bride of Donald Edward, son of Mr. and Mrs. Jewel Riggin, of Cambridge.”
March 16 issue: Among the Council students who made an educational trip to Boise: Nello Jenkins, Donnie Kesler, Charlotte Paradis, Ralph Bass, June Daniels, Gary Lappin, Paul Jacobs, Evan Baker, Mary Lay, June Wilson, Georgianna Glenn (now Parker), Betty Lou Harrington, Sylvia Keckler, Billie Clelland, Loris Addington, Wanna Belle Woods, Fred McFadden, Donald Harvey, Betty Stewart (Smith), Bob Lawrence and Wesley Armitage.
It seems like I already wrote something about this story, and may have even featured a photo of this truck loaded with 12 tons of fish that turned over on the Wayside corner. Forgive me if I have. The March 16 issue of the Leader ran a short story on that wreck: “A truck load of fish enroute from Seattle to Chicago was delivered in Council, upside down, last Saturday morning, when the truck failed to negotiate the turn in the highway at the Wayside Store.” Part of the steering wheel had to sawed off to get the driver out. “The fish were taken to Weiser Sunday, where they were loaded into another transport truck to finish the trip to Chicago.”
4-8-04
A couple weeks ago, in my column about World War I, I mentioned the Espionage Act that was passed by Congress in 1917. Gayle Dixon found a court document in the National Archives in Seattle about a Fruitvale man who was charged under this act.
Lee Muckenstrum and his son, Frank, lived up the West Fork of the Weiser, in the canyon that runs northwest from the Harrington ranch. Lee had been a cavalry soldier in 1876, and was on the detachment that buried those killed at the Little Big Horn under Custer. In an interview in 1934, Lee said, “The scene on that field was indescribable, and it haunts me to this day. The bodies of Indians were piled with the dead horses and cremated.” He said that Custer’s body was horribly mutilated, which is not what historians say. If I remember right, the Sioux women drove sticks through his eardrums to help him hear better in the afterlife. (They felt he hadn’t listened very well to them.)
Muckenstrum was arrested on July 17, 1918 for “making statements derogatory to the United States of America, lending aid, encouragement and assistance to Germany” on June 30th. He was accused of stating: “We have eight hundred thousand spies now in the United States of which I am one.’ Meaning German spies; and that ‘Germany will be in Mexico within one year. She will take Canada in two years, and within three years she will have the United States, and I had rather live under Kaiser Wilhelm than President Wilson or the United States Government.“
Renowned Council attorney, L.L. Burtenshaw presented the case in Boise on July 30. He was the Chairman of the Adams County Council of Defense. The witnesses were Miles Chaffee and Mrs. Thomas Shelton of Fruitvale, and William Jones of Council.
The document contains what seem to be rough notes taken during the hearing. This is what is recorded as the testimony of Miles Chaffee:
“I have known defendant for several years. Defendant said Germans were rendering soldiers to get the fat and were using the offal for manure. Defendant said there were several thousand German spies in the United States. Asked him what they were doing and he said they were trying to dethrone the Kaiser. Was not talking angry. Was not talking against this country. Said the Germans has whipped Russia and intended to go into Mexico. I asked him what we would do then and he said if the Germans came into Mexico we would both go down there and fight them.”
“Q. Did he talk against this country? A. He seemed to me that he did not go point blank against this country. Seemed like the Germans was sweeping everything and we was not taking anything. Did not say anything in an angry manner. I do not judge he was against this country. He said one thing that did not sound good to me personally. I am an old soldier. He said the soldiers would revert back to savagery and get war mad.”
“Q. From anything you have seen or known do you think he is pro German? Is he in favor of this country? A. He had never told me point blank he is pro-German. Q. Do you think he is in your own mind? A. I cannot say that I do think he is pro-German.”
Chaffee lived southwest of the old Fruitvale post office, just south of the little hill, on the place where John Elsberry now lives. Chaffee was also an old cavalry soldier and a veteran of the Idaho Indian wars. He came to Fruitvale in 1880 and was one of the founders of the townsite.
Testimony of Ethel R. Shelton:
“I live on Mr. Chaffee’s farm near Fruitvale. Have lived there since February 1st. Have seen defendant three or four times. Only talked with him once. Some time in June, this year. Mr. Chaffee was present. It was at the Chaffee residence. Spoke about how we were losing ground. He said they were run back where they were in 1914. I said I did not think they had run since our boys got over there. He said we did not have anything to boast of. I don’t remember what I said. He said some man marched 3,000 men and cut a hole in the ice and put them in during the Revolutionary War. He said that the Kaiser said in one year he would take Russia and France and take Italy in two years and then he would set his foot in Mexico. Mr. Chaffee asked him what we would do then and he said ‘Go down there and fight them. You and I both.’ Said we had 8,000 or 800,000, I don’t remember which, spies in the United States. I asked him what they were doing and he said trying to dethrone the Kaiser. We talked about the war for about three hours. My husband works Mr. Chaffee’s farm.”
Muckenstrum’s testimony:
“Has son in draft. Leave August 3rd, in Class 1. Has started to harvest wheat. Wheat standing in the field. Defendant was born in St. Louis, Mo. And parents removed to Iowa when he was six weeks old. Worked in Iowa and learned trade there. Was born in 1852. Father was German by birth but came to this country when 14 years of age. Mother born in United States. Said that he stated to Chaffee and Mrs. Shelton that the Germans had a spy system that ruined Russia. Had the same system in this country and in Mexico. That we had 100,000 men in the Secret Service and that every good American citizen was in the Secret Service and that they should report anything that they found the Germans doing. Stated that he did not belong to any organization that was against the Government. Was ready and willing to do anything he could to help the Government and to help win the war.”
The judge found Muckenstrum not guilty.
4-15-04
In 1887 in Hells Canyon, just above where the Salmon River enters the Snake, 31 men were murdered in cold blood. I’ve heard vague references to this story for years, but Gayle Dixon loaned me a detailed account.
The murder victims were all from China, and to understand the story, we need to look into the general situation regarding Chinese people in the United States in the 19th century. Racial hatred has been common around the world, and continues to this day, but at least we have made some progress. In the 1800s, hating or even abusing people because of their race was apparently “politically correct.” They were demonized in newspapers and public speeches all over the nation.
Human beings have an innate tendency to fear or mistrust people who are different from the culture to which they are accustomed. Without social conventions and/or education to counter this tendency, it easily turns into hate. The gold rush days of the mid 1880s brought a variety of people from all over the world to the western U.S. Of all the cultures and colors that arrived here, the Chinese were the most overtly different from the norm. In the view of many, “Celestials” or “Tartars” as they were called, had strange facial features, dressed oddly, spoke oddly, had weird customs and practiced a heathen religion. Chinese were frequently victims of robbery, beatings, lynching and even murder. A common expression grew out of this horrible situation, and everyone knew the odds against a person who had no more than a “Chinaman’s chance.”
Many American Indians also considered Chinese people to be far outside of “normal”—even more than whites. There were several unusually bloody massacres of Chinese groups by Indians. In white society, Chinese men were relegated to a narrow choice of occupations. Ranchers were convinced that a Chinaman could not ride a horse, apparently ignorant of the long tradition of skilled, mounted warriors in China. Chinese were commonly employed as railroad construction workers, cooks, household servants or laundry workers. There was a Chinese laundry in Council in 1900. Some courageous citizen used dynamite to blow it up. Fortunately the occupants “escaped serious injury.”
Hatred of Chinese people seems to have reached a peak in the 1880s. The term “Yellow Peril” and the slogan “The Chinese Must Go” became common in newspapers all over the West, including those of Boise, Weiser and Salubria. There seems to have been a sizeable population of Chinese in Weiser in 1886, and the September 10 issue of the Weiser City Leader contained and extremely vitriolic editorial about them. In an 1898 advertisement for the Inland Hotel in Salubria, Benjamin Day touted the fact that his establishment was neat and clean—“no Chinese or Japanese employed.”
Chinese workers followed the gold rush to places like Warren and the Boise Basin to seek their fortune. They were not allowed to buy property until the white men had taken what gold they could wring from the land; it was then sold to the Chinese, often at absurdly high prices. Through hard work and persistence, the Chinese were often able to extract more gold from mined out claims. This undoubtedly engendered hostile feelings in the pervious white owner. The practice of Chinese reworking old claims became so common that a rise in the Chinese population in a mining community was almost always a sign that he mining yield there was in a state of decline.
I'll go into the massacre story next week, but first I need to do a follow-up on a previous column. The pictures of the truckload of fish that tipped over in Council in 1951 brought a recollection from Sid Fry. People had told me that the fish were salmon and that they were given to local people, but I didn’t know just how that came about. The Leader story said the fish were “taken to Weiser Sunday, where they were loaded into another transport truck to finish the trip to Chicago.” Well, not quite all of them. Sid wrote:
“When I drove up to my brother-in-law and sister’s (Bud & Janice Jones) Wayside apartment, the truck had just overturned and there was a lot of activity around it. A few of us felt that the frozen Alaska salmon that we could see through the truck’s damaged back doors might spoil if not removed and so we started removing them. The drivers had been taken to the local hospital to be checked out. At first it was a disorganized activity—grab a couple salmon and run and give them to someone. We soon, however, formed a line and when a car would stop to ask what was going on we would throw a couple salmon into the car and wave them on. When the drivers returned, we disbanded the activity. The community of Council had a lot of salmon to eat that spring because of this unfortunate incident.”
4-22-04
Last week I wrote about how hated the Chinese were in the West, and how that hatred seemed to peak in the 1880s. In 1885 and 1886 anti-Chinese violence flared up in a number of locations, including Redding and Eureka, California; Tacoma and Seattle, Washington; and Rock Springs, Wyoming. At Rock Springs, 28 Chinese were killed, and 15 seriously wounded in a labor dispute. At Pierce, Idaho in 1885, a white merchant was murdered, and the crime was blamed on five Chinese men. The five were dragged out and lynched by a mob of masked vigilantes.
It was during this height of racial violence, in April of 1877, that two groups of Chinese miners entered the Hells Canyon area, going up the river from Lewiston to search for gold. One group set up headquarters near the mouth of Salt Creek. I couldn’t find Salt Creek on a map, but it is up the Snake from Robinson Creek where, the other group settled, just upstream from the mouth of the Imnaha River. Both groups camped on the Oregon side of the Snake.
Their choice of location was extremely unfortunate. They had probably chosen this isolated stretch of river because of its remoteness from “civilization” where they were barely tolerated. But the isolation of lower Hells Canyon had also attracted others who sought to escape attention from the civilized world.
Only a short distance downriver from the lower Chinese camp was Dug Bar. It was an ancient river crossing where the Wallow band of the Nez Perce had crossed the Snake in the spring of 1877 when their forced move brought on the bloody Nez Perce War. Within a few years, however, the Dug Bar crossing had become popular with horse thieves who used it to drive their pilfered ponies from territory to territory. (Idaho was not quite a state yet.) Even the name “Dug Bar” came from its illicit use. It was named after Tom Douglas who was said to have frequented this area after robbing a gold shipment in Montana about 1880. He was shot and killed from ambush in 1883. Typical of such situations, rumors spread that Douglas had buried gold bars near there along the Snake. Fortune hunters combed the area for years afterward, looking for the Douglas treasure.
During the 1880s several bodies had been found near Dug Bar, and it was well known that is was foolhardy for ranchers in the region to enter the vicinity in search of lost stock unless accompanied by armed neighbors.
The same spring that the Chinese miners entered Hells Canyon (1887) a gang composed of six men and a fifteen-year-old boy set up headquarters in Tom Douglas’s old cabin. The cabin was on Dug Creek, only one third of a mile down the Snake from Robinson Creek where the lower Chinese Camp was located. This is about 15 air miles northwest of Pittsburgh Landing.
The leader of the gang was Bruce Evans, better known as “Old Blue.” He and two of the other gang members were experienced horse thieves who had often used the Dug Bar crossing to move stolen horses. The three other men had ranching connections in the Wallowa Valley or Idaho. The gang soon became aware of the Chinese camps, and figured the miners must have found gold to be in such an out of the way place.
Toward the end of May, six of the seven outlaws stealthily surrounded the nearby Chinese camp. The boy was left to hold the horses. Once within easy range, the men opened up on the unsuspecting Chinese miners. Soon, nine of the ten miners were dead. The body of the last one alive was found later with a broken arm. It was speculated that the outlaws tortured him in an effort to get him to tell the location of the gold. He apparently tried to escape by running for a boat at the edge of the Snake River, but was caught. His body was found where the outlaws had bashed his head in with a rock.
One of the outlaws had stayed at the Douglas cabin to cook supper, and probably had it ready when the killers returned—nothing like a home-cooked meal after a hard day at work.
The next day, three of the killers went back to the Robinson Creek camp and encountered eight more Chinese miners who had come down river from the upper camp. All were quickly murdered. The three executioners then went about four miles up river where they found a group mining on a river bar and cut down thirteen more Chinese men in cold blood. Within two days, thirty-one men lay dead along this remote stretch of Hells Canyon.
More next week.
I would like to thank Sarah Hubbard for a donation to the Museum in memory of Millie Fern Gardner. Thank you Sarah, your generosity and thoughtfulness is very much appreciated.
Caption for map: The area along the Snake River where the murders took place in 1877. Why there is both a “Doug” Creek on the Idaho side and a “Dug” Creek (where Dug Bar apparently is) on the Oregon side, I have no clue.
4-29-04
In the summer of 1877, a human corpse was found on the shore of the Snake River above Lewiston, near Lime Kiln Point. It had a bullet hole in the back and two ax wounds on back of the head. Soon another corpse showed up at Log Cabin Island (the present site of Lower Granite Dam). It had two bullet holes in the back; the head and left arm had been chopped off with an ax, and the severed head and arm were wrapped in a coat that was bound to the waist of the corpse by a belt. A third body was found, missing its head, and “very much cut and chopped.” This one was discovered about 40 miles below Lewiston—one hundred miles downstream from the site where 31 Chinese miners had been brutally murdered.
Because of the scattered locations of the bodies, and possibly because they were Chinese (if they could be identified as such), there was no immediate investigation. In early June, the group of Chinese miners that had gone farther up the Snake River to Salt Creek came down the river by boat to visit the lower group. What they found horrified them. The camp was destroyed; blankets, cooking utensils and tools were scattered about on the bar, three bodies were in or near the river. The miners hurried on down the Snake and reported the crime to authorities at Lewiston.
Area newspapers printed any gory details of the murders that were known, and the story made it into national papers. The Chinese consul general in San Francisco read of the atrocity and asked the Sam Yup Company (one of the controversial Chinese Six Companies in California which controlled these Oriental nationals) to take charge of the case. The company sent Lee Loi to Lewiston, where he hired U.S. Commissioner, J.K. Vincent as a special investigator. Vincent was able to trace a few of the murdered miners, possessions—especially a unique type of flour used by the Chinese miners—to certain white men. In spite of this lead, the case evidently lost steam. Repeated letters to Vincent from the Chinese consul general went unanswered. The Chinese minister to the U.S. appealed to Secretary of State, Thomas Bayard for help, and the case was swept into the convoluted abyss of international politics. Although Bayard expressed dismay about the massacre, jurisdiction disputes between Oregon and Idaho became only one of the political and cultural roadblocks to progress.
During this time, knowledge of the massacre was sketchy; it was not even known how many had been killed. The fall after the massacre, George Craig, the rancher who owned the old Douglas cabin and wintered cattle in the area, rode into the Robison Creek area with his son and found numerous human skeletons lodged along the river between rocks and on the gravel bars. He said, “The coyotes or buzzards had cleaned most of the flesh off of them, so we did not know they were Chinamen. We couldn’t imagine how so many men had been killed without our hearing about it.”
Before authorities knew who was involved in the murders, two of the killers, Bruce Evans and J.T. Canfield, had been arrested that summer for stealing cattle and put in the Wallowa County jail at Joseph, Oregon. Evans, a.k.a. “Old Blue,” tricked the sheriff into taking him to the outhouse where an accomplice had stashed a pistol. Evans disarmed the sheriff and left the country, leaving a wife and children behind. Depending on the story one believes, Canfield either shot his way out of jail or was released on bail. In either case he was never seen in the area again.
Almost a year after the murders, three of other gang members involved in the murders were arrested in Joseph. A fourth member turned state’s evidence and gave details of the murders. Evens, Canfield and Homer LaRue, who had actually done the killing, had fled the state, their whereabouts unknown. Federal authorities showed little interesting in searching for them, and suggested the Chinese government could hire detectives for that purpose.
At their trial, Carl Hughes, Hiram Maynard and Robert McMillan (now 16) became extremely cooperative and tried to outdo each other in exonerating themselves and laying all the blame on the three absent ringleaders. A verdict of not guilty was announced on September 1, 1888. Young Robert McMillan died of diphtheria shortly after the trial. He confessed to his part in the crime on his deathbed.
Rumors circulated for years that the outlaws had netted various amounts of money, ranging from $1,000 to $55,500. According to one account, one of the killers was given the job of selling the gold for currency, but he skipped the country, leaving his cohorts without a dime.
Since the miners had only been in the Hells Canyon area for about six weeks, and that area was never known to produce much gold, all of these amounts are probably wildly exaggerated. Regardless, the wild tales were many. George Craig, the rancher who owned the Douglas cabin, claimed to have found a gold nugget “as big as a ten dollar gold piece” in the ashes of the Chinese camp.
Stories persisted that the outlaws had overlooked some of the miners’ gold or had buried it along the Snake River after the murders. In the early 1890s a local rancher claimed to have found $450 worth of gold and a long strand of human hair buried in a tea can near the massacre site, and another $200 in gold scattered among the nearby boulders. In 1902 a couple of young prospectors appeared in Joseph with a flask containing $700 in gold dust, which they claimed to have found at an old Chinese camp. It was assumed that it came from the Robison Creek massacre site. For decades afterward, people searched along the Snake River for hidden gold.
One of the more macabre artifacts of the Chinese massacre was the sugar bowl that graced the table of a local rancher; it was made from the skull of one of the Chinese victims.
5-6-04
I’m going back to the 1951 Adams County Leader papers to glean some interesting items.
April 6 issue:
Obituary of Henry C. Farlein, 78, “a resident of Idaho for the past 50 years, passed away in his room in the Montgomery Apartments, Sunday morning.” Born August 3, 1872. Never married. “He leaves a brother, Dr. J.A. Farlein of Worland, Wyoming, two nieces, Mrs. Hubbard of New Meadows, Mrs. Elva Roberts of Klamath Falls, Oregon, and five nephews, Roy Glenn of Nampa, Jeff Glenn of Weiser, Earl and Jake Glenn of Cambridge and Otto Glenn of New Meadows. There are other relatives in Oregon.”
Plans were being made to build a new city hall building. This is the old city hall building that the Museum is in now. Plans were to build a two-story structure, 30 by 60 feet, “located back of the present city building, and will be built, to a large extent, by volunteer labor which has been offered by the fire department and other interested citizens.” The upper floor was to be city hall and the library. A museum wasn’t mentioned, but the large room upstairs was shared by the library and the Winkler “Curio” collection for a number of years. The lower part was to house fire trucks and equipment.
April 13 issue:
Obituary of Henry Quast, Golden Rule store manager and Council Resident for ten years. On the Payette National Forest, 24, 383,000 board feet of timber was cut in 1950 from 76 small timber sales and 16 larger sales. “More than 650 people are employed at mill and woods work by eleven firms at least partially dependent on Payette National Forest timber.”
April 20 issue:
Funeral of Elsie Grossen, 71, wife of Adolph Grossen. Born 1879 in Switzerland. Came to U.S. in 1899. Survived by sons, Raymond and Walter, both of Alpine; Mrs. Edith Selby (Council), Mrs. Effie Missman (Boise), and Mrs. Louise Barton (Cambridge); a cousin, Robert Wafler (Council); a number of grandchildren and great grandchildren.
Funeral of Mrs. Minnie E. May of New Meadows. Her husband, Dale May was the janitor at the high school. Helen Snow (daughter of E.B. Snow) to marry Harold Anchorberg of Eugene, Oregon.
May 11 issue:
The big news was the opening of the new Idaho First National Bank. “The new bank office occupies the west half of the former Merit Store annex building. [Now the Ronnie’s Market—recently Shaver’s] The quarters have been completely remodeled and furnished to provide increased convenience for both customers and employees. The new office boasts more than twice the floor space of the bank’s former quarters, enlarged customer lobby and counter space, a new vault for securities, records and safe deposit boxes, and a private booth for use by safe deposit customers.”
The first Idaho First National Bank was established in Boise in 1867. In 1951, it had 19 offices in the state. The company was taken over by another bank a few years ago, then that bank was swallowed by another, and then US Bank came along…at least it went something like that.
Births: a girl born to Mr. And Mrs. Gene Camp on May 7. A boy born to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Petty on May 10.
Council eighth grade graduates: Darrel Abraham, Marlene Adams, Loris Addington, Ralph Bass, Kay Bronson, June Daniels, Anita Fausett, Larry Finn, Fauna Francis, Georgianna Glenn, Gary Hutton, Bruce Jameson, Nello Jenkins, Donnie Kesler, Sylvia Keckler, Bob Lawrence, Fred McFadden, Marva Phillips, Lee Reed, Alvin Schnell, Marie Smith, Betty Stewart, Joe Summers, Clara May Wood, Grover Cameron and Wesley Armatage. From Middle Fork: Carrie Wilson and Joan Gilman. From Fruitvale: Barbara Jean. Wildhorse: Jerry Emery. Upper Dale, but not taking part in the graduation exercises: William Shaw, Signa Ann Thomas, Arlene Moffat and Kit Cole.
5-13-04
Adams County Leader, May 18, 1951:
Mr. and Mrs. James Winkler, now living at Payette, celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. They were married in Council March 31, 1901 at the home of the bride’s parents.
“Firemen were called to the Clarence McFadden home about 3 in the afternoon to extinguish a blaze in a barn said to be caused by a short-circuit in wires leading through the building. This fire was controlled with no loss reported. Monday evening a barn containing bales of straw and several sacks of grain burned at the Afton Harrington place on Hornet Creek.”
Carlos Weed was appointed County Assessor after Orley Hart resigned.
May 25 issue:
A farewell picnic party was given for the Opland family on the Hugh Addington lawn. J.M. Mathews, of Meadows, died.
June 1 issue:
There were three fires this week: at the Homer Colson dairy on Monday, the Frank Youngblood house on Wednesday and at the Bennie Reid home on Thursday. There was no serious damage from any of these fires.
Top students at New Meadows High School graduating class: Donna Nine, Helen Branstetter, Henry Kinoff and Melvin McDougal. Sarah Ann Andrew, of Indian Valley, died. She lived there 55 years. Notice: Will the party who borrowed the Linoleum roller from the Howell Co. hardware store please return same. Thank You.
June 8 issue:
Mrs. Clara M. Lynch died. Was married to Frank Marvin; they had two sons, Calvin and Leo. Mr. Marvin was killed in an accident in 1907. She later married William Lynch.
John Ballard died. He came to Mesa in 1936 and lived there until last year. He is survived by three sons--John of Council, Kenneth of Weiser and Harold of Selah, Washington; three daughters—Mrs. Florence Hart of Council, Mrs. Adeline Betzer of Hillsboro, Oregon and Mrs. Lou-Ann Read of Atlanta, Georgia.
George W. Prout, an Idaho pioneer and former Council resident, died. He came here in 1917 and was postmaster until 1936 when he moved to Boise. He was also superintendent of the Congregational Church Sunday School.
June 15 issue:
“Jonathan Edward McMahan passed away at his home in New Meadows, Monday, June 4, at the age of 73. He was born at Burnt River, Oregon, April 17, 1878 and spent his early childhood there. When he was eleven years old he moved with his family to Indian Valley, Idaho, ad at the age of sixteen he moved to Meadows Valley. During the winters of 1896 and 1897 he packed the mail on his back and snowshoed into Warren, Idaho. In the winter of 1898 he carried the mail from Meadows to Goff, which was located at the mouth of Race Creek below Riggins. He owned an operated the first store in McCall.”
“At 23 years of age he established himself on his own ranch where he earned his living for several years until he had the misfortune of being thrown from a horse. The accident left him in a semi-paralyzed condition so that he has been more or less inactive since about 1929.” He married Lula Bradshaw in 1907, and had two children: Mrs. Mary Jones of Nampa and Eugene E. McMahan of New Meadows. “Mr. McMahan was preceded in death by one of his sisters, Mrs. Blake Hancock. Besides children, his is survived by one brother, George McMahan, Meadows; two sisters Mrs. Cora Warr, Sweet, Idaho, and Mrs. Mason Phillips, Lewiston, and two grandchildren.”
Martin Spears of Fruitvale hit a horse while driving down Fort Hall Hill. His is in the hospital recovering from a fractured pelvis and serious cuts and bruises. His car was “demolished and the horse, reported to belong to the Yantis brothers, was killed.”
Lewis Daniels sold his interest in the People’s Market to Russell Evans.
June 22 issue:
William H. Howard, of New Meadows, died.
5-20-04
Adams County Leader, June 22, 1951:
William M. Howard was buried at Meadows Valley Cemetery. Came to that area in 1905 and lived near Riggins for the past several years.
“Gale Larson, ten year old son of Mrs. And Mrs. Clarence Larson, received painful injuries by the accidental discharge of a .22 pistol while he and his father were hunting squirrels south of town last Sunday.” Shot himself in the leg.
Engagement of Mary Harberd, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J.E. Harberd of Council, to David Perkins of Pateros, Wn.
June 29 issue:
“Pioneers Hold Picnic”—J.B. Lafferty, H.E. Fuller, Mrs. Mabel Smith, Mrs. Alonzo Martin, F.M. Jewell, Francis Wilson and others met at Lafferty Park.
“ The Howell Co. hardware business, operated by Mrs. And Mrs. R.W. Howell since 1938, was sold this week to Mr. E.E. Whittington of Boise and A.J. (Butch) Gallagher of Weiser.” The Howells will be leaving Council.
Frank Laib of Meadows died. Born 1862, moved to Meadows 45 years ago, and later moved to Little Salmon River.
“Preliminary work on Hells Canyon Dam appears to be continuing….” This was probably not the same Hells Canyon dam that is on the Snake River now; it was not built until 1968. As outlined in my column just over two years ago, dam building on the Snake was a rather drawn out affair involving legal challenges.
July 13 issue:
Edward Filley died. Born 1905 and grew up near Tamarack. His mother, Minnie Filley, lives in Council. [I believe Filley Creek, south of Tamarack, is named after this family.]
“Idaho Horticultural Meeting to Be At Mesa”—Mesa Orchards are one of the largest in the Northwest. Harry Spence is the Mesa manager and first vice president of the Idaho Horticultural Society. Others involved in the meeting will be Virgil Stiple of Mesa; Frank S. Galey, Jr., Ernest Wing, J.W. Lofquist and John Hoover, all of Council. “There will be a tour of the 1300-acre orchard. Visitors will see a new apple sauce plant, speed sprayers, tillage equipment, and experimental plots.”
The X Club elected officers for the coming year: Don Strickfaden, Bull of the Woods; Barr Jacobs, Vice Bull; Wendell Stalker, Secretary; Jess Cuthbert, Treasurer; Bert Rogers, Tail Twister.
July 20 issue:
Fire destroyed the home and several outbuildings of Mrs. Mary Kampeter on Hornet Creek.
“Bert Brewster and Ira Hurham announced the opening of their new lounge in the New Meadows Hotel.”
July 27 issue: Wild tale by Sterling McGinley, staff correspondent at Fruitvale, about Bing Crosby catching an alligator in the Weiser River.
August 3 issue: Delpha Shaw married Alva Hutchison of Cambridge. “It was reported this week that a marriage license had been issued to Herbert R. Fisk and Helen Phelen, both of Fruitvale. The license was issued at Caldwell.” [They were married August 11 at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Al Faucett in Fruitvale. Helen came into the marriage with a daughter, Linda, and a son, Mike, who is now the Adams County Clerk.]
August 17 issue:
Mary Lou Keckler married Joseph Bronson. Ray Campbell, 55, of New Meadows was killed in a logging accident.
August 24 issue: Fire destroyed the ranch home of Mr. and Mrs. Fred Lappin north of Council. Nothing saved.
August 31 issue:
George Gould, early Council pioneer, died August 28. “With his passing, another chapter has been added to the stirring history of the Northwest.” Born in Canada, 1868. “In 1887 he came West to Lakeview, Oregon, and during the following school year taught in the school at Summer lake, Ore. Early in the following summer he moved to Idaho where he spent the summer months in ranch work on the Stewart ranch situated on the Payette River at what was then known as ‘Falk’s Store’ and which is now designated by one of the Idaho historical markers on Highway 52 southeast of Payette. In the fall of 1888, Mr. Gould came to Council valley and soon acquired ownership of the present J.D. mink farm on Cottonwood, and by 1890 he was established in both farming and cattle growing and had adopted the “90” brand, still used by the family and well known throughout this part of Idaho.”
This ranch is the one at the end of Cottonwood lane where the gate is across the road. I believe it was Gould who built the present house there. I believe John, Clarence, Annie and Lester were all born on this ranch. The Gould “90” brand is still in use, and is a reminder of the year George got established in the cattle business. “In 1909 Mr. Gould acquired the present farm in the valley and this has been the family home the past 42 years.” This ranch is three miles north of Council; it was originally homesteaded by George Winkler. George Gould married Viola Duree in 1893; she died in 1948.
A.L. Martin died. Born 1874; came to Council 23 years ago.
5-27-04
Adams County Leader, September 21, 1951:
Lorraine Selby married Lile Hellyer at McCall. The couple will live at the Wayside cabins. Bessie Bell and Roy Fry were married and will live at Council. He is employed by MacGregor Logging.
Carl Shaver of New Meadows was elected president of the Idaho Food Dealers association. Deb Shaw and Ted Hunt caught a 2-year old black bear in a trap at the Hoover Orchard.
October 5 issue: Edna Wikoff, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Wikoff, married Bruce Addington.
George Mitchell, Meadows Valley pioneer, died. Born 1873. Came to the area in 1888 with his parents in a covered wagon from LaGrande, Oregon. He operated a store in Meadows, then moved to New Meadows and was the postmaster there for 20 years. He was president of the Meadows Valley Bank for many years, and was County Commissioner in 1937 and ’38. This obituary failed to mention that he was one of the first Adams County Commissioners appointed in 1911.
October 12 issue:
Marvin’s Lounge was taken over by Clifford Johnson and Dewey Moritz. Donald Rittenoure, Mesa warehouseman, died. Evelyn Evans, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Wendell Evans, married Leslie Marvin, son of Mr. and Mrs. Cal Marvin. E.E. Whittington died. The Forest Service is asking hunters to shoot porcupines on sight because of overpopulation in these areas: Middle Fork, East Fork and Squaw Flat.
October 26 issue: Brig Young married Barbara Largent at Winnemucca.
November 2 issue: Deb Shaw and Clarence Schroff opened a new meat market in Council.
Does anyone know the place and circumstances of the death of Ralph Doughty who died August 7, 1990? He is buried in the IOOF cemetery, and a relative would like any information she can get. I’m thinking he died outside of the area since there is no news of his death in the local paper. Please contact me if you know something.
The Museum will open Saturday. Come in and see the new exhibit of old dresses.
Photo caption:
The undefeated 1951 Council High School football team. After nailing the league championship, these boys went on to play Rathdrum in the State Championship and won. The old high school can be seen in the background, and the old courthouse is back there on the right. The last of that row of cottonwood trees was cut down just a few years ago. Back row, left to right: Coach Ron Dunn, Dick Hancock, Mike Spence, Orville Shaw, Marion Faucett, Ralph Longfellow, Johnnie Williams, John Edmondson, Jack Piper, Bill Shaw, Ray Sheppard, Ron Moore, Delbert Ham, Chal. Smith, John Fry. Front row: Don Kesler (manager), Gary Collins, Leland Wheeler, Frank Smith, Eddie Hiroo, Neal Winkler, Tom Wortman, Ed Mauzy and Bob Tomlinson.
98357 Photo caption:
Main Street, Meadows, Idaho. The year is unknown, but it is before 1911. The larger arrow indicates George Mitchell’s General store. The smaller arrow points to the modified gable end on one houses roof. There is a house at about that spot today with just such a roof; whether it’s the same one, I don’t know. It also makes me wonder if on of those pine trees on the left is that big one that stands right on the north side of the highway. The sign on the left reads, “"LIVERY - FEED & SALE BARN." Just to the right of that building is a small sign that is barely visible, reading, in part, "WEBB." This was the W.E. WEBB CO. store.
98404 caption:
Does this picture look familiar? It is painted on one of the window covers on the old courthouse. This is George S. Mitchell, one of the counties first commissioners appointed when the county was formed in 1911.
6-3-04
Adams County Leader, November 16, 1951:
The Idaho Power Company purchased the electric facilities of this area from the West Coast Power Company in 1944. They began a half million dollar construction program to improve and extend electric service. According to L. W. Brainard, division manager from Payette, “When we commenced operations here, materials were scarce because of the war and it was impossible at the time to expand the lines and facilities serving the area as rapidly as we wanted to. The old line, which served this area from Weiser, was badly overloaded. A new transmission line from Weiser through Midvale to Cambridge was built in 1945, but it could not be fully used because it was impossible to secure materials for substations.”
Chester E. “Chet” Selby, a life-long resident of the Council area, died at the age of only 55. He fought in WWI in a machinegun battalion, was Adams County Sheriff from 1923 to 1927. For the past 11 years, he was employed by the Boise-Payette Lumber Company. Survivors: his wife, Edith; two daughters, Mrs. Alfred McGown (Vivian), and Mrs. Lyle Hellyer (Lorraine Selby), both of Council; a sister, Mrs. Clarence Hoffman (Opal) of Council, and two granddaughters. My father was a great admirer of Chet Selby. Dad said Chet was one of the strongest men in the country, and could lift an anvil over his head with one arm.
December 7 issue: Ferdinand H. Muller, Sr. died. Born 1902. Resident of Council for 16 years. Was a dairyman until his retirement about ten years ago. Survivors: his wife; two sons, Ross and Ferd; a daughter, Mrs. Paul Hoff; his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Armour Muller of Wray, Colorado; two sisters; two brothers and six grandchildren.
“Mountain States Tel. & Tel. Expanding—Although the past decade saw the greatest population growth in the history of Council, the telephone growth was much more rapid, according t Jess W. Cuthbert, manager of the Mountain States Telephone and Telegraph Company.”
“Council’s population increased from 692 in 1940 to more than 748 today; an increase of 8.1 percent. In the same period, the number of telephones in Council grew from 126 to 294; an increase of more than 133 percent. Before World War II, telephone growth was generally moderate but in the last few years of substantially higher incomes, the telephone has become more than just a convenience or luxury in most homes. This has caused a heavy demand for service from existing residents, which, added to the demand from new residents, has resulted in doubling the problem of providing a telephone to everyone wherever and whenever it is desired. In spite of this, tremendous strides have been taken. The $16 million invested in the past ten years in Idaho is more than the company had invested in the state during the preceding thirty years.”
December 14 issue:
Mary E. Larkey died. Born 1863. Has lived here the past 41 years; many of those were at Fruitvale. She and her husband, James J. Larkey, were some of those who bought property at the new town site of Fruitvale in 1910. In 1913, their daughter, Fane, married Ernest McMahan. Jim Larkey was a justice of the peace in the 1920s, and married my maternal grandparents (Mae and Russell Merk) when they arrived, unannounced, on his doorstep at midnight in July of 1926. Mr. Larkey died only four years later. Mary Larkey seems to have moved to Boise after her husband died, but she built a “cabin” on Fane and Ernest’s place to stay when she was up here. Mrs. Ivie and her sons, Joe and Wallace, moved into the Larkey house in 1930; Mary sold the place to Sophie Thompson in 1936. Today, Lorraine Selby lives in the same house that the Larkey’s built in 1910.
December 28 issue:
June Stewart married John Fry.
Frank Roeder died. Born 1873; came to Council 1937.
Mrs. Louisa Mitchell, of New Meadows, died. Born 1865, married Andrew Mitchell in 1904.
Photo 95058 caption: “Studio portrait of a young Chet Selby.”
6-10-04
Adams County Leader, January 4, 1952:
Robert Wafler died. “Robert Wafler, son of Mr. and Mrs. David Wafler, was born in Fruitgen, Switzerland, Sept. 22, 1883, the youngest of four children. He was orphaned at an early age and was cared for by an aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Anton Wafler, the parents of the late Mrs. Adolf Grossen.” Became a member of the Congregational Church at the age of 15 (1908) and was the custodian of the church for more than 40 years. “A fitting memorial will be placed in the new church in recognition of Mr. Wafler’s long service in the church he loved. He is survived by Adolf Grossen and family, Walter and Raymond Grossen, Mrs. Glen Missman, Mrs. Junior Barton and Mrs. Edith Selby, along with many good friends.”
Advertisement on page 3—“When children are puny…Scott’s emulsion helps ‘em grow strong.”
January 11 issue:
“Rep. Chas Winkler will leave for Boise Saturday morning to attend the special session of the Legislature called for Tuesday. Mr. Winkler, as a member of the highway committee, will confer with the Governor, Saturday before the opening session.”
Elizabeth Winkler, mother of Charles Winkler, celebrated her 90th birthday.
“Wanted: Piano tuning and repairing. Write to Roy Glenn 123 3rd Road N. Nampa, Ida.”
January 18 issue:
“Howard Dryden’s car was badly damaged, when he was hit head on at McCall, Sunday evening by Leland Waggner of McCall. Waggner had struck the Karen Engen children, who were standing by the side of the road, carrying the Engen girl 40 ft. on the bumper of his car. She dropped off the bumper a few seconds before hitting the Dryden car.” Interesting that the paper told of the damage to the car, but not how badly the girl was hurt.
Something struck me as funny about the following New Meadows article; not that the accident was funny. “Mr. and Mrs. H. Rich visited their daughter, Norma Lou, who was injured in a wreck, as she was returning from being married to Richard Klinkhamer, in Winnamucca, Jan. 6th. Fay Steckman and Herbert Clark were also married at the same time.” First, the placement of commas makes the first sentence seem to mean Norma’s parents visited her as she was returning from getting married, and that the wreck happened because she was returning from being married to Richard. Then it must have taken some doing for Fay and Herbert to schedule their wedding ceremony at the exact time of the wreck…or was it the same time as the visit from Norma’s parents? Or maybe Fay and Herbert were just both married at the same time.
February 1 issue:
“Deer Becoming a Problem On Snake River—Mrs. Earl Rogers of Robinette, Ore., reports that the deer in that area have become a real problem to the ranchers. There are hundreds of the animals along the Snake river, eating hay and destroying trees. Mrs. And Mrs. Rogers have regular roundups of the animals, herding them away from their property, but in a few days they are back and as much a nuisance as ever.”
I’ve noticed a couple of holdovers from older times in this group of papers. In the previous paragraph, “river” is not capitalized. This was what the old time newspapers used to do; the name of a river was always capitalized, but not river. And that snake oil ad for Scott’s emulsion is a throwback for sure.
James Bracy, nephew of Mr. and Mrs. Newt Draper, died. He was a former resident of Council. “His wife is the former Hazel Bacus, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Ben Bacus of Lewiston.”
Galen York and Carole Matthews were married at the Congregational parsonage.
Actors in the three act comedy play “January Thaw” presented at the school auditorium Saturday evening: Lucille Palmer, Gary Collins, Margery Glenn (Clay), Dorothy Adams, Ann Stewart, Nelma Glenn (Green), Mike Spence, Bob Tomlinson, Betty Emery, Jack Piper, Bill Summers, Dick Hancock, Leland Wheeler and Neal Winkler.
Arlene Waggoner, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Ervin Waggoner, married Thomas Warner of Los Angeles.
Hospital Notes: Mr. and Mrs. Ferd Muller Jr., are the parents of a daughter born Jan. 26. I assume this was Jenna. “Master Johathan Edwards of Council was admitted for medical care Jan. 26.” Jonathan (“Jay”who must have been 2 years old at the time) and Jenna would marry each other a few years down the road. “Mr. and Mrs. Hezz Petty are the parents of a daughter born Jan. 31.” This was Carol.
I just realized recently that I’ve been writing this column for ten years. I started in February of 1994. Time flies.
6-17-04
I made a major mistake in last week’s column. The year for the newspaper references should have been 1952 instead of 1942.
I received this email recently: “I found your site by searching a Frank S Galey. I have dozens of love letters and books sent to this man during 1918-1920’s. They stretch from Idaho to Scranton, PA to Orlando, FL, Garden City, NY and in many of the other cities and regions in his description. How can I reach this family?” If any of you know how to contact someone in the family, please let me know.
This week I’m starting a series on the Shaw family who settled on Middle Fork. The information was collected by Lois Shaw Herman. I’ll start with memories written by Mariette Shaw Pilgrim. She wrote this when she was 88 years old in 1987. She starts with memories of a very common activity in the early days around Council. There are many references in old Council newspapers, telling of many people packing up and going into the mountains to pick huckleberries.
My earliest childhood recollections are trips into the mountains to pick huckleberries. Several Shaws and related families would pack wagons with bedding, food, cooking pots, etc. and plan on a week or more stay.
Sometimes a family would have a tent, but more often we spread our blankets on a level place under the stars. I can still remember the sighing of the wind through the pines, an occasional coyote howling, or a horse stomping nearby. All these watched over by an occasional moon and all those millions of stars.
The Shaw families were prolific, so there were many berry pickers. Jars, as well as tummies, were soon filled, and we were on our way home. It did not seem a long journey in those days. Now with so much better transportation, it would only take a fraction of the time.
I can remember how much fun it was to look for liquor bottles along the way. It was a contest to see who could gather the most. You modern folks would wonder why we gathered them. In the “good old days” my mother would soak a string in kerosene, tie it around the bottle at its widest part and set the string on fire. As it burned down, she would dip the bottle in cold water. Presto, the glass would break evenly when it had heated, and we had a jelly glass all ready to be thoroughly washed, filled and sealed with paraffin.
You kids, who go to the store and buy your sealable jelly glasses can’t imagine our primitive efforts, but the jam and jelly tasted just as sweet, I believe maybe even sweeter, as we boiled ours until it thickened while you have Certo and other aids to thicken yours.
I’ve often felt that kids who grew up in towns and cities missed so much. We loved to ride on our ponies. When it came time in the evening to gather in the milk cows, our mother often laughed at us, as she said we walked farther to catch a horse to ride after them than it would have been to go after them afoot.
Since I lived on a sheep ranch, I became a pretty good sheep herder. The lambing was always done at a location away from the ranch, but shearing was always done on the place. When there was a small bunch sheared and ready to be taken out ot graze, my father would ask for volunteers. Such duty freed us from making beds, washing dishes, garden work or other duties. We could ride our ponies and explore new areas. The sheep lay down in the heat of the day and freed us. Of course we never lost sight of them, but it was great fun.
Continued next week.
Caption for photo 95202— A picnic on Middle Fork, July 4th, 1916. No doubt the Shaw family was well represented. Thanks go to Delpha Hutchison for the photo.
6-24-04
The memoir of Mariette Shaw Pilgrim continued from last week:
Middle Fork of the Weiser River was settled mostly by Shaw families. I believe my father, Ben James Shaw, was the first settler of the tribe. The next was my grandfather, Henry Shaw. I remember him so well. We all liked him so much better than our grandfather Bacus. I can remember his small cabin on Middle fork—above the Wooden ranch. (I think this was the place that Henry homesteaded.) Quite early he disposed of it and bought the place later owned by my Aunt Minnie and her husband, Charlie Barbour. It was across the road from the school house. (Aunt Minnie was the youngest living daughter of Henry Shaw mentioned above.) When Henry sold this place, he moved to Cottonwood, just across the bridge on the old road and west of the Phipps place. My mother and father, like so many farm folk, made Saturday the day “to go to town.” It was the event of the week as it took all day. Nine miles then was quite a trek; now it is a few minutes. Some of us kids usually went along. Sometimes we would be allowed to stay with Grandpa Shaw while our parents went on to town and be picked up on their return. It was a great treat. He welcomed us lovingly and fixed the best lunch. Isn’t it great the things we remember? My most vivid memories were of the “so clean house” he kept. I had seen other bachelor quarters and none of them measured up to his.
When I was about six years old, the new schoolhouse was built on Middle fork (about 1904). Before that my older brother and sisters walked or rode horses to the old log house on Cottonwood. It was located on the later Whiteny place, just south of the Phipps ranch. The older Higgins, Brier and Houston kids attended. Some, I’m sure were near twenty years old.
I remember sitting in a homemade desk whose top was far above me unless I stood on my knees. I also remember a family of ants that entered through a hole between the logs. They marched, one behind another, up the log to disappear through another hole.
There was no art, music, supervised P.E., etc., but we surely learned to add and spell. My very short legs were glad when the new Middle Fork school was built. It doesn’t seem possible that was about 82 years ago. So often during the past years when I have been supervising modern school work or ordering new supplies for certain grades, seats to fit the grade, new music books, the latest art material, special P.E. equipment, I think now lucky and pampered today’s child is.
I think the Barbours arrived about that time (1904). They lived in Grandpa’s small house only long enough to amass enough to build a new house—the nicest on in the valley. Our house was much larger, but it was a much built on one.
Uncle Bill and his family arrived next (1907). With all their kids and our family, for once our seven-bedroom house was too small. To complicate things, there was a measles epidemic. No vaccinations in those days. You just had the current diseases and got over them. To facilitate matters, pallets were put down all over the large living room floor, and as another kid broke out, he was added to the gathering.
Our good old Dr. Brown, who usually tended our ailments, was absent. A substitute was called. He took one look at all those bedded-down kids, then turned to my mother and said, with some awe, “Mrs. Shaw, are all these kids yours?” She never forgave him.
That old house burned down several years later, about 1911. The same year my father was killed in a farm accident. We had had such a wonderful childhood until then. The world lost a lot of its glitter and became a bit frightening at times. [Her father, Ben Shaw, was killed in July of 1912 when a hay derrick fell on him.]
Our family was scattered as soon as we found our wings developed enough. But we have been fortunate. Lots of good substantial food, and knowledge. That each must do his share, has helped us all. Our health has been good as is attested to by our longevity. The three of our family aged 88, 91 and 98, that are left, have profited by our early beginning and are able financially to take advantage of modern retirement homes where life is so easy and comfortable. —Mariette Pilgrim, 1987.
I’ll have more on the Shaw family next week.
Photo attached: Jane Shaw and Ida Moser
7-1-04
Lois Shaw Herman, daughter of John and Essie (Ball) Shaw, is the source of much of the material about the Shaw family that I am putting in this column. The last time I heard from her was several years ago and she was living in Kansas. She wrote the following about her memories of the Middle Fork School.
The Middle Fork schoolhouse was built about 1904. Up until then the Middle Fork children attended the school on Cottonwood.
The three windows you can see on the south side of the schoolhouse were later removed. The spaces were filled in and those windows were then added to the ones on the north side causing lots of north light to flood the school room.. The small building on the north side of the schoolhouse was originally built for the teacher's quarters but later was used as a wood shed.
As you walked through the front door, you came face to face with a big pot bellied stove. To your right along the back wall was shelves under the front window and across to the corner. This was for the water bucket, dipper, cups, lunch boxes, etc. The water had to be packed from a spring next door. Some time later there was a well and pump installed in front of the school, but I don't think it was too successful.
On the wall to your left were the coat and hat hooks and shelf. The blackboard was across the front wall, around the corner and down the right side where the three windows had previously been. Of course the teachers desk was in front, and the floor was covered with desks.
I don't know who first taught at this school, but the first teacher I remember was Mrs. Marble in about 1923 or 1924. My first teacher was Miss Poynor in 1926; I was five years old. We lived across the street from the schoolhouse, and one morning I was quickly dressed and sent to school—quite unexpectedly on my part. But I thought it was grand, until I came home after school and found a house full of neighbor women and a baby brother being handed to me. I didn't understand why they were so insistent on making me believe them because I knew we didn't have a baby and I thought it had to belong to some one else. But I finally decided I was wrong; we did have a baby boy, and his name was Oren. This was in October, and I finished out that school year. As I found out later, the school had to have an attendance average of at least three students in order to continue classes there, so I helped. So did Fern Poynor, Miss Poynor's niece from town. She was about my age, and we were the only ones in that grade. I think it was called Primary at that time. But we kept the attendance up!
District 49 was consolidated into the Council district about 1950, and a few years later the schoolhouse was torn down.
This last paragraph is where I got my information for my Landmarks book as to when the school closed. Lois actually wrote 1940 as the approximate date, so I put that in my book. Since then, I’ve learned that the school was operating until at least 1950.
Caption for photo 95043:
This is the only existing photo that I know of showing the Middle Fork school. The woman on the horse is Nancy May “Minnie” (Shaw) Barbour. Her husband, Charlie Barbour, was the postmaster at Middle Fork in 1908, and the photo looks to be from about this time period. Minnie was the daughter of Henry J. Shaw.
7-8-04
Continuing with the story of the Shaw family.
The Shaw family tree gets a little complicated, and I have enough trouble keeping track of my own relatives, so forgive me if this gets a little complicated. For those who want a good run down of who is related to whom, see Roy Gould’s web site <http://www.rgould.org/Henry Shaw.htm> for a chart put together by
Pam Shettler, who comes from a branch of the Shaw family via David and Ella (Shaw) Duree.
Once again I am quoting the writing of Lois Shaw Herman, and adding notes and comments here and there. If you find mistakes here, please let me know. Some of the spellings are not consistent or may be questionable when it comes to names.
Henry J. Shaw was the ancestor of all the Middle Fork Shaws. He was born in 1833 in England. He was about eleven years old when he came to America with his family via Canada. His father (Henry) mother (Nancy) and sister (Mary) had been baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints four years prior to their immigration, and they settled in Nauvoo, Illinois, and remained there until they were driven out by mobs. Then they moved to Coonville, Iowa where Nancy was baptized into the Reorganized Church in 1860.
In 1856 Henry J. married Marietta (Mary) Pack. They resided in Mondamin, Iowa where their thirteen children were born. Seven of these children died young, in fact five of them died about the same time. Lois heard it was from some contagious disease, but she don't know what disease it was.
Henry J. Shaw was a Civil War Veteran, and was with Sherman on his "March-to-the-Sea." His small Civil War pension made life easy for him.
Henry J. and Marietta’s son, Ben Shaw, was the first Shaw to move to this area (in 1888), and they (Henry & Mary) followed a few years later, with their daughter, Nancy May (“Minnie”). They homesteaded a place about 4 or 5 miles above Ben’s ranch. They built a small cabin to live in, but later disposed of it and bought a larger place down the river by the main road to Council, and built a little house there. The Middle Fork School was later built across the road from this place. Henry J. later sold this second place to his daughter, Nancy May, and her husband Charles Barbour, and bought a place on Cottonwood, just across the bridge on the old road and west of the Phipps place. (This Phipps place must have been the George Phipps place, which was where Renwicks live now, just across the highway west of the Cottonwood Road.)
In 1888, Henry J. was in the Veterans Hospital in Boise. While Marietta was visiting him, she got sick and died. Henry J. married Nancy Lenora Norman Duree—widow of I. J. (Jackie) Duree—in 1907. He was about 74, and she 64, when they married. Nancy was the stepmother of Viola Duree—Viola married George Gould. Henry J. Shaw, born January 19, 1833, died December 17, 1909. Nancy, born July 5, 1843, died May 17, 1911. Nancy and Henry J. Shaw are both buried in the Cottonwood cemetery.
To complicate the connection between the Shaws, Goulds and Durees, Ella Mae Shaw (daughter of George and Sarah Shaw and great granddaughter of Henry J. Shaw) married David Duree. Some of you remember their son, Raymond Duree, who lived on the little hill that stood just south of town until it was flattened to build the Texaco (now Shell) station. Now…did you get that all straight? (Somebody let me know if I didn’t.) To thicken the confusion even more, Lois said Henry J. Shaw was married a third time—to Helen Kinney.
Henry J. Shaw had one son who did not come to Idaho—Joseph Edward Shaw. He married May Johnson and stayed in Iowa. I’ll have more on the ones who did come to Idaho next week.
Caption for photo 98421—Nancy Duree (later Shaw), at the Gould ranch about 1900.
10060.jpg—A painting of the Middle Fork School and adjacent buildings by Lois Shaw Herman. It sat a short distance east of the present highway and just south of the Middle Fork Road. Somebody should GPS the exact location before there isn’t anybody left who can pinpoint it.
7-15-04
Continuing with the story of the Shaw family, quoting Lois Herman Shaw.
Nancy May Shaw, known as "Aunt Minnie" by all her family and friends, came to Middle Fork with her parents, Henry J. and Mary Shaw, in the early 1890s. She was about eleven at that time.
Aunt Minnie married Charles Barbour from the upper Hornet Creek area. They bought a place on Middle Fork from Minnie's father, and lived in grandpa Shaw's small house only long enough to amass enough to build a new house, the nicest one in the valley.
Aunt Minnie was proud of her new home. She later had a small room converted to use for the Middle Fork Post Office, and served as Post Mistress there for several years. Uncle George Shaw carried the mail to and from Council. It was a great step forward when the families along the road could put up a mailbox and get their mail delivered there. With horse and buggy, it took Uncle George all day to make the round trip.
Aunt Minnie and Charlie had four children—Eva, Alice, Robert and Marie.
The children were quite small when Charlie and Aunt Minnie were divorced. They sold the house with twenty acres to Minnie's Nephew, John Shaw. Charlie built another house across the river for himself and one for Minnie in town. Even though they were divorced, they were always friends, and the children's happiness was foremost in their minds at all times
Minnie later married Mr. Burt White, a schoolteacher who taught many different schools in the area, but mostly around Bear and Crooked River. They later moved to Payette, and were there several years. After Mr. White died, Minnie moved to Boise to be near her daughter, Marie.
I believe George Shaw was the next to arrive. George was the oldest son of Henry J. and Marietta. He and his family settled just north of the Middle Fork bridge. This bridge was a beautiful iron bridge with a high railing on each side, and was used for many years After the new highway was put in, a new bridge was constructed about a quarter mile down the river, but the old bridge was still used. It made it much easier for the cattlemen who trailed their stock to and from the range. [The abutments for this bridge are still there and visible from the highway.]
George's wife was Sara Kesling. They were married in 1882, and they had a large family. George carried the mail to and from Council for many years. He and his sons built a new house, a barn and a silo. The silo was quite an unusual sight in that part of the country in the early 20th century,
George and Sara spent their latter years with their children. They spent a lot of time with their son, Henry, who lived about half a mile north of the river near the highway.
George and Sarah’s children that I remember were:
Henry—married Nina Thompson
Mary—first married Ben Houston, then ___
Katie— married Mr. Jackson
John— married Lula Thompson, sister of Nina
Ted— married Grace __
Enos “Bing”—
Chester— married Sister of Grace __
Gladys— married (Blackey)?
Adams County Leader, Aug 9, 1935: George Shaw died - age 78 - to Council 1885 - has lived on Middle Fork ever since.
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Caption for 95208.jpg —Minnie Shaw Barbour White. Photo taken at a family reunion. Photo courtesy of Delpha Hutchison.
Caption for 7--George Shaw.jpg—The George Shaw house on Middle Fork. In 1930 George's nephew, John Shaw, bought this house, enclosed the front porch and remodeled the interior.
7-22-04
Continuing with the story of the Shaw family.
Out of all the Shaws that once lived in the Council area, Alvin Shaw is the only one now listed in the Council section of the phone book. Alvin’s parents were John and Lula (Thompson) Shaw, and John was a son of George Shaw who I wrote about last week. I’ll be getting more complete information about the rest of George’s children—all of whom were not listed by Lois. I’m told that Lois has had Alzheimer’s disease for the past several years.
Roy Gould has supplied me with some information about the tangled web of relationships between his family and the Shaws. He wrote: “My grandmother's (Viola Duree Gould’s) brother David married Ella Mae Shaw and they had six children together. Ella is the woman who died of food poisoning that you wrote about in an article last fall. She and her son Charles are buried in the Indian Valley Cemetery. David and Ella are in the photo of the Duree family reunion found on the photos page on my website. David also has the distinction of being married to Mary "Ida" Moser (his first wife) until her death in 1913.”
Now back to Lois Shaw Herman’s writing about the family.
William Daniel Shaw (son of Henry J. Shaw)—In 1907 William (Bill) and Jane left Mondaman, Iowa and headed for Idaho. The railroad had finished the P&IN line up the Weiser River to Council, so they were able to make the trip by rail. The conductor was kind enough to stop the train at the mouth of the Middle Fork river to let them off and they walked from there to the home of Bill's brother Ben Shaw. [According o Marguerite Diffendaffer in “Council Valley—Here They Labored,” the family spent three days on the train and arrived on March 31.]
This was quite a memorable walk for my father, John, who was a young teenager. He had always lived in Iowa on a farm and had never seen so many rocks in his life. He quickly filled his pockets, then started throwing them. He was having a marvelous time, but by the time he had walked the mile to his Uncle Ben's place the muscles in his arms were so sore he could hardly lift them. They were also introduced to their first chokecherries. I'm not sure they really liked them at first, but the train trip had been a long hard one with very little opportunity to eat, so they filled their tummies anyway.
Bill and Jane bought a ranch about a mile above the main road to Council. In 1909 their son, Gilbert was born. Two years latter another son, Ervie, and in 1916 their oldest daughter, Minnie Jane Shaw, died.
In 1917 their teen-age son, Artie, became ill and soon died. They never knew the cause of his death. About four months latter on the 10th of October, Jane and her children were picking berries a short distance below the house when someone yelled that the house was on fire. They rushed toward it but could do nothing but watch it burn until Jane noticed the baby Orval was not in sight. They all searched diligently with no success, but after the fire had cooled off they found his remains in the ashes. He had slipped away, gone back into the house, started the fire somehow and then probably became frightened and hid under the bed. He was only three years old.
Bill and Jane then built a new house. This time they took all the precautions they could to prevent another disaster. The new house was made with all hardwood interior, stucco outside and ceramic tile roof Unlike most of the buildings in the area that were made from local material, the material for this house had to be imported.
On 3 Dec. 1918, their 13th child was born—a boy named Arnold. Less than three months later, Bill came in for dinner, and while resting on the porch he had a heart attack that killed him suddenly.
After Bills death, Jane ran the ranch. She had six sons and one daughter still at home. They all worked except the little boys of course, and they too learned to work as they grew up. Meanwhile they each had the opportunity to accumulate stock of their own if they wanted to. Floyd preferred blacksmithing, and his father had set him up with his own blacksmith shop there on the ranch. John chose to raise sheep instead of cattle. It helped them when they married and started a home of their own.
About 1934 Jane sold her ranch to her son, Ervie Shaw. She spent the next few years with her children in Washington, Oregon and Idaho, She contracted diabetes, and it eventually became so bad that in the early 50s she had to have one leg removed. She was living in a very nice nursing home in Caldwell, Idaho in 1952 when she passed away.
From “Council Valley—Here They Labored”—Children of William D. and Jane Shaw were: Gilbert, Eddie. Ervie, Orville, Ben, Artie, Louisa, Bill, John, Minnie, Floyd, Amos, and Arnold.
Caption for 95210.jpg—“Jane and Bill Shaw with two of their children in 1896.“
Caption for 9—Bill & Jane Shaw.jpg—“Lois Shaw Herman’s painting of the Middle Fork home of Bill and Jane Shaw.”
7-29-04
The question of just when the Middle Fork School closed has come up, and has been the subject of some debate. Roy Gould wrote to say:
“I think that the Middle Fork school closed after the spring semester in 1950 along with Fruitvale, White, and possibly some other schools. I think the school consolidations were all done at the same time and the students from these outlying schools all came to town school at the same time.” [Later learned: Middle Fork School's last year was 1954, with 9 students.]
“I attended first, second, and third grade at White School but I had to go to town school when I entered the fourth grade. My class was made up of students who were already attending town school plus the four of us from White School (me, Robert and Roberta Armitage, and Helen Reed), plus Larry and Pauline Wilson who came from Middle Fork, plus Gary Yantis who came from Fruitvale. This happened at the fall semester of 1950 when I was 10 years old.”
“By the way, my mother once taught at White School and that is how she came to be in the Council Valley so she could meet my father. She was a graduate of Albion Normal School, the abandoned campus.”
Roy wrote again later, and forwarded observations from his classmate, Priscilla Morris. She wrote:
“Hi Roy. I talked to my sister, Rosemary, (she was in the same class as your sister Donna), and she is quite sure that Fruitvale school started coming to school in town for the 1956-57 school year. She remembers Linda Fisk coming into their class that year. Also, she thinks Mesa school came to town for the 1954-55 school year. We had a cousin at Mesa school and that was the year he joined their class (Melvin Kilborn).
I talked to Pauline Wilson yesterday. She said that theirs was the last class to graduate from Middle Fork School. So that school must have closed at the end of the 1953-54 school year. I wouldn’t stake my life on any of this but think it's probably fairly accurate. It's been kind of fun thinking about it all.”
Consulting the few references I could find to school consolidations, I found that in March of 1954, a number of schools were discontinued and their districts consolidated into the Council district 25: Glendale (established 1912) Orchard (1914), Lower Hornet, White, Ridge (lapsed in 1941), Johnson Creek, Cottonwood, Crooked River (lapsed in 1930). Wildhorse was consolidated with the Bear School District.
In 1956 all of the schools in the county became reorganized into District B-13, adding Fruitvale, Goodrich, Middle Fork, Mesa and Upper Dale. The confusing thing is that these dates don’t necessarily mean that any particular school closed on the year it was consolidated. It would seem to indicate that all the schools listed were closed by the year in which they were consolidated. I think the Bear school must have been the last one in the county to consolidate with Council when it closed after the 1967-68 school year.
Caption for 95047L.jpg—A 1953 photo of some of the Fruitvale kids who transferred to Council. Front row: Billie Cushman, Shirley Yantis, Paulette Cushman, Mike Ryals Middle row: Anna Marie Cushman, Mike Fisk, Kenneth Ryan, Tom Glenn, Lee Yantis, Linda Fisk. Back Row: Dennis Rice, Sherry Rice (Jenkins), Darlene Bethel, Maxine Glenn (Nichols), Gary Yantis.
8-5-04
Continuing with the story of the Shaw family, from the writings of Lois Shaw Herman.
When WW I started in 1914, John Henry Shaw (son of William & Jane Shaw) was a single man of twenty-one so he was called into service. By this time he had accumulated a large band of sheep, and before he left he sold them and bought twenty acres with the beautiful new house that his Aunt Minnie and Charlie Barbour had recently built. It was on the main road to Council and across from the schoolhouse.
After his return from the war, John met Essie Ball, of Cottonwood, and in 1920
they were married. One year latter Dr. Brown drove out in his buggy, with his little black bag, and delivered me! (I remember it well! Sure!)
My earliest memories are of coming home from Los Angeles in an old Essex touring car (guess it wasn't old then!) I remember only some parts of the trip. Mother said no matter what anyone asked me, my first reply was "I am Lois Shaw, two years old the first of June." Guess I thought that was what everyone wanted to know. I do remember thinking that we'd never get home. I was so glad when we reached Emmett because I had been told that was where my Grandpa Ball lived, and although I didn't remember him, I knew I would see him, Grandma Ball and my Aunt Erchel.
We had been living in California a year. Dad worked for Southern Pacific RR while we were there, and we lived with Mother’s Great Aunt Lucy and her daughter Rena. I had my first birthday there, and I was almost two when we came home. Up to this time I had been very protected in the big city of Pasadena. I had always lived with adults, so imagine my surprise when I saw Erchel and she was about my size—so was Maurice, my Uncle, and there was Beulah and Merl only a little bigger. Kids my size! I couldn't remember ever seeing children before; I just thought that everyone was big like Mother and Dad.
A few days latter we got back into the Essex and drove to New Plymouth, and there was Marjorie—another little person! How exciting! She lived there with her mother and dad, Eva and Clarence Hersey, and she was also my size.
We finally reached Middle Fork, and I was very happy to be home. Three years later my brother, Oren, was born, and my sister Artis was born two years after that.
Although that house has long been gone, I will always have seven years of beautiful memories of it.
On 29 November 1929 the stock market crashed. Two months later, 31 January 1930, as school was dismissed for the lunch break, the big boys were, as usual, the first ones to hit the door. On their way out, they saw fire and smoke coming out of the upstairs windows in our house. Dad and Mother were not home. They had gone to help a neighbor, but my Uncle, Celsus Ball, was there with his wife, Irma, and son, Harold. The fire had started up stairs, and wasn't caught early enough to stop. The big boys from school ran over and quickly started packing things out. Soon the neighbors were there helping too, and they managed to save most everything downstairs. I watched it burn.
Dad did not build back in that spot. We had about three feet of snow, and it was cold. We spent the rest of the winter, and through the summer, in a couple of tents. Dad then bought the ranch next to him from Roy Shaw. It was where Uncle George Shaw had lived for years. The house wasn't very old, and it hadn't been finished on the inside, so Dad remodeled it before we moved in. They were there until about 1946. That's when Mother got ill and needed better medical care, so they sold this place and moved to Boise. They kept the original twenty acres he had purchased from Aunt Minnie plus several more acres he had purchased from the Barbour's at a later date. After several years in the Boise area, they decided to go back to Middle Fork and built a new house on the riverbank across the road from the Gilman ranch.
The winter of '65 was a long hard winter on Middle Fork—lots of snow and cold weather. Mother was ill, it was hard for them to get out, so Dad decided not to spend another winter in that country. He sold his new house and all his property on Middle Fork to his brother Gilbert Shaw. Gilbert and Erma lived there until their death. Their only child, Delpha, inherited it.
Dad and Mother then bought a house with five acres near Fruitland from Roy Shaw, and this is where they were living when Dad passed away after about five years of lung cancer. A few years later, Mothers arthritis became so bad that she was confined to a wheel chair. I lived in with her for awhile to care for her. Oren lived nearby and was a great help. She later sold her place and moved into an apartment in Boise where she could be closer to Artis. She had a very nice apartment with live in help and was there several years, but in June 1978 Mother had a bad spell and had to be moved into a nursing home. She died the 7th of August that year.
8-12-04
Continuing with the story of the Shaw family, from the writings of Lois Shaw Herman.
Bill and Jane's son, William Harvey Shaw, married Nancy Moser on 15 June 1919, and they spent several years in the Portland, Oregon area before returning to Idaho where they ran a ranch a few miles north of Council for Mr. Snow. They had five girls and one boy. Their oldest daughter, Verla, married Herbert Woods and had two daughters. Verla died in a Boise Hospital in 1953.
When the State of Idaho opened a large section of new land near Caldwell for homesteads, Bill got one. He later sold the homestead and moved to New Plymouth. A few years latter (1977) while taking a nap on the couch he passed away quietly of a heart attack.
Bill and Nancy had six children: Verla, Earl, Lavern, Elva, Argyl and Willabell. I believe Earl owned some property on Middle Fork near Fall Creek at one time. He ran cattle near there, and I think he owned a little house that was built there, but I'm not sure. Elva and her husband live up Hornet Creek; Lavern and Willabell are in the Boise area, and I do not know where Argyl is.
Benjamin F. Shaw married Daisy Taylor from the Johnson Creek area. They had two children when they moved to Arizona because of Daisy's health. I'm not sure how long they were in Arizona, but after they returned they lived on a small place near the Mesa Landing. This is where they were when the twins were born. The twins, Betty and Benny, were about four months old when Benny got sick, maybe with Phenomena, I'm not sure, but he wasn't strong enough to make it.
Ben and Daisy later homesteaded a place in Oregon where they lived several years. They sold this place to George and Marjorie Hust. They lived in the New Plymouth area for a while, and Near Sweet Home Oregon, then back to New Plymouth where they were living when Daisy passed away.
They had eight children, the four I mentioned above, and Pat, Grace, Bill and Wayne. Ben now lives in Fruitland, Idaho. This year on 29th of Feb 1996 he will have his twenty-third birthday. He will be ninety-two years old.
Floyd Shaw married Vietta __. They had two children, a boy, Emmett, and a daughter, Eunice. They left Middle Fork and lived in the Portland area.
Louisa Shaw (daugher of William & June) married Troy Hawley and they had two daughters, Gwendolyn and Geraldine. Troy worked at the Tamarack sawmill for awhile after they were married, but they left Idaho and spent most of their life in the Longview Washington area. Troy worked at the paper mill there. The girls both married and I think they are still in Washington.
Etta Shaw (daugher of William & June) married Robert Turnbough. They had one daughter, Darlene, who married Gerald Thomas. Etta and Robert got divorced, and she married George Holt. They had two boys, Delmer and Gilbert. She later married Kenneth Brewer. They Lived in Kelso Washington.
Arnold Shaw (son of William & June) married Fern Bridges. Three boys and a girl were born to that couple. They were divorced, and he married Louise and had more children. They lived in Oregon. Arnold passed away several years ago from a heart ailment.
Ervie Shaw (son of William & June) married Margaret Jackson of Indian Valley. They had two children, Dauna and Orville. They bought the Shaw place from his mother, and they lived there several years. Ervie raised cattle and also was employed as a range rider for several years. He bought the Heimsoth place which was next door to him and sold the old home place. He later bought a place out of Weiser, and he was there where he passed away in Jan 1996. He was buried in the Council Cemetery.
8-19-04
This is the last in my series of Shaw family columns, taken from the writings of Lois Shaw Herman.
“Amos George Shaw was the second son of William and Jane Shaw. He married Margaret Shaw, daughter of Ben and Katie Shaw of Middle Fork. I remember Aunt Maggie. She was a beautiful lady. They had three children, Aletha, Stella and Amos (or Little Amos as we called him). They moved to northern Idaho where Amos worked as an employee of Hecla mine at Burk.
“On Dec 2, 1922, Amos was working on a project in Wallace when he fell of a high scaffold and suffered a fractured skull. After four months in the hospital, he returned to work, but he had dizzy spells now and then and delirium followed. He died 18 May 1923, and his death certificate carried the words "acute meningitis."
“Maggie brought her three children back to Council. She worked as a waitress at one of the local restaurants there. She applied for State Workman's Compensation for the death of Amos, whom they had listed as "died from natural causes." An autopsy performed on exhuming the body in Aug. determined the cause of death was accidental. Maggie finally won her contention against the State and was awarded the amount due under the compensation act. She received $8,405.96, (Taken from the Adams County Leader, Dec. 7, 1993)
:Maggie's seven-year-old daughter became ill while they were in Council. Maggie took care of her at home since there was no hospital there at that time. The Dr. diagnosed her illness as Dropsy. I remember her setting in the big chair with pillows stuffed around her. Her legs were very swollen and she couldn't walk, but I didn't hear her complain nor cry. I was there the day she died. When I saw the water running from her legs I became very upset but someone took Little Amos and me to the neighbors where we stayed until they came after us. Guess it wasn't very long, but it seemed long to us, before they came to get us and we were told that she had died.
“Little Amos and I were about the same age. I believe we were about four at this time. He had experienced the trauma of his father’s death only a short while before, but this was my first experience with it, so he was trying to console me. It is so vivid in my mind—the short walk back to their house and walking in, Stella was still there in her chair and Aunt Maggie was sitting beside her crying. Little Amos put his arms around his mother and said "Don't cry Mommy, I'll take care of you".
“Maggie and her two children, Aletha and Little Amos left Idaho. They were in the Oregon, Washington area the last I heard.”
I ran across this interesting newspaper clipping. The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Sept 20, 1905—A four-foot wide vein of coal was found near the warm springs on the Middle Fork of the Weiser River, "by Ben Shaw, C.A. Barber and others." A big slab of coal was found far down in the canyon "a number of years ago," and many had been looking for where it came from on the hillside above. The chunk was 4'X4'X8' and "absolutely pure coal."
More input on the Middle Fork School closing came this week from Chuck Wolfkiel. His sister attended the school the last year it was open—1955-56.
Caption for photo 95097:
Ben Shaw, Clara Satterfield and Anna Stroble about 1915. The caption on the back reads, “Taken when us girls went to school in the teens.” I’m not sure where this picture was taken, but it looks like it may have been in town. If anyone knows, please let me know.
8-26-04
A great big thank you goes to Dwight Wichman for this week’s article about a motorcycle club that went into the Iron Springs area in the Seven Devils mining district in the late 1930s. Dwight gave me a copy of an article that appeared in the January 1938 issue of “Harley-Davidson Enthusiast” magazine. The article, written by Don Gamble, was accompanied by a number of photographs—most of which were of scenery that looks pretty much the same today—but there were also some priceless shots of buildings that are now long gone. Because the writing is so descriptive, I will quote most of it.
“High among the Seven Devil Mountains in western Idaho, far off the beaten track, are the deserted gold mining camps of Black Lake and Paradise. Silently and ghostly they stand—dead to the world for more than a third of a century. Dilapidated and deserted, the rickety buildings lean, slowly sagging beneath the accumulated years of exposure to the bitter cold and snow of thirty-odd winters.
“Theirs indeed has been a short existence—yet colorful and adventurous. At the turn of the present century when the thrilling news of numerous gold strikes swept through the west, Black Lake and Paradise sprang into life as if by magic. They were quickly populated by wild-eyed speculators eager to dig a quick, easy fortune for themselves. Black Lake and Paradise mushroomed, boomed, and, just as suddenly, died when the gold veins petered out. The miners moved on to other parts, feverishly seeking the fickle yellow stream that spelled wealth. Soon Black Lake and Paradise became silent ghost towns devoid of human habitation. Their very names covered with the growth and age of passing years.
“A new generation has grown up in Idaho since the roaring days of Black Lake and Paradise. And these young Idahoans listen, with hearts beating fast, to the tales of romantic adventure which took place in their state in years gone by. Small wonder then, that the Owyhee Motorcycle Club of Payette, Idaho, composed of riders from western Idaho and eastern Oregon, should plan a trip to these two towns among the Seven Devil Mountains.
“The adventurous cavalcade, twenty strong, and well loaded with camping equipment and food, rode out of Payette at dawn one hot July morning. It was a sight to thrill the heart of any red-blooded adventurer as the motorcycle group flashed by with saddlebags bulging with food, and frying pans and coffee pots tied on top of bedding rolls. The members looked forward with keen anticipation to exploring the long since abandoned towns, which they had been hearing about ever since they were old enough to remember.
“In due time the caravan reached Council, Idaho, where they halted for breakfast and filled gas tanks—the last chance to take on gas with a 120-mile round trip of bad roads and mountain trails ahead of them. Past the little town of Bear, Idaho, the caravan rode their mounts over fourteen miles of road that wound upward through heavily-timbered fir and pine country to an elevation of 7,000 feet. At length they reached the north side of Smith Mountain where the playful members of the party indulged in a spirited snowball fight. A mile or two farther on, the band came to "Devil's High Dive." Far below was Deep Creek whose waters flow along a deep gorge due west to Snake River Canyon. As the adventurers rounded a sharp bend in the trail their hearts leaped with excitement as they saw desolate ruins of Black Lake—even more deserted than their imagination had pictured it.
“There stood the old ore mill towering above the tumble-down buildings like an old monarch. The old saloon, once the scene of boisterousness and gayety, now a mass of wreckage and broken bottles. There was the old mill office through whose pay window a fortune in pay envelopes had once passed. There was the bunkhouse up near the mine, which had long since lost the shingles from the roof. There were the bunks, 44 of them, and even the bedding which almost crumbled to dust at the touch. Other articles of clothing lay about the bunk-house in careless abandon. Only the hobnailed soles remained of what once had been strong, tough leather boots. Through building after building the little band explored, speculating on what had been the fate of the inhabitants of this ghost town. It appeared that the miners had left unexpectedly as though in great haste, leaving, many of their belongings behind. One of the riders carefully, inspected a piece of newspaper he had discovered. Though the printing was faded and obliterated badly, the date of 1904 was still legible at the top. Thirty-four years before, some miner had carelessly flung the paper aside little realizing how significant that paper would be long after he was gone.”
To be continued next week.
9-2-04
this is the second half of the article by Don Gamble from the January 1938 issue of “Harley-Davidson Enthusiast” magazine. Once again, much thanks goes to Dwight Wichman for getting me a copy of the article.
“Once again the explorers were ready to push on—this time to Paradise. The trail to this ghost town had not been used for over a quarter of a century and the going was painfully slow. Rock slides had to be shoveled out and logs rolled into creeks to get across. In many places the riders had to double up to get their machines through. After countless detours the tired but happy group reached the summit overlooking beautiful little Paradise Valley surrounded on all sides by towering mountain peaks. Far below, a small stream flowed along the valley and out the lower end through a gorge. Along this part of the, trip the snow was so deep that a trail had to be broken before the motorcycles could he brought through.
“After an arduous battle, the roaring motorcycles reached the valley floor, the first time in history that mechanized transportation had found its way into Paradise Valley. Before them stood the desolate town of Paradise. The old hotel, the largest building in town, with shingles gone and sagging roof, stood at the side of what once had been the street. Now it was covered with a growth of young pine trees ten feet high. On the opposite side of the one-time street were a dozen or more houses, several of which had collapsed beneath the heavy winter snows. The livery stable stood apart from the rest of the buildings. Numerous pictures and initials were carved on the sides of the walls. In the hay loft, several of the riders came upon the huge nest of a pack rats. They carefully took the nest apart, knowing that the rat probably had a more interesting collection of items than they could find in their roaming around. Mr. Rat had indeed collected everything from sticks and stones to assay cups and silverware. The little town had its own sawmill too, which long since had fallen victim to the ravages of time and the weather, leaving the rusted iron machinery standing gaunt and bare.
“Ghosts or no ghosts, desolation or not, the motorcycle caravan completed their explorations for the day and set about preparing their supper. Luggage was unloaded from the motors in front of the old hotel and huge pans of potatoes were put on to fry. Soon the aroma of hot coffee, baking beans, meat, and the frying potatoes filled the air. Tonight at least, the laughter and cheer of human voices would echo once more through the ghost town of Paradise. Strange sounds indeed they must have been to the tumble-down buildings after all these years of silence. While supper was being prepared some of the riders went for a short dip in the nearby creek, and what a dip it was, because only a short distance upstream were great inciting snowbanks. Even among the buildings there were snowdrifts in the sheltered places.
“After supper a big fire was built to keep off tile cold chill mountain air. Back at home, the riders knew their friends were sweltering amid a heat wave. It grew late and the fire burned low. One by one the riders drifted off to slumberland. Somewhere high on the ridge a timber coyote yipped; seconds later down below near the sleeping explorers in ghost town, another coyote answered. The silence seemed heavy and the fire cast eerie, dancing shadows. Suddenly—a thunderous roar—sleepy-eyed figures leaped up in all directions. Nothing less than the raid of outlaws or Indians! Yells of indignation, dark looks—then apologies. Just one of the boys warming up his motor before turning in. Once again all is still.
“Early the following morning the fishermen in the party set out along the Creek.
They climbed steadily, up past a waterfall, over a ledge of rock, to gaze upon a
beautiful crystal clear lake; its surface glistening in the morning sun. The jagged peaks of the surrounding mountains towered a thousand feet above and the huge banks of snow, down to the very water's edge, held tile fishermen spellbound. An hour's fishing and they started their thousand-foot descent again to the valley and the ghost town. The other riders were breakfasting and about to load up for the trip home. As the sun leached its zenith, the band of motorcycle explorers were well on their way homeward. Once again they passed the huge snow hank at the tip of the South rim. They paused for one long lingering look at the valley and then moved on along the rough trail. In the valley below, Paradise—lonely, old and deserted, settled hack down to its desolation and quiet.
9-9-04
It was pointed out to me that I have been spreading false information concerning the homestead at Paradise Flat, mentioned in last week’s article about the motorcycle trip. It turns out the homestead was on another Paradise Creek down much closer to the Little Salmon River. No wonder there was an orchard there. Sorry about that.
Thanks to the generosity of a few local people, the museum now owns a great, old, steam-powered sawmill. Kelly Cole contacted me about the sawmill. It was on Richard Cook’s property at Bear, and Mr. Cook was willing to give it to the Museum if we had a place to put it. Once the city council gave their OK to place the mill near the Museum, Kelly and Harold Balderson hauled all the big, heavy parts to Harold’s place on Hornet Creek. Thanks guys!
Jesse Smith operated the mill for many years at Bear, just east of the intersection where the road leaves Bear for Cuprum. Bert Warner said it was used to saw the lumber for the cabins at the McGahey place in the mid 1930s. It was probably moved up on the hill to the west of that location when Jesse sold it sometime around the 1940s. It may never have actually been put into operation in that location. The mill is in amazingly good condition, and just about all the parts seem to be there, with a few minor exceptions. There is a big boiler, two steam pistons, pulley wheels and shafts, the saw carriage and rails, saw mechanism, a thirty-foot high smoke stack, and a bunch of other miscellaneous parts.
Although there is no plan to get the mill in working condition, it will take some time and work to get it in shape to set it up as an exhibit. If you are interested in helping with this project, give me a call.
As many of you know, I’ve been moderating a series of oral history programs at New Meadows over the past few months. The next one will be on Thursday the 16th at the Senior Center in New Meadows. They have been very interesting, and feature a panel of people who have lived in the area for many years who share their memories. Sarah Hubbard loaned me a copy of a “magazine” that was put together by Bessie Baker’s Meadows Valley High School English Class in 1945. The copy Sarah had was reprinted by the Pep Club in 1967. Over the next few weeks, I plan to feature some of the interesting parts of the magazine.
The following is an article, which, like the rest of the magazine, was written by a student. I have made comments within brackets.
INTERVIEW WITH S. J. MITCHELL
I interviewed Mr. and Mrs. Sam Mitchell at their home in New Meadows, January 20, 1946. They told me the following.
Mr. and Mrs. John Mitchell and three sons, John, Andy and Sam, came here in the spring of 1888. They came from Grand Ronde Valley, Oregon to this valley, but were originally from the state of Iowa. They made the trip in three covered wagons—Mrs. Mitchell driving one of them. They crossed the Weiser River twenty-three times between here and Council, and got stuck in the mud this side of the bridge coming in. They homesteaded where Mrs. Bowlin Abshire now lives. [I would really like to know where this place was. The Bowlin Abshire family lived near Fruitvale on the West Fork for a while.] The boys later took up places of their own over the valley.
They immediately took part in the pioneer life of the country, Mr. Mitchell preaching the first sermon in the valley in the schoolhouse. Mrs. Mitchell lived to the ripe old age of 99 years, 3 months and 7 days.
Sam Mitchell married Annie Zweifel in July 1901. He ran a mercantile business in Meadows for some years, and later was the postmaster here for nineteen years and ten months.
Andy was married to Louisa Zweifel in 1895, and moved to the place he lives now.
John was married to Miss Tessy Shepard—a girl from here—in 1890, and moved to California in 1895.
It took a ton of flour to run them a year. Deer meat and fish were the fresh meat. Currants and gooseberries were their main fruit.
The Indians used to come and play baseball and take part in the races held at the old racetrack.
On the 4th of July, every one in the valley came and brought baskets and tubs of food, and would gather in the grove for a picnic dinner.
Mrs. Sam Mitchell belonged to the first Woman's Club in the valley. It had twelve members, met every week and studied parliamentary. It was the first club organization in the valley.
The Odd Fellows lodge started in 1902. In 1945 Mr. Sam Mitchell was the only charter member (out of those twenty) living.
Captions for photos:
Sawmill2.jpg—The boiler for the steam-powered sawmill.
Sawmill5.jpg—As it sat on Mr. Cook’s place, the boiler was connected to a steam piston. I think that is the saw mechanism in the foreground. As you can see, much of the various timber supports have rotted and will need to be replaced.
9-16-04
This is the second of a series taken from a high school magazine on the history of Meadows Valley, written in 1945. This week—an interview with Fred Clark about the Clark family.
“On December 25, 1852, in the town of Quincy, Illinois, was born a little girl who was to become one of the pioneer settlers of our valley, She was Vina E. Latham, and she spent her early childhood with her parents in Illinois. However, in 1864, her father joined a wagon train, which was headed west across the Great Plains. With their worldly possessions in an ox wagon, the Latham Family came to Idaho. In the same fateful year, George W. Clark came with his parents in the same wagon train. He was born in the town of Monroe in the state of Iowa in the year of 1850 on January 30th.
“Both of these children’s parents settled in Boise Valley where the children grew to manhood and womanhood. In June 1870 these young people were married. They spent the first years of their marriage on a ranch near Star.
“Mr. Clark taught for several terms at a school in Boise Valley, and one of his students was his wife. His teaching was very successful, but he wasn't satisfied, so in 1883 he made his first visit to our beautiful valley. In the year of 1888 he brought his wife and eight children from their home in Boise Valley to Meadows Valley to make their home. After moving to Meadows Valley, three more children were born.
“The Clarks owned the first sawmill in the Valley. At first it was where the Tom Rubberd [sic] house now stands, but later they moved it down toward the Sam Mitchell ranch. They logged with oxen, and there was a crew of six—an engineer, sawyer, ratchet setter old an off-bearer. Frank Waggey drove the oxen. They cut Lumber and boards and sold them to the people of Meadows Valley, in rough lumber for doors, barns, fences, etc. The planing had to be done by hand because there was no machinery with which to do it.
“The Clark family also farmed. Their home was on the ranch where Earl Simpson now lives. They had the largest barn in the valley. It didn't have any nails in it to hold the together; instead they used wooden pins. The barn was built by Dan Yoakum and Newt Munkres and it was 175 feet long.
“For many years Mr. Clark and his family put up hay on the present town site of New Meadows. Part of their house was built with the first house on the original town site of New Meadows. This house was built where the Northern Hotel now stands.
Mr. Clark played the violin for the dances, while Herma Yoakum played the organ. They would load the organ on a sled, and several families would take their sleds and they would all go somewhere for a dance. Sometimes they all went to Round Valley. They would do their chores early Saturday night so they could get an early start, and they would get back late Sunday morning.
“Mr. Clark played for the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Campbell.
“For twenty years Mr. Clark was very active in church work while he was in Boise Valley. He had a church office; his work was somewhat like that of a Deacon.
“Mr. Clark carried the mail on skis for many years, between New Meadows and Council. The trip to Council from New Meadows took one and one half days. He would eat his dinner at the Stevens station situated at the mouth of the East Fork. He made the trip between Council and New Meadows alone and he cut through the mountains at Evergreen. In the winter months, for many years, he helped another man take the mail to Warren. The trip for the mail was made twice a week.
“In those days all supplies were brought in by wagon from Boise. Quite different from the bakeries now days, all bread and pastries had to be baked at home. Most of the clothing was made by hand. They didn't have speedy machines run by electricity as we have now, but they were happy and had their amusements to enjoy like we have ours.
“One of the Clark boys, Fred Clark, was formerly one of our local game wardens.”
If anyone has information about the locations of a couple of places mentioned here, I would appreciate hearing from you. One place is mentioned as “where the Tom Rubberd [sic] house now stands,” and I’m wondering if this is a typo for “Hubberd.” Two other places are, “the Sam Mitchell ranch” and “where Earl Simpson now lives.” Bear in mind this was in 1945.
I would like to thank John Spaulding for a donation to the museum in memory of Odell Vaile. Thanks, John; you’re generosity and thoughtfulness are very appreciated.
9-23-04
I few weeks ago, I wrote about someone who had some letters written to Frank Galey and wanted to find a relative who would want them. With the help of a few readers, Frank’s daughter, Romaine Galey Hon, got in touch with them. I received the following letter from Romaine:
“Thank you for my wonderful adventure! Yvonne Swanstrom called me when you had a column item looking for descendants of Frank S. Galey. It seems that a packet of letters written to him had been found in a salvage company warehouse in Florida and the owner didn’t just want to discard them.”
“Hooray for Gina Van Epps at Orlando Liquidators who, it turns out, researches her family history and thought someone would like these. She even put each letter in a plastic sleeve, not an easy task as they were all jumbled together—page after page of them. They dated from 1918 to 1920 when Dad was at the ranch in the summers and fall.”
“Helaine only signed her first name and I felt like a detective as I went through the letters. I now know the writer was Helaine P. Peters of Garden City, New York. She was born October 15, probably in 1986. I found some fascinating information about her and someday I will try to contact her descendants.”
“She and my father were secretly engaged—and this was broken off long before
he met my mother in 1925. Many thanks to you, Dale, for your invaluable assistance in this mystery!”
I suppose it’s a long shot, but if anyone knows relatives of Helaine Peters, let me know.
The oral history program that I moderate in New Meadows every month was very interesting Thursday evening. The next one will be on October 21.
The following is another interview from the “History of Meadows Valley” magazine put together by high school students in 1945.
YOAKUM FAMILY—Interview with Mrs. Chester Irwin
Don Yoakum was born in Missouri in February 1859. His wife, Anna (Hunt) was born in Arkansas in 1868. She is now 98 years of age. She is presently living, in Portland, Oregon (1945). They were married in January 1888 at Pendleton, Oregon. Three children were born to them: Grace, Jenny and Edith. Mr. Yoakum's occupation was farming.
Grace Yoakum was born at Pendleton, Oregon in 1886. She came to Meadows in the spring of 1890. The trip from Pendleton took 6 weeks in a covered wagon. They lived at various places--the Kearns place, near S.S. Freeman's house; near Stanley Parrot's barn; Old Town, and the Hot Springs.
They went to school near the Abshire home 3 months a year. In 1905 she graduated from grade school. There were no high schools here then, so they could not continue their education in this vicinity. They rode horseback to school. Her teachers were Florence (Freeman) Brown, sister of Mrs. Meyers, a former teacher of the primary grades at New Meadows; Miss Jewel, Mary Henn, Lola Date, Mr. Erving Lee, Bess Meriness and Elizabeth Lapp.
At Christmas and Thanksgiving, programs were given by the pupils of the school. Such games as "pompom pullaway," "London Bridge" and “steal sticks'' were played. In school they studied arithmetic, geography, physiology, spelling and history as their subjects. School was much harder then because there were no reference books as there are today.
She was married to Chester Irwin in 1907, two years after her graduation from grade school. They lived near Salmon River for 6 years, then came back to New Meadows in May, 28 years ago. To this family were born 3 children—two boys and one girl. They are Lloyd, Nellie and Everett.
While they were on the Salmon River they were in the sheep business, but while in the lower end of the valley they were in the cattle business. Mrs. Irwin joined the Rebekah Lodge in December 1923.
Where were these places: the Kearns place, S.S. Freeman's house and Stanley Parrot's barn? I was told the Bolin Abshire place was just near the substation near Meadows. If someone has a more precise description, let me know. Apparently the family moved to Meadows Valley after they lived at Fruitvale. Also, please tell me of misspelled names in these articles. I have corrected the ones I know, but some I am not familiar with.
I found a little bit about the games "pompom pullaway" and “steal sticks” on the internet. Pompom pullaway was also known as pom-pom-Pete-away, pullaway, pump-pump-pullaway, and pum- pum-pullaway, among other forms. The game was a little like Red Rover, but not as rough. Two lines are drawn 30-50' apart. All players stand at one line except one player who is “IT” who stands in the center. He calls any player by name, such as “Katy, Pom Pom Pullaway! Come away or I’ll pull you away!” The person called tries to run across the safety line without being tagged by the player who is “IT”. If the player called is safe, a new player will be called. When a player is tagged by the person who is “IT”, that person becomes “IT” also and helps to tag players. The original “IT” remains the caller. After all the uncaught players have crossed to one side, they try in the same to return to their first goal. The first one caught is “IT” for the next game.
Steal sticks is such an old game that I couldn’t find much on it. A brief description was recalled on one web site by a couple ladies in Aberdeen, South Dakota: "Each side had a circle made with some sticks in it, and the other side tried to steal them. We had a guard, of course." A man from another rural area said Steal Sticks caused so much controversy at his school that the teacher finally banned the game.
9-30-04
Here is another interview from the “History of Meadows Valley” magazine put together by high school students in 1945.
Interview with Edward Osborn.
It was a cold dreary day December 14, 1871 in Warrens, Idaho when a baby boy was born to William and Elizabeth Osborn. His name was Edward Osborn. The Osborn family spent four years in Warrens after Edward was born. These were hard years for the Osborns, so hard in fact that when Edward was four years old, they moved to Salmon River.
It was when they moved to Salmon River that a tragic thing happened to the Osborn family. It was June 17, 1877 that the Nez Perce Indians, who were half crazed with drink, descended upon the little settlement and killed Edward’s father, William Osborn. This happened near Whitebird. There were about five people, including Edward's father, who were working on some placer claims located near Whitebird, Idaho. Whitebird at the time was nothing but a few log cabins. Mr. Osborn, along with his three children and wife, and four other men were journeying to Whitebird one day, and as they neared Whitebird they observed a large cloud of smoke. This, they later found out, was the Indians burning the cabins at Whitebird. When they found this out, they turned around and made for their home. The Indians saw them and came after them. "Big George" as he was known, was shot through the palm of the hand. Thus far he was the only one hurt. When they got home, they forded White Rock Creek—the men folk carrying the children. When they came to Salmon River, they crossed it in an old boat that one of the men owned.
On this side of the river was where Old Man Baker lived. As they entered the house, Mrs. Osborn suddenly exclaimed, "Here they come." At this, they all rushed into the house and barred the doors and windows. When the Indians came, they started firing madly at the cabin. The first one to be hit was Mr. Osborn. The bullet went through his heart and he died instantly. (Mrs. Osborn and the children were under the bed for protection.) The Indians set fire to the cabin. When this did not bring them out, the Indians decided to break into the cabin. Chief Whitebird, who was commanding the Indians, let Mrs. Osborn and the three children (one of whom was Edward, who then was only 6 years old) go. They walked miles to a fort at Slate Creek, for protection.
In 1880 this unfortunate family moved to Meadows Valley. Their first winter in the valley was spent in Goose Creek cabin. [Packer John’s Cabin] The winter was a cold one and the fatherless family had a hard time. The next summer, however, they purchased the present home of Henry Clay from John Smith. This home they lived in until 1909. It was here that Edward, who had by this time become a young man, was married to May Taber. [Where was “the present home of Henry Clay” in 1945?]
When the Osborns first moved to the valley, there were but few families before them. The first permanent settler to come to the valley was Bill Jolley, who was a bachelor that came here in the spring of 1877. Shortly after this, Jim Croose and Wilson A. Williams, also bachelors, settled in the valley. In the fall of ‘77, the Whites, the first family to be permanent settlers, moved into the valley. Shortly after this, Thomas Cooper, a bachelor, moved into the valley. Before he moved here he was a Pony Express rider between Olympia and Challous. (Both in Washington.)
For about three or four years after this, with the exception of Johnny Lions, Bill Warr and Margue [?]Jones, those families comprised the community of Meadows Valley.
In 1880, the nearest railroad to New Meadows was at Hilton, Utah. [The interviewer probably misunderstood the name of the town, which was Kelton, Utah.] All of the merchandise to be sold was hauled to Boise and then freighted to Hilton [sic]. This haul to Boise took many days and the families who went on the trip stayed all night at the most convenient place. This was usually along the road someplace. The trip usually took about ten days.
In 1909, Edward and his wife moved to their present home. [Where was this?] It was here that their three children were born, Warren and Arthur. Warren and his son, Everett, are now running the ranch. Neil, Edward's second son, died February 27, 1942 at the Osborn home site.
Caption for 00241w.bmp—This shot of Ed Osborn was taken from an 8mm movie film that doctor Thurston took in the 1940s. A large crowd had gathered to watch Circle C cattle being loaded onto train cars, and the doctor took a number of individual shots like this of local people on the scene.
10-7-04
Last week I asked for a couple house locations, and Morris Krigbaum sent some info. As to where the Henry Clay place was in 1945— The Clay house was located near Dick Clay's present residence at Meadows. And Morris says the house Ed Osborn moved to in 1909 is across from Tessie Osborn's house on Cemetery Road.
Now for another interview from the “History of Meadows Valley” magazine put together by high school students in 1945.
The Cal White Family—from an interview with Walter White:
Calvin R. White, one of the early pioneers of Meadows Valley, was born in Massachusetts. His wife was born in Illinois. They came to this small valley in1878, the year of the Indian War. [Bannock War] At the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. White there were only three men, all bachelors, living here. They were Bill Jolly, Tom Cooper, and Willis Williams.
The Whites owned a piece of land one mile square at Meadows. They also owned the first store, blacksmith shop, hotel, and the saloon. Born to Mr. and Mrs. White were eight children. The White children, Clay children and Leata (Stout) Becker were children attending the first school in the valley, held in Jennings' cabin. [Anybody know where the Jennings cabin was?
Taken From - Meadows Eagle 1911:
Walter White, one of the best known ranchers of Meadows Valley, is a native son of Idaho, having been born in Idaho City, Boise county, in the year of 1867. He came to Meadows Valley with his parents in 1880 and has resided here ever since. Immediately upon attaining his majority he took up a homesteaded below the town of Meadows upon which he made improvements, and then concluded to make it his permanent home. To use his own words, “I had practically nothing, except my great faith in the future of Meadows Valley.” How well that faith was founded has been proved by the years that have passed, for today Mr. White is one of the wealthy ranchers and cattle men of this section.
Mr. White has proven to be a good citizen and neighbor—the right kind of a man to have in a community. He has made good in every sense or the word.
Eighteen years ago, Mr. White was married to Miss Nellie Smith, daughter of' Senator Gilbert F. Smith, one of the pioneers of this section. Mrs. White was a charming girl, and her charm and youth has remained with her. She is one of the many matrons of whom Meadows Valley is justly proud.
Four bright children have blessed the home of Mr. and Mrs. White. They are growing up in Meadows, and give good promise for the future. These young people are named as follows; Berle, Blanche, Earl and Nellie.
Mrs. White passed away January 27, 1942, and Mr. White has left the ranch, and spent this winter in Weiser. He is at present visiting his son in Council, Idaho.
A few days ago I drove up along the ridge top between Middle Fork and Long Valley. What a view from up there! The road (jeep trail would be a better term) is terrible in places, with tire-eating rocks, but everyone should go up there at least once. A new way to get there is on the new road built by the Tamarack resort. It’s a virtual freeway that goes from the west side of Cascade Reservoir right up to the top of the ridge where the top of the ski lift is under construction.
Somebody asked me a while back exactly where the Burnt Wagons monument was. I located and GPSed it. It’s several miles south of the Tamarack lift, pretty much right on the top of the ridge at N44º37.47’ W116º10.31’. The elevation is 7,202 feet. Poison Creek is almost directly east of it, and the monument is just east of the road. The monument inscription reads, “BURNT WAGONS—DUNHAM WRIGHT—1862.” For those whose memory is vague on the story, in 1862 Dunham Wright and seven other young men left a wagon train near Cambridge and tried to get to Florence with three wagons. They somehow made it up to the top of the ridge her, but found the other side too steep. They left their wagons there and continued on foot, using their oxen as pack animals. Later, pioneers found the wagons and burned them to salvage the iron. The Forest Service erected the monument in 1963.
Caption for monument composite.jpg—“Looking east with the Burnt Wagons monument in the center.”
Caption for monument.jpg—“The Burnt Wagons monument placed at Burnt Wagon Basin by the Forest Service in 1963.”
10-14-04
I wrote a while back about the McMahan family, but this article from the History of Meadows Valley magazine that I’ve been quoting from has some new information.
Mr. Jonathon McMahan was born in a little town in Iowa in February 1850. Mrs. McMahan was born in Missouri and came to Ogden, Utah on the Union Pacific, then to Baker, Oregon in a stage. They lived in a town outside of Baker called Durky and ran a ranch; this gave them a little start or enough to buy their own horses. Mr. McMahan then moved to Indian Valley in the early spring of 1893, then came to Meadows later in the year. Mr. McMahan came about three months earlier than the rest of the family, so as to get a home ready for them. He and three other men, one being Jim Harp, made the trip. The snow was so deep in places that all four horses had to be put on one side of the tongue in order to stay on the trail. Then after going 2 or 3 miles this had to be repeated, this time putting them on the other side. The snow was twelve to fourteen feet deep, as he came over in February.
There was a little cabin at what is now Strawberry that was about 12 by 20 feet long. The four men and sixteen horses all stayed in this cabin four nights in a row. While they were trying to get by, they would walk to it from where they had left the sleds and then they had to shovel out the door to the cabin so they could get by, then they made it to a stopping place run by Eston Freeman at what is now Tamarack.
They had, in all, five children. Edward and George were born in Durky, Oregon. Cora was born in Missouri, and the two girls, Lilly and Daisy, were born in Indian Valley.
The family ran a store in Meadows for an occupation. They had to do all the freighting from Weiser and do it in the summer before there was any snow on the ground, or they would not be able to get it. They had to do all the freighting by themselves most of the time. Some of the freighters that worked for Mr. McMahan were Joe Bean, Chris Madison, and Jim Harp from Council. When they did not have any freighters, George and Cora drove the freight wagons.
While they were in the store business, they made two trips back to Missouri to see their folks and visit with them.
They then quit the store business and went into the stock business for while, and while they were in the stock business they made another trip back to Missouri. They did not stay in the stock business very long, but went back to running the store.
Some of the settlers that were in here when they came were Cal White—he was the first settler in the valley, and Sadie White was the first white child born in this valley. Packer John's cabin was a stopping place for packers but no one lived there. Other settlers were Tom Clay, Wilson A. Williams and Tom Cooper.
Mr. McMahan passed away in 1924, being seventy-four years old, and Mrs. McMahan died in 1939 at the age of 83.
FREEMAN FAMILY
We are sorry that we-were not able to secure more information concerning the Freeman family, but we were unable to get an interview with the members of the family.
Taken from New Meadows Eagle 1911:
J. E. Freeman was born in Lorington, Virginia. He came to Idaho with his parents when a boy of twelve years of age. The Freemans left their old home for the West because the West offered advantages that were rapidly disappearing from the East even then. After traveling extensively through the West, they came to Price Valley, Idaho where they settled and took up homesteads.
J.E. Freeman, or Eston as he is familiarly called by his many friends, worked for wages until he bought an interest in the mill and stage business which he followed for a number of years. He became very successful and purchased ranch property, and invested on his big hay ranch where he and his family spent part of their summers. He is a big true-hearted Virginian of the first water, and he is loyalty itself to those he calls friends.
He considers the most important event in his life his marriage to Miss Lizzy Clay, one of Meadows Valley's charming daughters and also a pioneer. She has been an incentive to his success, being both wife and comrade, and there is no more happily mated couple in Meadows Valley than these two energetic young people. They have one child, Roy, a manly golden-haired little fellow of seven who is their pride and chief interest in life. He is a very worthy representative of the Freeman home.
Eston Freeman is a successful man and he won his success by hard work and good management. He is a booster for Meadows Valley, and thinks it the banner spot in the Gem State.
10-21-04
Here are a couple more interviews from the “History of Meadows Valley” magazine put together by high school students in 1945.
Interview with Mrs. Caroline Campbell—Caroline Osborn was born at Warren in 1870, and when a child of ten, moved to the valley where she lived in Goose Creek Cabin [Packer John’s] for a while, then moved to Clay's. In 1888 she married Charles Campbell, and they moved to the place where the Campbell homestead is. Charles Campbell had worked in Nevada, and then moved to this valley to spend the rest of his life.
They had five children; the first was Albert who married Grace Lufkin. The second child was Anna Organ, and she had a family of five and lived in Cambridge. The third child was also a girl, and they named her Carry and she married Dr. Whiteman, and she lived in Cambridge. The fourth child was Rollie who married Margaret Allan when he was 23, and they lived in the valley. The fifth and last child was Loyal and he married Mary Levengood. Rollie fought in the First World War.
Before the train came, Mr. Campbell raised cattle and trailed them to Weiser and Payette to sell them when they were three years old. He bought the cattle in Indian Valley, and the cattle were fed all through the winter.
William H. Campbell was born near Springfield, Illinois, March 27, 1855. Florence Ellen Cook was born in Wisconsin, February 21, 1867. She came to the valley in 1883, and he came in 1880. They were married in Weiser in April 1884. They raised a. family of six.
John Campbell married Mary Price in 1892 and moved to Kansas from Illinois in 1883. They came to the valley in the spring of 1921 and he died in 1941. They had one child named Floyd.
Some incidents of interest about Caroline Campbell and her husband were that they started out with 3 cows and $500, and now the Circle C is one of the biggest cattle ranches in the United States. There was a band of sixteen wolves, which roamed around Clay's property for a while, but Smith and Wilson trapped them. There were also a few cougars, but they never came down close to the house, and a few bear, which killed young calves. All of these things made pioneer life exciting, as well as difficult.
Interview with Richard Balbach—One spring morning in April 1899, two young men, Richard and Will Balbach, ages 22 and 21, came to Meadows Valley. Richard homesteaded the ranch on which Tommy Carr now lives. Will homesteaded on the mouth of Mud Creek. They worked from dawn till dusk and went without any luxuries, for they had put most of their money into horses, yearlings and farm machinery. For the first year they lived on $125 cash.
After 8 years of hard work and saving they had 120 head of cattle, 12 horses and 4 ranches, and good farming machinery. They also made a trip to the St. Louis World's Fair, went to Danville, Illinois to visit a brother, and then home to Waupun, Wisconsin to visit their folks. They stayed 3 months and then came back to Meadows. A month after returning, their cabin burned while they were visiting a friend. They then moved to the ranch now owned by Joe and Chester Hubbard. Since all their blankets, cooking utensils, etc., burned they had to buy a new outfit.
They then logged 100,000 board feet of lumber for Johnny Clay who owned a small sawmill south of Sam Mitchell’s place. Out of some of the lumber they built a new house on Mud Creek.
A year later, about 1908, they bought a piece of timber west of Carr's place and set up a sawmill. They sold their cattle to build the sawmill. They operated the sawmill and ran four ranches until 1917.
Will was married in 1915. In 1919 he sold out and moved to Riverside, California where he lives at the present time. In 1922, Richard married Helen Sniegor; they reared four children—Ruth, Richard, Robert, and Hilda. They lived in a beautiful home in Meadows.
10-28-04
More from the “History of Meadows Valley” magazine my Meadows high school students in 1945. If you find, mistakes, misspellings of names, etc. please let me know so I can correct them. [253-4582 or dafisk@ctcweb.net]
We have tried to get information on all the first families to settle in the valley, but in some instances information was not available. We should like to have included in our history, an Interview with Mrs. Becker, who is a well-beloved pioneer of our valley, but she was ill and in the hospital, so we could not do it. If any other families have been omitted, it is because we could not secure the information in the limited time we had.
Produced by the Journalism Class of Mrs. Bessie Baker, 1945,
Updated by the MVHS Pep Club, and advisor, Mrs. Louise Jones.[1967]
History of Churches in Meadows Valley:
Previous to the coming of the Methodists, Meadows Valley had been occupied by the Episcopal and Congregational Churches. The Episcopal having a church building at New Meadows and for a time maintaining a pastor, but in a few years the church was without a pastor.
The Congregationalists had a church building at Meadows, and for a while maintained regular service, but in later years they too were without a pastor. During the summer of 1921, Rev. J. L. Riley, Pastor of the M.E. Church of Council, Idaho assisted his brother, Floyd K. Riley in tent meetings at Meadows. At these meetings several were baptized but none were received into the M.E. Church, and no M.E. Church was organized.
In the fall of 1922, Rev. C.R. Arches arranged with the authorities of the Protestant, Episcopal and Congregational Church for the withdrawal of the churches from the Valley and for the transfer of both church buildings to the M.E. Church, as there were not enough people for all the churches here.
Small Methodist classes were then organized at both Meadows and New Meadows. At the Annual Conference in September 1923, Meadows Valley was made a separate charge with Edwin Deacon appointed pastor. When he arrived he found only 14 remaining of those who had joined the proceeding spring, with 8 residing in New Meadows and 6 at Old Town. During the first years, there were no marked changes and very little progress made.
During April 1925, Rev. R.C. Lee, the M.E. pastor from Weiser, conducted revival meetings here for a week. After the annual conference, Rev. Deacon returned to his church. During February, Rev. Smootz of Oregon was secured for evangelistic work, and at the end of the meetings 5 were received for preparatory membership into the church. During the summer of 1925, Rev. Deacon asked to be removed because of his age, he being 65 when he retired.
After Rev. Deacon left, Rev. Smootz followed, and during his ministry, Jennie James and Irene Erwin became full members of the church—also the Wymans and Mrs. Witherspoon and D. J. Yoakum. He was removed to Joseph Oregon, and Rev. Floyd White followed him, and the new members during his ministry were as follows: Mrs. Berl Crane, George and Lima Hurd, Agnes Johnson, the Ledingtons, and Sarah Steckman. He moved to Nyssa, Oregon in 1932. Rev. Eaker, Quinn, Johnson and Robinson followed. The first ministers each had his ups and downs as the man before, and each gained more members for the M.E. Church until the present membership is around seventy full members.
Two other churches are active in the valley: Assembly of God—This church was started in Meadows in 1943 and prospered greatly. Mr. Kindel was Pastor, and plans were laid for starting a Church building that spring. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints—Information on this church was not available.
Caption for 98348: “The Methodist Church in New Meadows—year unknown, but probably around 1912? The building is still there and still in use.”
11-4-04
Before I continue with excerpts from the History of Meadows Valley magazine, I’ll make a couple comments. Reference is made in the following section about schools to the Middle District School. It stood north of Meadows, near what is now known as Cemetery Lane. That “lane” was the first road through the valley. Like many other roads of its day, it kept to the west-facing foothills to stay out of more soft and muddy ground and where it would dry or thaw faster.
The Middle District School mentioned here in 1945 is actually the second school built at the same location as an earlier school. It was a subject of discussion in one of our Meadows Valley Memories nights, and will be discussed in more depth at a future gathering. Although it is noted as still standing when the history “magazine” was written in 1945, it is no longer there. If I remember right, the schools up there were consolidated soon after this was written, and the school building was taken apart and used to build two local barns.
Bolin Abshire’s place is mentioned again—as a school location. This place sits right beside, and to the west of, the power substation east of New Meadows and south of the highway. The Bolin Abshire family lived on West Fork Road near Fruitvale until they moved to Meadows Valley in the late 1930s. Their place on West Fork was where Harold Hoxie lives now; it was the Tony Schwarz place for many years.
Schools in Meadows Valley—
The high school district in Meadows Valley was bonded on March 21, 1924 when the first High School board were: Chairman, Jonathan McMahan; Clark, Lee Highley, H.R. Ackley, Mrs. R.L. Campbell, Mrs. J.M. McCulley, Mrs. Emma Clark. The first superintendent was Joseph Dilley, and the assistant teacher was his wife, Miriam Dilley. The first superintendent was paid $1500 a year, and the assistant was paid $1300. The first high school was held in what is now Middle District grade school. Then it was moved to Beaumont Grade School, until the present high school building was built in 1939. [The “present” high school is now a church. It sits just east of the highway junction at New Meadows.]
The Beaumont Grade School was built in 1911. Previous to this time there was no school in New Meadows. [This large, brick school in the north end of New Meadows is now apartments.]
The first school in Meadows Valley was a small one-room log cabin on Goose Greek, just across the road from Jack Iric's place. It was built in 1889 by some of the settlers. The first teacher was Mrs. William Campbell, mother of Harold Campbell.
The next school was held in a house out by Bolin Abshire's place. The teacher was Miss Florence Brown. Some of the students of this school were Mrs. C.C. Irwin, and the Clark brothers, Fred and Alfred. The Clark brothers rode horses, walked or skied about four miles to get to school. There was a certain trick played on Alfred Clark, but by popular demand it cannot be published.
Middle District was next, and for a while it was high school, grade school and all. It is the oldest school still in use in the valley.
We were unable to secure any information on the grade school at Old Meadows.
Cattle Raising Industry of Meadows Valley—
The Cattle Industry of Meadows Valley is the leading industry. Almost everybody who lives in the valley and owns any land owns some cattle, even if it is just a few milk cows. Then there are the bigger ranches that raise cattle to sell for beef in the fall of the year. The cattle raised in the valley at present are just the opposite type of their predecessors. The first cattle were tall, slim rangy type that never got fat enough to make good beef. The present type of cattle is short and chunky type which get fat quickly and are sold here or shipped to markets below, where they're sold in the sale ring by an auctioneer to the highest bidder.
The first cattle in the valley were owned by Carl White, which were the tall, slim type. [I’m assuming this name was supposed to be “Cal” White, and unless someone lets me know there was an early cowman named Carl White, I will correct this in my master copy.] The Circle C Ranch own the biggest herd of cattle in the valley at present, and have for a long time. They also own more land in the valley than anyone at present. Every fall there are several carloads of cattle shipped out of the valley to below markets by the cattle owners. Information on how many carloads were shipped this year was not made available.
Electricity—
Electricity was first brought into this valley by Mr. Chism and Ed Goodman, near the Keska home, in the year 1909. [A generator powered by Goose Creek.] Ross Krigbaum, Thomas Hendrick and John McCully bought the plant from Mr. Chism in 1911. They built the new plant above the Krigbaum home in 1911. The rates were quite high, but everyone in New Meadows and Old Meadows had electricity. The plant was not large enough to produce power for the ranches farther away.
In 1922, McCully bought out Thomas Hendrick and Ross Krigbaum and ran it by himself until his death in 1942. It continued to be operated by Mrs. McCully's son. Harold Irick, until it was bought by the Idaho Power Company in 1948. Now that Idaho Power has taken over, the ranches and homes out in the country have electricity; also, the rates are lower. The power, however, is brought over the mountains from Long Valley, and the old power, plant is no longer in use.
The North and South Highway—
The U.S. 95 North and South Highway was run through Meadows Valley in 1934 and was surfaced in the early spring, especially down the Salmon River, because of frost and swamp conditions. [“Surfacing” was a term used back then, meaning putting gravel on a road, not paving.] However, the highways are maintained, and improved each year. The highway runs north from here, down the Little Salmon River toward Grangeville, and southward down toward Weiser until it enters Washington [County]. It joins the S. 15 [now 55] here at New Meadows, which runs out through Old Meadows and on east toward McCall.
I’ll have another segment of the magazine next week.
I need to correct a mistake from a while back. In the wide photo of the meadow where the Burnt Wagons monument is, my caption said it was looking east. The photo is actually looking west.
11-11-04
More from the “History of Meadows Valley” magazine put together by high school students in 1945.
The coming of the railroad—Quoted from the Meadows Eagle, December 28, 1911:
"The P. & I. N. depot at New Meadows is a model for neatness, convenience, and comfort. It is a two-story brick structure with stone trimmings. The lower floor is completely equipped for a modern depot, including electric lights, water and sewer connections, etc.
The upper floor is entirely used for the general offices of the Pacific & Idaho Northern. Each office is completely equipped with modern furniture used in railroad offices. The private office of Co. E. M. Heigho, the president, general manager, and the traffic manager of the P. I. N. Is very handsomely furnished in mahogany.
The other P. I. N, officials in New Meadows are Lee Highly, Chief engineer; R, J. Kennedy, assistant traffic manager; J. L. Soule, auditor; R.H. Williams, superintendent of transportation; A. H. O'Leary, superintendent of' maintenance; F.L. Miller., assistant secretary; Louis McLain, assistant treasurer; T.W. Foster, general master mechanic; E. A. Richard, store keeper; E.G. Dunn, agent; and Dr. Martin, Local Surgeon."
The railroad first came to New Meadows in 1911. This was also the year that the depot was built. The town of Meadows was started east of the present site of New Meadows about one mile. When the railroad came to Meadows Valley, it only came to the present site of New Meadows. The townsite was then moved down to New Meadows.
The company that first built the railroad to New Meadows was the Pacific & Idaho Northern. This railroad, however, sold out to the Union Pacific.
FOX FARMS
Sometime around 1924 a pair of foxes were brought to Meadows Valley. Unfortunately one of them escaped, and no increase was possible from this transportation until another mate could be secured, by which time other foxes were brought in. Then the unscrupulous promoters and inexperienced had to be eliminated, during which time quite a number of foxes were produced.
By 1928 there were a number of small fox farms in the valley, Jim Madison, Webster Curtis, Curt Harrington, Lafe Keener, C.C. Hargrove and the Smith family. Later a number of these were closed, and a new and modern Fox Ranch was built on Goose Creek, by H. C. Williamson and partner. The owners of this Ranch employed a man by the name of Claude Warr, who was a great lover of animals, and foxes became his favorite. The happy combination led to many good things for the foxes since he was almost constantly with them. He learned their language (yes foxes have what, amounts to a language) and went about his work constantly talking to the foxes and so gained their confidence. His understanding and influence became so great that the owner had microphones installed in the kennels and could then know by the way the mother foxes called to their little ones when all was not well with their family and would offer relief in case of distress to give aid to the very young pups. A maternity house was built and equipped with furniture invented on the spot.
In this house happened many things that men had never done before. Expectant mother foxes were brought in from 24-48 hours before the pups were to be born. They were weighed and placed in their little maternity houses till the moment came when professional help was needed, then they were taken to the delivery table. The pups were fed and weighed each morning until they were conditioned to be returned to the outside pens.
Short periods in the maternity house were 5 days, and the longest 33 days. During the operation of this maternity house, only one pup was lost, and he was destroyed by the mother. She was given two other pups who were raised to maturity.
From the record of this maternity house it was learned that fox pups gain 100% in weight in from 6-8 days, that they are very hardy, and if fed within the first hours after birth can stand great exposure and survive. A complete motion picture of the delivery of 6 pups was made, and is now in the hands of Dr. Thurston. Unfortunately this place had to be closed on account of shortage of labor during the war, but only needs the proper help and management to be restored.
This place was built from the sale of pelts, and cost $18,000.00 and shows a man can make a good living from fox farming. Some of the best-informed men in the fur business have stated that Meadows Valley is the best fur farm location in the northwestern states.
In 1945 there were still some fox farms in operation.
Caption for 95500.jpg: “Curtis Herrington with some of his foxes in the Meadows Valley, probably in the 1920s. In the museum database, the name is spelled ‘Herrington, but in the magazine it is spelled Harrington; can someone tell me the correct spelling for that particular person?”
11-18-04
More from the 1945 History of Meadows Valley.
Cattlemen’s Association—On January 7, 1914 the Cattlemen's Association of Meadows Valley was organized. Officers of the first year were President, John McMahan; First Vice President, Edward Osborn, and John A. Wilson was Secretary.
Officers in 1945 were S. J. Farrell, President; Ward Branstetter, Vice President; Rollie Campbell, Secretary-treasurer; Albert Campbell, Association representative; and Henry Clay and Howard Dryden were the advisory board members.
This association was started by J.A. Mitchell, W. H. Campbell, John McMahan, Edward Osborn, D. I. Royer, W. Branstetter, Henry Clay, C.A. Campbell, M.H. Dryden, Walter White, A. P, Krigbaum, E.D. Wallace, Ed Goodman, and Ota Becker.
The first meeting was held at John McMahan's residence, but changed to holding the meetings at the Forest Station in 1945. There were eighteen members the first year, and in 1945 there were ten members. They met once a year unless special meetings were called.
This organization has rubbed poison weeds from range territory, built trails, built watering troughs, built drift fences, sowed grass seed, bought sheep allotment and added to cattle allotment. They offered rewards for conviction of theft of livestock. They became a member of the American Cattle Association.
Parent-Teacher’s Association—In 1942 the PTA of New Meadows was organized. The officers for the first year were Mrs. Reid Soper, President; and Mrs. Clifton Evans, Treasurer. There were thirty-nine members the first year and seventeen charter members. The organization was sponsored by Mrs. L. W. Buchholz who attended the P.T.A. convention. The present year of 1945 the officers were, Mr. Morin as President, Vice President was Mrs. H. C. Rich as first and Mrs. Kinoff as second, Mrs. Bower was the Secretary and Mrs. C.L. Buffaloe was Treasurer.
At the present there are 59 members and $232.93 in the treasury. In the second year the P.T.A. sponsored several High School parties. The school board, student body, and P.T.A. bought a nickelodeon for the high school. At that time the P.T.A. was making plans for improvements at the Grade School, including a fire Escape.
Ladies Aid—The Ladies Aid of Meadows Valley was organized in December 1926. Mrs. Byron Irwin was chairman of the first meeting, held at her home in New Meadows. The constitution and by-laws were written by Mrs. Mack. No record has been kept of the officers of the first year.
Officers of the organization then were Mrs. John Harm, President; Mrs.. Thomas Clauson, Vice President; Mrs. S.J. Farrell, Secretary; and Mrs. Carl Peterson was Treasurer.
Beginning in 1934 the members of the Ladies Aid Society made about 200 calls to the sick and shut in people. They collected clothing for the Children's Home, China Relief, Russian Relief, and European Relief. Mending and sewing was done for the Red Cross and the hospital, Approximately $4,100.00 was raised by the organization, and it was spent to pay $5.00 a month for ten years on the minister's salary. Drapes, decorations, new roof, piano, and a carpet was bought for the Church. Material, stove, rug, davenport, and chair, were bought for the parsonage. The labor was mostly donated. They made contributions to the Red Cross, Children's Home, Scout Building, War Fund, Council Hospital and people who lost their homes by fire. They gave gifts to the sick children and helped with the Christmas treats at Sunday School. They bought flowers for the sick and shut in. Less than $100 of this money had been sent to foreign missions.
There were about twenty-five members the first year, and twenty-two in 1945; six of them were charter members. There was about $50 in the treasury then.
They met at the home of the members. In August 1944 the name was changed from "Ladies Aid" to "Women's Society of Christian Service."
American Legion—The American Legion was organized and the national charter was granted by Congress in 1919. There are many American Legion branches in America, but American Legion Post 111 of Meadows Valley was organized in 1945, and thirty-five members joined the first year.
The officers of the first year were Mr. Swick as Commander, Mr. Noel Thomas as Adjutant and Secretary, and Mr. R.L. Cochran succeeded him as Commander for l945. At the end of 1945 there was $21 in the treasury.
The legion met the second Monday or the month in the R.P.L. Hall. It was started in France by Ouentin Roosevelt, the son to Theodore Roosevelt. It is the largest of the veteran's organizations. It had a membership of well over two million, and expected to have three and one half million by convention in the fall.
One thing of importance that was started by the American Legion Post 111 was the building of a hall for the Scouts of Meadows Valley. Other organizations helped, and now the Scouts own their own building. The American Legion encourages education by awarding a medal to the outstanding, boy and girl high school student each year.
11-25-04
Here is more of the history of Meadows Valley from the 1945 high school “magazine.” I shortened this section by leaving out long lists of names of those belonging to the various organizations. After I finish this series, and correct any mistakes (if anyone contacts me with them), I plan to make the text of this magazine available (for reading or download) at the Council Valley Museum web site.
The Girl Scouts of Meadows Valley was first organized in 1937-1938. Their first leader was Mrs. Samuel E. Tyson, Assistant leader was Ruth Shobrook. Twenty girls registered the first year. In 1940 Mrs. Earl Miller was the leader. Thirty-eight girls registered. In 1941 and 1942 There were thirty-two girls registered, and twelve Brownie Scouts.The year 1946, twenty-four girls scouts and fourteen Brownie Scouts were registered.
The Meadows Grange was organized October 4, 1933 with thirty charter members. The first year George S. Mitchell was the Master and Jenness Campbell was secretary. The first meeting place was at the I.O.O.F. Hall. The officers in 1945 were Bob Reumiser, Master; Mrs. Ted Clausen, secretary; and Mrs. W.E. Hanson was the treasurer. They met at the B.P.L. Hall. Then there were fifty members. It vas started by Mr. George S. Mitchell, Mrs. Harold Campbell, and Mr. Charles Wyman.
The Grange has always upheld the highest ideals for the Community and worked
to make this one of the best communities. They bought salt, groceries, and coal for the benefit of the Grangers, and at the time were trying to secure the employment of a County Agent to help with various crops, live stock, and weed control.
In 1936 the Matron's Club was organized. The Junior girls club started it, and it was an organization for the young married women. Thelma Abshire was treasurer for the first year. Over years they have done welfare work and donated to different causes.
At that time they had $100 in their treasury. They met at the homes of the members and at the B.P.L. Hall.
Wild Rose Rebekah Lodge No. 102 was organized March 8, 1911. At first there were eighteen members, and at present (l945) there are 114. Approximately $54 was in the treasury the first year, and in 1945 they had $340.87. It was started by the Odd Fellows and their wives. The meeting place was the I.O.O.F. Hall.
The Odd Follows Lodge was organized on October 22, 1902.
The Women’s Club of the Meadows was organized in 1908 and federated in 1909. The colors of the second district were white and gold, and their flower was the Syringa. It was started by Mrs. C.B. Irwin, Mrs. A.B. Lucas, Mrs. J.E. Freeman, Mrs. G. S. Mitchell, Mrs. Caroline McMahan, Mrs. Orianna Hubbard, Mrs. McRea, Mrs. Morthias, Mrs. Adamson, Mrs. Gilbert, Ruth Mayo, Mrs. Bergh, Mrs. Turner, and Mrs. Jones. They met the first and the third Wednesday of each month. They held their regular meetings at different homes, and the special meetings were held at a hall.
The Club has not grown very much in the last few years. Many of the old members have passed on, some have moved on, others have organized another club called the Good Will Circle at Meadows, and some have joined in with the Boise Payette.
They have studied flower culture, had nature talks, world's fair side light, century of progress, history, women who have made history, public welfare, community betterment, Idaho citizenship, household hints, health, music, forestry, mining, Russia, impromptu program by post and teachers from 1883 to 1935 at teacher's reception. They have organized a Junior Club, had debates, and have studied the state capitol and flower. They have always donated to most worthy things, and have had splendid meetings and some grand times.
Mrs. J. A. Mitchell also said that at one meeting she had fifty club members at her home, and many times Mr. Mitchell hitched the horses up to the sled, and took a load of members to some club meeting before they had snow plows and town people had no way to go. In 1934 there were 45 members.
The Ladies Auxiliary was started in 1934 at Cabarton, Idaho, and was then the Ladies Aid. Mrs. Flora Morgan was the first president. The membership was very small. After moving to MacGregor the membership grew to 25. Moving to New Meadows, there being a Ladies Aid, this organization was changed to the Boise Payette Auxiliary.
They help the Red Cross, Children's Home, Community Hospital,, and Boy Scouts. Meetings are the first and third Thursdays of each month.
The Boy Scouts of Meadows Valley was reorganized February 29, 1943. Sponsoring the institutions were the Labor Union—1944, L.D.S. Church—1945, and the Odd Fellows Lodge—1946. They met each week at the Scout Hall. In 1945 twenty-six boys belonged, and it grew to eighteen members. Fourteen boys were first class scouts, and twelve were Star Scouts. They purchased eighteen uniforms. They also helped in all types of charity drives. There was also a strong Cub Scout organization.
The Labor Union of Boise Payette - Local A.F.L. #2733 has sponsored dances to raise money for the tuberculosis and infantile paralysis drives. They have given money to the Boy Scouts, and for school children's Christmas treats. They hold their meetings at the B.P.L. Hall.
Chamber of Commerce. This organization was started March 18, 1946. The first, meeting place was at LaFay's Hall. Mr. Evans and Mr. Crabtree started it. So far all they had accomplished was forming their organization and filling their committees for work.
The Good Will Circle was organized about 1935. At present there are about 20 members. They met every two weeks at the homes of members. They have painted, kalsomined, and put a new metal roof and new steps on the Old Meadows Church. They also furnished a room, and extra bed and numerous things for the hospital. They give to all charitable causes, and have done a great deal of good in the community. The ladies do quite a bit of sewing, and whenever anyone loses their home by fire, or any tragedy strikes, the Good Will Circle is one of the first organizations to give help.
The Rod and Gun Club of Meadows Valley was organized about thirty-four years ago.The year 1945 the officers were President Carl Shaver, Vice President Claude Buffalo, and Herb Fitz was the secretary. There were about one-hundred members then. They met at the I.0.0.F. Hall.
12-2-04
More on the history of Meadows Valley.
The Social life of old timers—Entertainment for the young people of the old times was very little and not often. Dances were held about every two weeks. They were not like those today because they lasted until daylight; they had fiddlers instead of an orchestra. They danced square dances, waltzes, mazurkas, polkas and others. George Clark and Pete Johnson were fiddlers for all occasions. The dance hall at Old Town was used for the dances.
There was a Literary Society which also helped entertain everyone. At these parties they sang, had readings read, debated various subjects. They took their basket lunches and ate after they were too tired to play any more games. Everyone, young and old, went to this Society.
During the winter, folks went on skis to parties and dances. Many times people from Round Valley came up to dances, and people from Meadows Valley went there. Christmas was celebrated with a dance and a tree. Christmas gifts were put on it for everyone.
July fourth, Independence Day, was celebrated at a grove east of Meadows. They had a speaker, had the Declaration of Independence read, and sang songs. They set tables and had basket dinners. Sometimes they took washtubs full of food. Everyone ate until there was no more to eat. Games were played, and egg races and foot races for the men and boys were enjoyed. To finish the night, a dance was held. Tickets cost $l. The hotel served a midnight supper at 50¢ a plate.
Horse racing and baseball games were enjoyed for a week at a time. People from Grangeville, Riggins, and other places came for the races. 'Tin Horn' gamblers came and purses were put up for the winning horse. The racetrack was located in back of the Loyal Campbell home.
The Riggins baseball team came up, and they and the Meadows team played their games by the week. Today we have basketball, football, baseball and other games at the High School gym.
Lumbering Industry In Meadows Valley—The first lumber mill in Meadows Valley was owned by George Clark. It was a small mill and was located near the Hot Springs. [I’m assuming this means Zim’s.] The Balbach Bros. owned two good sized mills. One was located near the Tommy Carr ranch. The other was located out on Mud Creek. This mill was the larger of the two mills.
The largest of the mills in the valley was the Cavette mill which was located where the shop is now located. [Anybody tell me what shop this refers to?] It had a dry kiln and a planer in it, which none of the other mills in the valley had. This mill burned about 1929. This mill was the last big lumber mill until Boise Payette Lumber Company moved to New Meadows in 1940. There have been other mills in the valley after the Cavette mill, but they were small mills. One of them was the Dryer's mill which is now located on the hill leaving the valley going toward Council.
The mills of the Boise Payette Lumber Company are located in Council and Emmett. April first, Jack Morgan took over the Boise Payette Lumber Company operations after having purchased it.
The Wiston Addition or the Company's house is larger than New Meadows was before the Boise Payette Lumber Company took their houses from MacGregor and moved them here.
The lumber companies brought money, social life and other benefits to the community. Also the lumber company has done a lot for New Meadows, and we hope that the valley will always prosper from it and other things.
[It’s hard to overstate how much the arrival of the Boise Payette Lumber Company changed New Meadows.]
12-9-04
The 1945 History of Meadows Valley included several articles copied from the Meadows Eagle newspaper, a paper that did not exist for long and of which there are almost no copies remaining. The Idaho Historical Library has one issue on microfilm, and one or two people in Meadows Valley have a few original pages that will deteriorate and should be filmed for posterity. (Newspaper paper will not last forever, no mater what conservation measures are taken.)
One of the articles featured from the Meadows Eagle was about the beginnings of the Nez Perce War of 1877 just north of Riggins —a subject about which I’ve written here several times. The following is about Elizabeth Osborn-Clay, who, for some reason is called by her middle name, “Katherine” here.
Meadows Eagle, Dec. 28, 1911:
It is rare that one has the opportunity of speaking to one of the pioneers of the country who has passed through one of the historic massacres of the state and hears the story direct from the lips of one who has suffered much at the hands of the bloodthirsty redskins.
Mrs. Katherine Clay, a fragile little brown-eyed woman about 65 years old, now living at Meadows, Idaho, had the terrible experience of seeing her husband and two friends murdered before her eyes by the Indians, and her four small children torn from her when she was carried away at this time, walking almost constantly for 24 hours, carrying a babe, only to meet the Indians, from whom she had been fleeing all this time and then compelled to walk for another 6 hours to reach a haven of safety, was enough to have killed or driven insane a less courageous and gritty woman.
Katherine Kline came over from Germany a mere slip of a girl with relatives, coming "round the Horn," and going in the spirit of adventure to the Warren Diggins in North Idaho. Here she married Mr. [William] Osborn, and after a short time spent at Warrens, they sold out their interests and went to the Salmon River Country. It was while living here on June 13, 1877 that Mrs. Osborn passed through the most horrible experience of her life. They were living at French Bar, what is now the town of Whitebird. The men of the family, Mrs. Clay says, were out helping the neighbors get in their hay when a messenger rode up and shouted that four men had been reported killed by the Indians on Slate Creek, not far away. The men were sent for, and Mr. Osborn and his brother-in-law, Harry Mason, commenced at once to arrange to get the people of the surrounding country together at the cabin of Old Man Baker, whose place was so built that it could be better fortified than any other cabin in the vicinity.
Mrs. Clay, then Mrs. Osborn, with her four children and Mrs. Walch, her neighbor, with two children, started with three men, Mr. Osborn, Mr. Mason and a man known as Big George for the Baker cabin. Having only three horses it was necessary that the children ride, and Mrs. Walch not being well, rode also, leaving Mrs. Osborn and the three men to walk.
Nervous, full of excitement, Mrs. Osborn darted ahead of the men all the way. Arriving at a creek so deep that they had to all use the horses to ford, Mrs. Osborn crossed first, and just as she came to the fence surrounding the Baker cabin, she spied the Indians. They at once commenced to fire, aiming high up. She sank to the ground and called to the rest of the party. Her husband reaching her, she pulled him down, taking the youngest child in her arms saying: "We might as well die together," believing it was their last moment on earth. In telling the story, Mrs. Osborn said, "The bullets were so thick that they seemed like snow." Dropping down as they did in the midst of the willows surrounding the Baker place. The Indians evidently lost sight of the party for they soon passed on to the Baker cabin.
After waiting a time the party cautiously crept up the creek to a shallow spot where they recrossed, this time on foot—the water coming to the waists of the women. It was necessary for the men to make six trips across the creek before they got the women and children all across. They had but one gun with them, and at this time but two cartridges left. One of the stray shots from the Indian's rifles had hit the little finger of Big George, who suffered intense pain.
To be continued next week.
12-16-04
Continuing the story of Elizabeth Osborn-Clay and the beginning of the Nez Perce War, quoting from the Meadows Eagle, 1911. Last week’s segment left off as Elizabeth, along with three men, Helen Walch and six children were trying to evade the Indians.
The little party left home at 2 o'clock the next morning. They held a council, and concluded the safest thing to do was to go down to Lewiston in a boat. At the store kept by Harry Mason, about a mile from the home of the Osborns, which was only a short distance from the present town of Whitebird, they knew they could get some boats. Arriving at the store they found that the Indians had been there and had stolen all of the whiskey and supplies. They started up to the Osborn home to get some supplies to take with them, and just as they reached the door of the cabin, Mrs. Osborn called out, "Here they come!" She being behind the party all this time, caught sight of a band of 18 braves winding down the hill, rods away.
At the alarm given by Mrs. Osborn the party at once hurried into the cabin, the women and children crawling under the bed. No sooner did the men bar the door than the Indians were upon them, and firing through the window. The first shot went directly through the heart of Mr. Osborn, who fell over dead not two feet from his wife. Other shots stunned both Mason and big George who was with the party. The Indians then started to burn the house, setting fire to one corner.
The women debated what they should do when they saw the fire, having apparently only two alternatives, that of being burned to death or tortured to death. Just then Big George, who hard been stunned by the shot which he had received, aroused himself and jumped on the bed to protect the defenseless women just as the Indians broke open the door. His brains were instantly blown out, and as Harry Mason raised his head, he met the same fate.
The two women and their six helpless children were thus left to the mercy of the drink-crazed redskins. In telling of the horrible events of this awful day, Mrs. Osborn stated that no a child whimpered, even when the shots were fired. In spite of their long journey, through every obstacle, and even going without food, they were absolutely quiet.
When the door was burst open, Chief Whitebird entered and assured the women that he intended to spare the women and children. In spite of his protests, they were treated shamefully, the chief seeming to have no influence over his braves. "They started to ransack the house," says Mrs. Osborn, “and I was so nervous over all I had gone through that I was pretty sassy, I guess, and Whitebird Said, "You keep still; if you don't, I can't protect you."
The chief finally succeeded in getting the women and children out of the house, and they started for the home of Uncle John Woods, 12 miles way. On the way, they met Mr. Shoemaker, who had originally started with them in their flight from the Indians, but whom they had dropped behind at some point. Putting the youngest child of Mrs. Osborn on his back, he started ahead. He arrived first at the Woods home, where both were known, and was so stunned from the happenings of the day that he could not tell anything, and taking the little 2-year-old child on her lap, Mrs. Woods learned from it the full tragedy. "Pap shot dead, uncle dead, Indians shoot. Momma coming."
Mrs. Wood made out enough of the story to guess what had happened and her husband at once sent out a friendly Indian with the one horse they had, to meet the party.
Mrs. Osborn says that when she saw that friendly Indian, whom she had known before, coming on the Wood's horse, she fainted away. During all the horrors of the 24 hours she had kept her senses, but now that aid was in sight, she fainted.
The two families remained at the Woods home for six weeks when they went again to Warren's Diggings. Here Mrs. Osborn supported herself and children by taking in washing, the only thing she was able to do, and at the time she weighed only 84 pounds. About year and a half later she married Mr. Clay who died 19 years ago.
Mrs. Clay has lived to rear six of her eight children, to give them all a good education and to now enjoy her old age among her grandchildren. The terrible tragedy of the awful 13th of June 1877, while still fresh in memory in its minutest detail, is now more like a horrible drama which she witnessed, rather than an actual happening of real life in which she played one of the star parts. Her home for some years has been at Meadows. She says that during the last six years she has lost track of Mrs. Walch, her companion of the tragedy.
12-23-04
Taken from the Meadows Eagle, Thursday, December 28, 1911:
"Nov. 17—It is estimated here that the improvements in properties, business blocks, residences, hotels, school, etc., approximate $150.00 [sic], This is a wonderful showing, in view of the fact that the foundation for the $25,000 P. & I. N. depot practically the first building started in the new town, was put in only a little over a year ago. Most of the buildings here were built this year. In addition to having one of the finest depots in the state, New Meadows will have in Hotel Heigho, when completed in January, one of the finest hotels in the state. As a matter of fact, there are in Idaho at present only five hotel buildings that may be said to excel Hotel Heigho. This hostelry is planned for the accommodation of commercial travelers and tourists. The scenic wonders of this section of the state, the magnificent summer climate, the splendid sports that here offer themselves to the nimrod and hunter, are attracting the tourist and traveler to this part of the Gem State.
[The Hotel Heigho stood just south of the junction of Highways 95 and 55, and it faced west toward the depot. The hotel was a landmark in New Meadows, described as one of the finest hotels in Idaho, until it burned in 1929.]
Business District of New Meadows
The beautiful valley with its 30,000 acres of plow land, the millions of feet of tributary timber, the rich mineral resources made tributary by the P. & I. N. extension through Long Valley in the near future, are for the great development this town and entire surrounding territory.
Hotel Heigho, now under course of construction will be a 53-room hotel, the sixth finest in the State. It is built for the accommodation of commercial travelers and tourists. This hotel will be completed by the first of the year and will cost $56,000.
New Meadows has the following establishments:
Meyer & Metz [or Hetz?], $5000 store building; Howard & Loe, hardware dealers; Phil Hubbard, bakery; Mack Thompson occupies the upper floor with rooming house. Clarence LaFay, barbershop and I. N. Ripper's cigar and soft drink parlor, occupy the next building. The townsite building is next, and is occupied by W. H. Edwards' barbershop. Mr. Edwards lives upstairs. The Meadows Valley Bank is occupying temporary quarters next door. The Coeur d'Or building, owned by Mrs. Jo. Hancock, is occupied upstairs by herself as a rooming house. Below is the elite pool and billiard hall, owned by Percifield & Lond, formerly of Old Town. French & Dutcher, architects, have neat offices adjoining. Loe Brothers, general merchants, occupy the large building on the corner. To show that business is good in New Meadows, this firm made $1200 cash sales Saturday and Monday of last week, and their book account for the two days was $1200 more.
Howard & Howard's building comes next and is occupied by H. P. Shmitz's meat market. Then comes the Balbach building, occupied by the W. W. Donahue restaurant.
Opposite is the location of the $10,000 Meadows Valley Bank building, which is now under course of construction. J. H. Hill formerly of Nyssa, is the efficient cashier of this bank. The Dr. T. E. Martin Building is next, and is occupied in front by the New Meadows Post Office, James M. Hart being the postmaster. Dr. Martin has his office and residence in the rear. [It is really hard to determine where most of these businesses were, but I’m pretty sure the Meadows Valley bank mentioned as being under construction was the old brick IOOF building straight south of the present post office. I think I was told that Dr. Thurston had a clinic in the back part of this building until the late 1940s that he visited every week or so.]
Across the street is the Straight & Oldridge building used as card room, cigar, and confectionery and soft drink stand. The North side of this building is used by Mrs. H. B. Oldridge as a restaurant. The New Meadows Tribune occupies the next building with a splendid newspaper plant. Frank L. Roberts, formerly publisher and editor of the Payette Lakes Progress, is the publisher and editor of the Tribune. Balbach & Buiter are owners of the building. Mrs. M. M. Retch has millinery store in this building.
Before reaching the business district, the incoming traveler finds all the properties of the P. & I. N. railroad, of which Colonel E. M. Heigho is the president and general manager. The handsome depot, costing $25,000, is located here. The other P. & I. N. properties here are the freight station, car shops and round house, section house, tool house, large coal bins and stock yards. In this part of town is the Mitchell & Mathias forwarding house, where all freight for the interior points is handled. Opposite is Dryden & Sons livery stable.
The following was added to my column later (2018):
"A 70-horse power auto is kept here and is run between New Meadows and the Payette lakes.
"Then comes George F. Brinson's well-stocked lumber yard. Builders hardware and pains are also handled by Mr. Brinson, who has the contract for building the hotel and other buildings in new Meadows.
"Next comes A. R. Whiteley's shop for repairing shoes. S. C. Morrow's blacksmith shop is near by.
"The following residences have been, or are being, built here since June 12, 1911, when the first regular train was run into New Meadows. Col. E. M. Heigho, $11,000 residence.
"J. H. Hill, cashier bank, $2000.
"Lee Highly, chief engineer of the and P. & I. N., $2500.
"A. H. O'Leary, superintendent of maintenance P. & I. N., $2000.
"James M. Hart, postmaster, $1500.
"Isaac Loe, merchant, $1500.
"Dan Yoakum of Yoakum Hot Springs, $1500.
"George Clark, farmer, $1250.
"Don Mathias, forwarding merchant, __.
"Caleb Babb, investor, $800. Andy Mitchell, farmer, $500.
"J. R. Barrett, drayman, $1000.
"A. W. Bond, architect, $1000.
"Dryden & Son, liveryman, $600.
"E. G. Dunn, P. & I. N. station agent, $2000.
"P. G. Williams, superintendent P. & I. N. , plans ready for $1500 house.
"A. L. Wiley, conductor P. & I. N., $500 cottage.
"James Loe, merchant, $1500. John Hughes, hotel man, $1500.
"The following is a list of those now living in shacks, but who either have houses underway or will build in the spring:
"Louis McLain, assistant auditor P.& I..N.; H. P. Schmidt, meat market; Fred Suitor [Sultor?], contractor, George Brinson, contractor and lumber dealer; H. and E. Johnson, carpentry; C. The C. Dedman, and plasterer; John clay, forwarding merchant; Carl Straight, merchant; James Rutherford, mechanic P.& I..N.; Guy Harris, mechanic P.& I..N. ; William Jefferson, painter; S. L. Morrow, blacksmith; J. L. Richards, conductor P.& I..N., freight.
"A fine six-room modern school house is under course of construction in New Meadows and will cost $10,000. It is expected to be completed early in the new year.
"P.& I..N. Depot, Offices, Officials.
"The P.& I..N. Depot at New Meadows is a model for neatness, convenience and comfort. It is a two story brick structure with stone trimmings. The lower floor is completely arranged and equipped for a modern depot, including electric lights, water and sewer connections, etc.
"The upper floor is entirely used for the general offices of the Pacific & Idaho Northern. Each office is completely equipped with modern furniture used in railroad offices. The private office of Col. E. M. Heigho, the president, general manager and traffic manager of the P.& I..N. is very handsomely furnished in Mahogany.
"The other P.& I..N. officials in New Meadows are Lee Higley, chief engineer; R. J. Kennedy, assistant traffic manager; J. L. Soule, auditor; P. G. Williams, superintendent of transportation; A. H. O'Leary, superintendent of maintenance; F. S. Miller, assistant secretary; Louis McClain, assistant treasurer; T. W. Foster, general master mechanic; E. A. Richard store keeper; E. G. Dunn, agent; Dr. Martin, local surgeon."
I would like to thank Shirley Wing for a very generous year-end donation to the museum. Remember, Idaho gives a 50% tax credit for donations to educational organizations (museums are considered such) up to a total of $100, even if you don’t itemize.
12-30-04
I thought you might enjoy a small break from the Meadows Valley theme, so I’m featuring a photo that might bring back a memory or two.
When I started school in 1958, the old school building that once sat about where Economy Roofing is now had just been condemned. The current grade school was still under construction, and kids were attending school in various buildings all over the area. The first few grades were put in the Legion Hall. First grade was in the basement at the south end. Erma Armacost was the teacher. Whenever I smell coal burning, it brings back memories of that time; a coal furnace evidently heated the building. (Or was it one nearby?) You don’t encounter that smell much these days. Once in a while, we were allowed to go across the street to the Pomona Hotel (shown at the right edge of the photo) to buy candy. I remember little wax bottles filled with a sweet liquid. I haven’t seen those in a while. If I remember correctly, we moved into the new school before it snowed that year.
Caption for photo: “The merry-go-round at the Legion Hall. This had to be 1958 or ’59. The kids are unidentified. The Pomona Hotel is at the right edge. I think Mr. & Mrs. Judd ran it about this time. The other building in the background was probably Carl Swanstrom’s law office at that time. If anyone can identify any of these kids, please let me know.”
Returning to the History of Meadows Valley magazine, the following is the first part of a letter from George Mitchell, taken from the Meadows Eagle, Thursday, December 28, 1911:
Dear Sir: In response to your request for a little write-up of my impression of Meadows and Meadows Valley, as seen from the inside; will say, that I can probably best do that by giving you a little narrative of my impressions, and what I have seen, as I can, from the time I came here down to the present time.
About twenty-four years ago, I came here, at that time just a mere boy, in company with my father and mother. I cannot say that my first impression of Meadows was very good, for like all youngsters I was pining for the companionship of my former playmates, but as is characteristic of the young, my memories of the young, my memories of former associates soon began to dim, and I found myself forming new acquaintances, now associates, and new ties which bound my heart to Meadows, and those ties and associations have grown stronger and stronger, with the passing years until today, Meadows Valley is to me, the dearest spot of all the earth.
At the time of my coming here the improvements and population of Meadows Valley were nothing as compared with what they are today. At that time the valley boasted but one painted house, in fact most of the homes were of the log cabin type, which is characteristic of the frontier. The land was practically all in its raw state, there was but little fencing, no roads, no town, no telephone service, and but once a week mail service. Those were some of the conditions confronting the early pioneers of this valley. With the nearest trading post sixty-five miles distant, the nearest physician the same distance away, and in order to reach this town one had to travel a road which our roads of the present time would be turnpikes in comparison, and with these same roads closed to travel throughout several months of the year from deep snow.
With such conditions as these which I have just portrayed prevailing, one may well say that it took men and women with stout hearts and strong convictions of the future development of this place, to endure the hardships and privation which were inevitable to the building of homes and starting the even meager improvements which were to grow and unfold into the grand proportions of what they are today. But even as many years ago as that, there were several who had proceeded us here and were busily engaged in the arduous task of carving out homes for the future.
To be continued next week.
2005
1-6-05
There was a photo mix up last week. Sorry about that. The picture with last week’s column was of a pioneer picnic that I’ll feature in the future.
Here is the second half of last week’s letter by George Mitchell, taken from the Meadows Eagle, Thursday, December 28, 1911:
Perhaps there is no one thing, which is so clear an index of the progress of a community as the development of its schools. At the time that I came here, the whole valley maintained but one school, and that is the little old log structure which still stands at the lower edge of the town.
And there, many of the men and women who are now engaged in the active development of this valley received their educational training which fitted them for home building and good citizenship. But for the poor advantages for schooling which we had in those with but one teacher, which precluded the possibility of a graded system such as we have now, with our school house at the remote distance from many of the pupils, I am proud to say that all of those pupils are taking a position second to none in the development of this valley. Did I say all? No, for the Great Father has called some of those schoolmates home and are now peacefully sleeping in our little cemetery, while their souls have flown to a brighter and fairer land than ours, where trouble never comes and sorrow is unknown,
Such were the school conditions in those days. Today we have in our valley, and Price Valley which is tributary to this place, the schools ranging in cost of construction to twelve thousand dollars, in three of which the higher branches are being taught, and employing in all at the present time nine teachers, to which salaries are paid amounting to six hundred dollars per month. Some little progress in the way of educational institutions eh? From one little school room with one teacher to our present facilities along the line.
The progress of our mail service has been a parallel one with our schools, as I have stated we had at the time I came here a weekly mail service, and one sack or possibly two was sufficient to hold all the mail that was brought in, but with our home development, our mail service was gradually increased from once a week to twice a week, and from that to three times a week. Now we felt pretty much as though we were beginning to amount to something when we were granted a mail service three times a week, but our progress was so rapid that we were soon granted daily service which we have enjoyed for some time past, and today there are dozens of sacks of mail unloaded at our office every morning, containing hundreds of pounds of mail and from our office mail is being sent out each day except Sunday to three points of the compass.
As with our schools and our mail, so has been the development of our lumber industries, from a little sash saw, with a capacity of about a thousand feet per day, to six mills with an aggregate capacity of hundreds of thousands of feet per day.
As to the development along the lines of agriculture, stock growing and kindred industries I feel myself incompetent to wait, but suffice it to say, that it too, has kept pace with the line of progress of this splendid valley.
One of the most interesting things to me in the way of the development of our valley has been the birth and growth of our little town of Meadows from a post office and log hotel, to its present proportions. Mr. Calvin White earned the distinction of not only being one of the pioneers of this valley, but of also being the pioneer merchant of Meadows, and while the stock he carried was not large, it filled a long felt want, and many a poor devil was enabled to fill his haversack at his counter, and thus keep the wolf of hunger from the door, and at all times being able to meet the needs of the country.
The next in the line of merchants was Uncle John McMahan with M.E. Keizur, a close friend with whom I soon afterwards formed a partnership, a few years later the mercantile firm of Smith & Webb was brought into existence and sandwiched in between and following closely after the business enterprises which I have just mentioned came other needed business institutions such as our drug store newspaper, bank, hotels, feed and livery barn, blacksmith shops, etc., until today practically every avenue of business is well represented, with all the different, proprietors wearing that smile that won't rub off.
As to the beauties of the valley, the unparalleled resources which have brought about these wonderful developments, I will leave to a more able pen than mine to portray. But with our valley dotted with magnificent homes, fit for kings to dwell in, our people happy, prosperous, well clothed and fed, we may well say peace on earth, good will to men.
George S. Mitchell
Caption for photo: “This is the photo that should have been with last week’s column. It shows the merry-go-round at the Legion Hall. This had to be 1958 or ’59. The kids are unidentified. The Pomona Hotel is at the right edge. I think Mr. & Mrs. Judd ran it about this time. The other building in the background was probably Carl Swanstrom’s law office at that time. If anyone can identify any of these kids, please let me know.”
1-13-05
This is the last of the series from the History of Meadows Valley “magazine” first published in 1945. Near the end of the magazine was this dedication:
“We should like to dedicate this paper to those gallant pioneers of 60 years ago, who braved hardships, fought Indians, and died to make this lovely valley what it is today. We, the Journalism Class of 1946 and teacher, Mrs. Baker, do lovingly dedicate this volume to them. may everyone who reads the record of Meadows Valley, and the people who built our community, find enjoyment and inspiration. Forgive any errors we may have made, for we have done our best. Reprinted by Pep Club, 1967, Mrs. Louise Jones, advisor.”
Packer John Cabin—Takend from the Meadows Eagle, Dec. 23, 1911:
"Near the town of Meadows stands the famous log cabin in which two of the 'early territorial conventions were held during the formative period of the state's organizations as a body politic. In it first met the Republican convention of 1863 when Gov. Wallace was nominated for delegate in congress, and in it also met the state convention of 1864. It is a small one-roomed log building, erected in 1862 by John Welsh (known to fame as Packer John) and used by him to store merchandise in transit on pack horses from Lewiston, in northern Idaho, to Boise Basin, at that time celebrated as West Bannock, the richest mining region in southern Idaho. It was the popular stopping place for travelers and highly in favor with the early Argonauts as the Mountain House.”
“That it was well constructed is attested by the fact that it has stood in stress of sun and storm for almost fifty years. In fact it had been long overlooked and neglected until some two years ago, when the Women's Club of Meadows initiated a movement for its preservation. It then showed signs of decay and seemed in danger of falling into oblivion. The Women's Club rallied to its rescue and by interesting the legislature and secretary of the State Historical Society in its preservation have restored it to its pristine glory and insured its history from forgetfulness. Through the effort of the club and with the assistance of some of the men of the community, an appropriation was secured and the land whereon it stands purchased as a state park. The cabin was taken down, all decayed logs removed and replaced, with roof logs and a new covering of tamarack shakes put on. The floor was re-laid—two half windows put in, a quaint old door of pioneer architecture hung at the entrance with the peculiar long handmade wooden hinges of the first settlers who executed carpenter work with the ax and draw-shave. The proverbial latchstring provides the means of opening and locking the door and the whole made as near as way be a replica of the original. The stones of which the old fireplace was built were used in restoring the heating plant and the cabin made good for another fifty years. To suitably mark the structure, a bronze memorial tablet has been selected and in due course will be attached to the building with appropriate ceremonies.”
“There is probably no more interesting historic building in the state than this, quaint, old Cabin located as it is at the foot of the picturesque range of mountains separating Meadows Valley from Long Valley and immediately on the first and oldest trail between the early mining camps of the territory. Now that the state owns it and the State Historical Society is caring for it, there is no doubt but it will be preserved for many years for the sons and daughters of the Commonwealth to enjoy.”
By 1879, the cabin was already described as being “in ruins.” I should note that it was also called the “Goose Creek Cabin” or “Goose Creek House” and was said to have been a “noted hostelry” at one time.
It’s curious that this article doesn’t mention that Elizabeth Osborn Clay and her family lived in this cabin after her marriage to Tom Clay in 1880. As for it’s becoming the property of the Historical Society, the Sept. 30, 1909 Idaho Free Press said, “The old Packer John cabin, which stands on the banks of Goose creek at Meadows, has become the property of the State Historical Society and plans for its preservation are being taken up. The historic old structure was owned by John Irick and donated to the society.”
According to an article in the Idaho State Historical Society’s files, for that 1909 restoration project, “A $500 appropriation to the State Historical Society provided funds for acquisition of this "old cabin as a state relic." A ten acre site was purchased and fenced as well. The article continues, “The cabin was in good shape, although in the process of reconstruction it emerged with a new design quite different from the original. Packer John's Cabin became a state park by legislative designation, March 6, 1951. After Ponderosa State Park was created as a separate entity, Packer John’s Cabin site eventually was attached to that larger operation.
I could have sworn that I read someplace that the cabin burned down at one point and was rebuilt, but I can’t find that reference now.
1-20-05
The winter of 1888-89 was as mild one, with little snow. In Long Valley, settlement was just getting started (there were 150 to 200 residents), and the easy winter attracted a rush new homesteaders the following summer. People were so optimistic that they even planted fruit trees.
But the spring and summer of 1889 saw almost no rain. A severe drought hit the entire region. The Weiser River was lower than anyone could remember, and the water was warm. The Snake River was so low at Weiser that someone drove a wagon across it, and the water barely came up past the axles. The settlers in Long Valley were not able to put up much hay for the coming winter, but if winters were as short and mild as the one before, they weren’t worried.
Fires erupted in the tinder-dry forests that fall. The Weiser Leader, Sept 13, 1889 said that Frank Harris reported a big forest fire on the east side of “Galena mountain” near the headwaters of Hornet and Wildhorse Creeks. He said the fire was about ten miles in length and five to seven miles wide. A traveler out of Long Valley wrote to the Idaho World newspaper, “Following an old Indian trail up Big Creek from Long Valley, we struck the South Salmon…The forest fires have been almost everywhere, and I have seen thousands of millions of trees killed by the fires of this summer.” A week later, the same paper said that it had rained around Long Valley and hopefully put out some of the fires. But it also said that 200 tons of hay had been destroyed by fires there. Both the rain and the lack of hay was an ominous sign of things to come.
By that December, the region may already have had more snow than all the previous winter. And it just kept coming. By January there was three feet of snow in Long Valley, and people were happy to see it, even though it was accompanied by 20 below zero temperatures. The precipitation was very inconsistent. There was four feet of snow in Middle Valley (Midvale), six inches in Weiser, and three feet at Council. Thirty feet was reported at Warren. At Bear and Cuprum, the snow level was at, or even below, normal.
By early February, the winter was starting to wear on everyone. A report from Long Valley said, “We have had a very severe winter so far. Snow is twenty-eight inches deep. We have had very high winds and the snow is badly drifted, making it hard to keep the roads open….Hay is getting very scarce, and it looks as though the loss of stock will be severe. Last winter was so mild and short that the people did not prepare for a winter like we are having.”
At the end of February, it looked like winter was over. Rain, and a warm Chinook wind, melted much of the snow. Bare south-facing hillsides gave stockmen hope that their animals would soon be eating grass and not depend on the last scraps of hay that remained. In Long Valley, some horses had already died, not from starvation but exhaustion from pulling loads through insufferable snow depths. Cattle, however, had started to starve. Some ranchers organized to get their cattle to a better location. They somehow made a trench through seven-foot-deep snow over a four mile stretch to the Payette River and drove the cattle through it. From there, they took them down the river. Sleds loaded with hay brought enough nourishment to keep the cattle going. Just how successful the effort was isn’t recorded. They may have gone over the ridge west of Smiths Ferry into Squaw Creek, which runs down to Ola and Sweet, as some other ranchers did that winter.
On April 5, just when it looked like Long Valley had made it through the ordeal, the weather played a cruel trick. A snow storm hit that was worst than any that had come earlier. Supplies couldn’t make it into Long Valley and people ran low on food. Eventually the snow melted, but rivers and creeks ran so high and the mud was so deep in places that some roads were impassible. It made freighting next to impossible, but some supplies did make it into the Valley and disaster was avoided. That summer, a number of the settlers in Long Valley had had enough, and they left to find a less hostile climate.
In the Weiser River drainage that spring, flooding was the worst in recorded history, with widespread destruction of roads, bridges, buildings, fences and livestock.
Caption for photo:
This is the picture that was mistakenly placed with my column a couple weeks ago. It shows a group of old time residents who had gathered for a pioneer picnic at Evergreen Campground on July 29, 1956. The gathering started off with about 200 people, but a rainstorm drove some away. Those remaining had their picture taken. Attendees at the 1956 Pioneer Picnic. Not all are identified, but the following are. Far left, Mr. and Mrs. Ellis Snow and Mr. and Mrs. Charley Ross of Council; fourth from left. Jake Lafferty of Weiser, first supervisor of Weiser National Forest; next to him is Rev. Eunice Trumbo of Council; seated in the chair in the foreground is Mrs. Nettie McDowell, the oldest pioneer attending; kneeling next to her as Senator and Mrs. Herman Welker; behind the Senator are Mr. and Mrs. John Flynn, Mr. and Mrs. M. L. Canaan, Ivy Anderson, Mrs. Earl McMahan, Mrs. Bill Shearer and Mr. and Mrs. Knute Draper. At the right of the picture are Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Nixon and Mr. and Mrs. Milo Wilkerson of Cambridge; Mr. and Mrs. Tom Holmes and children and Mr. and Mrs. Milton Holmes of Bear; Glen Welker of Council; and Mayor and Mrs. Frank Gwilliam and Jerry Wray of Weiser. Mayor Gwilliam, introduced Senator Welker, who was principal speaker. Standing on the car bumper in back is Robert Maxwell.
1-27-05
I’m very grateful to Barry McDaniel for loaning me an interesting letter written by Hazel Hubbard Branstetter in 1972 about her family’s journey West in 1910. The following is that letter, with my notes and comments within brackets [ ]. I have made a few corrections to spelling, punctuation and grammar. In some cases her handwriting was hard to read, so I may have a word or two wrong.
Mary and Hudson Hubbard came to Meadows Valley in 1908 because of the death of Harry Park, a brother to Mary Hubbard. She, being his only heir, came to finish proving up on his place, located on the west side of Meadows Valley, known as the “old Hubbard place.” While here, they stayed in the home of Henry Dreyer’s—parents of Hallie Dreyer. This house is still the home where Hallie lives today. After being here for six months, they liked the valley very much because it was so quiet and peaceful. They decided to go back to Tarrington, Wyoming and see their ranch and come to Idaho where the wind didn’t blow.
They sold the ranch and 200 head of Texas longhorn steers at $19.00 a head, the household furniture, etc, and began to prepare for our trip west. They fixed up 2 covered wagons and one top [tap?] buggy. They loaded up all our belongings that we could bring. One wagon was fixed with a built in mess cupboard in the back end, where all food, dishes, etc. were kept, with a door that was covered with oilcloth. When opened, it made the table to work on. We usually ate around the campfire.
One wagon was partitioned off in back with a small pen for the family dog and baby colt to ride when tired. There were my parents, Mary and Hudson Hubbard; grandparents, Thomas and Elizabeth Hubbard; one uncle, John Hubbard; a friend, Jim Bowie from Texas, and nine of us children: Clara, age 17; Ethel 14, Thomas and Hazel 9, Joe 7, George 6, Robert 5, William 3 and Marie 1 year and 4 months.
We left very early on a beautiful morning of June 21st, 1910, my father driving one wagon with 4 head of horses, my uncle John driving with 4 head of horses and my mother one with 2 head of horses pulling a wagon bed fixed with a set of bed springs on top, with a mattress on it for the little children to play or seep as we traveled. We had 2 saddle horses with which my grandparents drove the top buggy. Having 12 head of horses 1 colt and the family dog, we traveled from 15 to 20 miles a day, or some days until midnight, to where we could find water for the horses and a place to set up the tents.
Near Casper, Wyoming, when coming through a rocky gorge, five bandits rode out in front of us, wearing black masks and black hats. They ordered us to stop, holding guns in their hands, and said to get out of the wagons. One held a gun on us, and said, “Don’t move or I’ll shoot,” while the others raided our wagons, taking food, axes, a hatchet and one gun. Then they said, “Get going.” We were very scared of them, and left as fast as we could.
We met up with other caravans of wagons and people, and we traveled many miles together before parting, each to go his own direction. When we ran out of money, the men would hunt jobs on farms. We would camp for 2 weeks, and sometimes we hired out the horses also in the fields.
After coming over the great divide and into Idaho, we camped near Blackfoot, and planned to rest the horses for 2 days, do laundry and had located a patch of chokecherries to pick and make jam. We were all settled in the camp when all at once a bunch of 25 to 30 Indians on horses came riding up to our camp, yelling and riding around and around until finally the chief asked for some smoked meat, and other food. He then asked us to take care for a 9-year-old boy while they went and picked the chokecherries. They soon returned, taking the boy, and rode away.
To be continued next week.
This is encounter with Indians is very interesting. By 1910 all Indians had been remanded to reservations for at least a couple of decades. The ability for them to leave reservations was very controversial, and laws on the matter varied somewhat from state to state. Because government supplies of food was ridiculously inadequate I think most western states almost had to let Indians roam off the reservation to hunt and harvest berries, etc. Permits were often required, or sometimes even a military escort.
It was a terrible time for Native Americans; they were lost in a no-man’s-land between their familiar culture and a strange new world. It must have been like a stranger moving into your house, confining you to the basement, and then allowing you to come up to the partially demolished kitchen at night to scrounge for scraps of food.
Until after WWI, Indians were not even American citizens, so ironically as members of their own sovereign nations, they were treated more or less as foreigners. After the war, some of the Indians soldiers started thinking, “If I fought for this country, shouldn’t I be able to be a citizen?” Laws were soon passed to allow Indian veterans to become citizens. My impression is that the sovereign nation member versus U.S. citizen issue is still untidy.
I was unable to find much information about the post-reservation period from 1900 to 1920. I emailed Ken Swanson of the Idaho State Historical Society, and this was his response:
“There is very little research that I know of for Indian activities during that period. Relations were still very touchy. Many people, on both sides, were still alive who had taken part in the various conflicts. There was an incident in eastern Idaho, near Targee Pass about 1905-1910 where a group of ranchers killed a number of Indians after they reportedly stole a cow but I don't have good info on that incident. Over the years I have seen incidental accounts of Indians being preyed upon as late as 1915 in the West.”
I have to wonder if the Hubbards actually had much to fear from the Indians, but I can also understand how ingrained the fear of Indians was to people of that time and how intimidating this incident must have been. Cultural differences had to have played a part. As I wrote some time back, some traditional native mannerisms were—and still are—often misinterpreted as sullen or even hostile.
2-3-05
Continuing with the letter from Hazel Hubbard Branstetter about her family’s journey West in 1910. Last week, they had just had a frightening encounter with Indians.
We were so glad we had no trouble with them, but may father felt afraid they might return the next day. We decided to leave at 3 AM next morning. Coming over a mountain, looking down into a small valley we saw 50 to 70 Indian Teepees. We drove very slow and quiet so as not to arouse the dogs or people. We were very scared but made it OK.
We had many hardships and long dusty days getting to where we could find water and food and pasture for horses. We took our baths in creeks. They put hobbles on horses while they pastured. We were met at Evergreen, Idaho by Henry Dreyer, who drove a freight wagon between New Meadows and Evergreen every day. He escorted us to the valley on October 31, 1910 after dark. I will never forget seeing that first light in New Meadows as we came over the hill. I still think of it every time I see it at night.
[I’m pretty sure the Dreyer place was the old squared-log house beside the highway on the right just before you come into New Meadows from the west.]
We were so happy to know our journey was completed. Mrs. Dreyer had a bountiful supper ready for us, and huckleberry pie, which was the first I had tasted. Five of us children entered school in New Meadows in an old store building owned by Ed Kaiser until the Beaumont school was finished. Oreanna Hubbard was my teacher in the 3rd grade. We finished all 8 grades at Beaumont. At that time there was no high school here. There are only 3 of the Hubbards living today who made the trip. Hazel, Joe and William. Chester was born on the “old Hubbard place.” I have lived here for 62 years. There have been many changes in the valley and so much of the beautiful timber has been logged out.
My grandfather was born in Lincolnshire England on April 13, 1829. He was 19 when he came to the United States. He drove a buckboard team of mules from the east across the plains states to Nebraska. He later met Elizabeth Minshall and married, then moved to Tarrington, Wyoming and then to Idaho. My Uncle John Hubbard worked on the railroad in New Meadows. He fell from top of a freight car and hit a pile of rocks near Mud Creek and died on Sept. 23, 1916.
This summer, from June 17 to July 23, the Adams County Historical Society will he hosting the Smithsonian’s “Barn Again” exhibit about American barns—their design, purpose, history and the fact that we are losing so many. It will one of only six places in the state to do this, and it is quite an honor. The exhibit will be in the old P&IN depot, and will feature contributions from local communities. This spring I hope to gather photos of, and stories about, historic barns in the Council area. Others will be undertaking similar projects in Long Valley and any other local communities that want to participate. If you have an old barn, or even one that is not so old but has a unique design or story behind it, start thinking about organizing some photos and information about it. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.
Speaking of projects, here’s one that’s in the works right now. Don Dopf and I are working on another railroad book. This one is about the Idaho Northern Railway that ran from Murphy to Nampa and to McCall. We are looking for interesting photos, stories, names of employees who worked on the line, and interesting historic places along the line. I have dug up some fascinating stories already, and will very probably feature a couple in this column.
On another note, Alice Deeds tells me that three of the boys in the old picture of the merry-go-round at the Legion Hall are her sons.
2-10-05
Since there has been a lot of news and discussion of the Emmett to Indian Valley highway proposal lately, I thought I would revisit the subject. The Statesman said this idea is at least 50 years old; I think it is significantly older than that. In any case, Indians undoubtedly used the route for centuries before Lewis and Clark came west.
The first recorded travel on this route was in 1862 when Tom Goodale led a group of about 60 wagons from the present-day Boise area across the lower Payette River Valley and on north. He was looking for another of his famous Oregon Trail shortcuts, so he went north from what is now Emmett along a route that must have somewhat resembled the proposed highway route. Dunham Wright and his buddies took off for Florence from this wagon train and abandoned their wagons at Burnt Wagon Basin.
Although Goodale’s route never became a popular Oregon Trail route, it was used heavily for a few years after that as a trail for fortune seekers coming east from Oregon during the Boise Basin gold rush.
When a mail route was established to Indian Valley and on to Warren in 1874, it followed an existing trail from Emmett to Indian Valley. By 1877 the Statesman said this Emmett-Indian Valley route could be traveled by a 75-mile wagon road. It didn’t take much to qualify as a “wagon road” back then. It was probably what we would call a four-wheel-drive road in many places.
In 1889 there was talk of a slightly different route, from Weiser, through “Paddock Valley” and Crane creek to Indian valley. The goal was to avoid the Midvale Hill.
The first real action on an Indian Valley-Emmett road was started in 1950 when Adams County made plans for a gravel-surface road. At the time, there was a road along at least part of this route, but it was a very poor one—probably the one mentioned in 1877. The June 30, 1950 Adams County Leader said the road, "...has been a long cherished dream of a generation of people." "The road will follow the old pioneer trail first established in the early mining days when Warren and Florence Camps were active. The route is so direct and the total absence of engineering problems made it a natural route where the pioneer wagon trains could be taken through without any preparations. One pioneer of Adams County relates that he has driven a team of horses from Indian Valley to Emmett in a day." This is interesting, considering it took two days for a wagon to reach Weiser from Council in the 1880s.
Lewis Daniels was a county commissioner at the time, and construction finally got started about 1952. Logging contractor, Gordon MacGregor, furnished the equipment at no cost to the county, and the county paid his employees and supplied the fuel. Henry Daniels remembers helping to survey the road; he was just out of high school at the time. He said it was one of the few roads ever surveyed one day and driven on the next; that’s how fast MacGregor’s men were working behind them. Washington and Gem Counties also worked on the road in their counties at that time to build it all the way to Emmett.
Lewis Daniels was convinced that there would be a paved highway through there within four years. Some of the same arguments were made against this as are being made now—primarily objections from towns along Highway 95 that would be bypassed. People back then didn’t have much concept of environmental consequences, and as far as quality of life, they were still in the “more people is better” mindset.
Construction of this 1952 road motivated Washington County to gravel the roads in the Crane Creek area. Before that, the roads were often impassible in the winter or early spring, which was hard on the ranchers out there.
The present road between Emmett and Indian Valley is a fairly good gravel road, and it does save quite a few miles on a trip to Emmett, but it is very winding is some places. I timed it once, and if I remember right, it took almost exactly the same amount of time to go that route to Emmett or around through Payette. If you didn’t grow up driving on gravel roads, or if you have more sense than I do, it might take you longer to go the Crane Creek way.
The debate about a four-lane highway between Emmett and Indian Valley will be a turbulent one. One thing is certain—if such a highway is built, it will significantly change life here. Be careful what you wish for.
2-17-05
Some time ago, Larry Smith gave me a photocopy a handwritten manuscript by his great, great grandmother, Mary Elizabeth Turner Rhett. She had some memories and stories about the beginning of the Nez Perce War and other events. Her account of the beginning of the war is second hand from her mother, and her mother was only seven at the time. Even so, her account seems to be fairly consistent with other accounts. The personal memories of family members add interesting details to the story.
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My dad married a Swiss Italian woman, and they had five children: Harold Percey, Daisy Elizabeth, Laura Belle, Walter Dale and Victory Wayne. Walter Dale was killed in the Battle of the Bulge when the Germans took their guns away from them and shot the prisoners in cold blood.
My mother was born Feb. 20, 1870 at Slate Creek. When she was seven, the three young Indians who were starting the 1877 Indian War came to the house and bought a loaf of bread from my grandmother. Grandma always treated the Indians with respect and if a papoose was sick, she would go and do what she could to make it well. So no Indians would touch a thing on her place. The three young bucks, one was the son of the man that Larry Ott killed and took his property. The whites would not punish Larry Ott so it was the cause of the Indian War as much as because the government was going to put the Indians on a reservation.
The three young men, full of white man’s whiskey, rode up the main Salmon River to the cabin of Dick Devine and killed him, then turned back down the river and stopped at the Elfers place and killed the three men who were working in the hay field and went on back to where the Indians were camped at Tolo Lake.
An Indian family by the name of Moses lived on the Slippy Creek place and raised cattle. One of the young women called Tolo came to my grandmother’s place and took the stallion out of the barn—he was the only horse not out in the fields—and rode to Florence to warn the people that the Indians had declared war. At that time there were many miners and other people living in Florence. The stallion died from the effect of such a hard ride. People gathered into my grandmother’s stone cellar and wer cooped up there for over two weeks until the U.S. soldiers drove the Indians out of Salmon River. Many people were killed and the Indians started to go on their trek to Montana.
Tolo was afraid her people would kill her because she had warned the white people. She stayed at my mother’s house for quite some time. Every time my mother would cry from hunger, people would tell her the Indians would cut off her tongue. She took care of Mrs. Brushe and the children until Mrs. Brushe married Mr. Hadorn and moved across the river from the Robie Ranch.
There were a lot of Chinese mining in tunnels across the river from the Rhett Ranch. They lived in a store building on the north side of Slate Creek. Grandma sold lots of milk, eggs and vegetables to the Chinese. By that time my grandfather had left and gone to Montana. He had studied to be a doctor and had gone to college with William McKinley. It seems he was quite wild when young. He could not leave young girls alone, so he was a drop out from college before he received his doctor’s license. My grandmother was barely fifteen when she married grandpa. Her father was John Turner who brought his family to the Willamette Valley in 1853 and settled on a ranch near Albany, Oregon. The people built a tabernacle to his memory and named the town Turner Station. He was 113 years old when he died. Grandpa planted a black walnut tree at the Rhett Ranch at Slate Creek, which is an immense tree now. The Rhett brand was R on the left side.
Grandma went to help anyone who was sick, white or Indian, so her neighbors said she must be part Indian or she would not be such a friend to them. How mistaken can people be? Some of the finest people I ever knew were pure Nez Perce Indian. Chief Yellow Bull stayed at my house one night, but would not sleep in a bed. I had to put a mattress on the floor. His wife would not let him eat all the pancakes he wanted at breakfast. She said it would make him sick. He was near 100 years old then. He mourned for the fate of his people who loved the white man’s whiskey and were too easy to the white man’s blandishments.
The best 1877 Indian War story was written by Will Henry. It is the nearest to the true history of the happenings of that time. The name of the book is “From Where the Sun Now Stands.”
I was going home for Christmas holidays in 1913. I was going to school in White Bird at the time. The train going up the Clearwater was packed. No one offered me a place to sit until an Indian got up and gave me his seat. I love a gentleman!
While going to high school in White Bird some one set the school house afire. It burned down. Larry Ott lived in a cabin next to the school house, so it burned too. My mother always hated Larry Ott because he had killed an Indian and stole his home, causing the murdered man’s son to get full of white man’s whiskey and, with two more teenagers, started the 1877 Indian War. The Indians were camped at Tolo Lake and they had decided to go on the reservation with no fuss, but the government had given Joseph’s tribe the right to the Oregon grounds they occupied, then reneged on the promise. It was all a dirty business. Then when the drunken boys started the killings, the Indians decided they could do nothing but go to war.
After the school house burned, school was held in the new Methodist Church across the street from the Glatigny home where I lived. I started to go to a neighbor’s house to study Latin with a friend when I saw a flickering light under the church. I ran over and found that some on had stacked a lot of shavings and pieces of wood in a pile and set it afire. I ran to the parsonage and got a pail of water and ran under the church and threw the water on the fire. I returned to the parsonage for more water. I don’t remember how many pails of water it took to put out the fire. Then I went to my friend’s house to study Latin and told them what had happened. I heard the rocks roll on the hill back of the church while I was trying to put the fire out. So I almost caught the arsonist in the act of setting the fire.
There was quite and article in the paper about my courage. They said I might have been killed. I never thought of it. People came to Glatigny’s to compliment me for what I did, but I refused to be carried through town on the shoulders of some of my school companions the next morning at school. To me it was all in a day’s work. If anybody wishes to look up the paper, Free Press for 1912. I don’t remember the month, but it was in the fall. I don’t even remember if it was in Woodard’s White Bird paper or the Free Press that the article about me was printed.
2-24-05
The practice by railroads of bypassing existing towns to start a new one happened so frequently that it could almost be considered standard practice. For the Union Pacific Railroad in southern Idaho, the man in charge of killing and creating towns was Robert Strahorn.
As I noted in the P&IN book, when the Union Pacific pulled this stunt on Weiser in 1884, the editor of the Weiser newspaper called Strahorn the "general manager and chief schemer (sic) and trickster" for the Idaho & Oregon Land Improvement Co., and said, "Lying, scheming (sic) and misrepresentations have characterized all of Strahorn's dealings with the people."
Robert Strahorn had been a newspaper correspondent covering the Indian wars along the Powder River before being put in charge of publicity for the Union Pacific Railroad. To the unsuspecting reader, his guidebooks full of the romance of Western settlement seemed to come from an objective observer, but the books were in fact nothing more than UP advertisements to sell the thousands of acres in land the government had given the railroad. In 1881, Strahorn’s booklet, “Resources and Attractions of Idaho Territory” was published by the Idaho legislature, but was secretly funded by Union Pacific. It contained his typical hyperbole: “the healthiest climate in America, if not the world . . .the richest ores known in the history of mining . . . luxuriant crops , emerald or golden, trees blossom, and the perfume-laden, or bending to earth with their lavish fruitage.”
By the time the Union Pacific was building the Oregon Short Line across southern Idaho to Portland in 1883, Strahorn had become general manager of the Idaho and Oregon Land Improvement Company—an organization that was ostensibly independent of the railroad, but from which railroad officials and certain privileged insiders reaped windfall profits. Strahorn could basically put a branch line or a depot anyplace he wanted, and where he wanted was where it made him and/or the Improvement Company the most money.
As the OSL crept toward Boise and Weiser, the Treasure Valley was buzzing with speculation as to where the tracks would cross the Boise River. Boise was the largest city in the state, and residents assumed their town would be a prominent spot along this major transcontinental line. In the spring of 1883, Strahorn bought a ranch north of Boise, and then made sure the news of his purchase leaked out. Boiseans snapped up thousands of acres near Strahorn’s, confident they were in on the secret location of the railroad route. Strahorn even sold parts of the ranch at a handsome profit before announcing the actual route for the OSL that didn’t even come close to Boise. The town almost rioted. A mob hung him in effigy and promised to do so for real if they ever got their hands on him.
The rails were laid several miles south and west of Boise. Strahorn’s choice for a Boise River crossing was at a new town named Caldwell that he created on land at least partially owned by his Idaho and Oregon Land Improvement Company. A similar story was repeated numerous times, at Weiser, Hailey, Mountain Home, Payette and other locations, and made the company’s investors very rich men.
When branch lines extended from the main OSL tracks, this real estate game was imitated by the Pacific & Idaho Northern up the Weiser River, killing Salubria and Meadows, and creating Cambridge and New Meadows. Along the Payette River, the Idaho Northern Railway killed Van Wyck, Crawford, Thunder City and Roseberry, replacing them with Cascade and Donnelly, and it and tried to replace McCall with a town named Lakeport about a mile north of McCall.
If it happened this many times in just one little corner of Idaho, one can imagine the amount of devastation and deceitful dollars this practice created across the entire West.
3-3-05
Last summer I started to take items from 1951 and 1951 Adams County Leaders to share with you. It’s always fun to pull out the old newspapers, and since I don’t have any other brilliant ideas to write about, here goes.
Adams County Leader, February 8, 1952: Everett Woods died. He was a lifetime resident of Council. Born at Goodrich.
February 15: “Mrs. Hez Petty and baby arrived home from the hospital.” [Carol?]
February 22: “The Council high school Lumberjacks defeated Cascade high school 56-41 to win the Long Pin League basketball championship last Friday evening. Dick Hancock, Council guard, led the scoring with 19 points.” Funeral services were held for Jerry Dee McGahey, age 8, son of Mr. & Mrs. O.E. McGahey. Eileen Garver and Gene Nelson were married Feb. 12
March 7: The Fruitvale Cattle & Horse Association held their annual meeting at the Forest Service office. Members present were Isaac Glenn, Fred Glenn, E.F. Fisk, Everett Ryals, Melvin Ryals, Harvey Harrington and Fred Yantis. The Forest Ranger was Duff Ross. The Cuddy Mountain Cattle Association held their annual meeting the same day. The association’s president was Bill Hanson. Other members present were Ed Schroff, Bill Schmid, Ed Shannon, Art Thorpe, Fred Jewell, Verna Harrington, John Harrington, Glen Gallant, Mrs. Frieda Gallant, Bob Kampeter, Bill Kampeter, I.E. Robertson, Babe Thomas, Victor Oling, Harvey Harrington, R.H. Stover, Alvin Craig and Clarence Gibbs.
March 14: “Eddie Ludwig, Indian Valley pitching ace, left last week by air for St. Petersburg Fla., for spring training with the St. Louis Cardinals. Eddie, who performed with the Cardinal Class A club in the South Atlantic (Sally) league last season, has signed a contract with Columbus Ohio, of the Triple A American association this year.” The Leader called Eddie a “20 year old former Cambridge high school star.” “Eddie turned professional soon after his graduation from Cambridge high school in the spring of 1950. He was assigned to Pocatello of the Cardinal system in late June and finished the Pioneer league season with a record of nine wins and four losses. Promoted to the Sally league last year, Ludwig won 11 and lost 10 for Columbus, Ga. Most impressive, though, was his record of allowing an average of only 2.98 earned runs in each game he pitched. In 224 innings on the mound the Indian Valley hurler issued 140 strikeouts and walked 90, many of which were intentional walks.”
Council’s basketball team placed second in the district.
March 21: The Meadows Valley Cattle Association held its annual meeting. Officers were Jake Farrell, Ward Branstetter, Warren Osborn, Howard Dryden, Rollie Campbell and Bill Dryden.
A fire broke out in the boiler room at the Boise Payette mill at Council. “The blaze was believed to have started when a spark from the furnace caught fire to some saw dust in the rafters. Most of the rafters and other wooden structure inside the building were burned, although most of the equipment went undamaged. The fire did not spread to any of the surrounding buildings, mostly because of the metal roof and walls of the room.
April 4: The first services will be held in the new Congregational Church, which has been under construction for the past two years, on Easter Sunday. “It is planned to have a small balcony over the entrance which will be a class room and a family room for funerals or for a choir. A small room, which is the second floor of the tower, leads off this balcony and can be used as a pastor’s study or classroom. Since the construction has been governed entirely by available funds, the balcony as well as the steeple will not be built until more money is available.”
“Especial note should be taken of the beautiful stained glass windows which give added reverence to the sanctuary Some years ago, the congregation felt the need of rebuilding or doing extensive repairs. Frank Galey sr. was visiting his relatives, the Mellons, at Pittsburgh soon after, and as the church in which they worshipped was being torn down for a new church, Mr. Galey suggested that the windows might be useful for us. Mr. Tom Mellon was at once interested and after some correspondence, sent ten of their smaller windows to Council. The war halted building and the windows were stored in the basement of the court house, but when it began to look possible to build, the committee brought the windows from their hiding and made the measurements fit in to their use.”
“A light airplane flying through a snowstorm crashed in a narrow canyon about 9 miles north of Council, near the Otto Bodmer ranch Wednesday morning about 11 AM killing David Young, a passenger, and seriously injuring Braden E. Crawford, pilot of the ship.” Both men were pinned in the wreckage. The plane was spotted from the air “after a report was received from Alton Stover, who with his father, Lawrence Stover, have a ranch adjacent to the crash site, that an airplane had passed over the ranch at 11 AM flying in a snowstorm and that the sound of the motor had stopped suddenly. Stover, however, did not hear any noise of a crash….” “It appeared that the plane had come almost ‘straight down’ because no trees were sheared off.” [The plane crashed in Trial Gulch. The Stover ranch was northeast of where the pond is now at Glendale.]
Jane Shaw died.
3-10-05
ACL, April 18, 1952:
Council High School has the biggest graduating class in its history—31.
Graduates listed: Alma Averill, Janet Perkins, Sharon Wright, Orr Fay Reed, Dolly Hiroo, Edith Clelland, Thomas Wortman, Edna Wikoff Addington, Sidney Fry, Joan Lane, Fayth Newcomb, Loraine Waggoner, Pat Moore, John Williams and Dixie Stover, Lillian Morris, Frank Smith, Dauna Shaw, Jeanny Hand, Bill Avery, Francis Bower, June Stewart Fry, Dorothy Heathco, Darrell Holbrook, Helen Hoxie, Alta Francis, Colleen Jacobs, George Green, Eddy Mauzy, Henry Daniels and Lilly Bisbee. [There is a photo of this class on the wall at the High School.]
MEN ESCAPE DROWNING
“Albert Campbell of New Meadows and W. L. Grover, jr. of Pine Valley, Oregon, narrowly escaped drowning in Snake river Wednesday when the Brownlee ferry swamped and sunk near the Idaho side.
“The following account of the accident was given by Lee Alexander, who received his information from people along the river while he and Mrs. Alexander were in that area, returning from a visit to the Ox Bow plant of Idaho Power on the river.
“Clark Childers of Pine Valley, Ore., had been feeding Albert Campbell's cattle the past winter. Mr. Campbell, assisted by W. L. Grover, jr., were transporting the herd to the Idaho side of the river Wednesday and had hauled three loads across and were returning empty to the Oregon side for their fourth load when one of the spokes in the windless broke, allowing the wheel to turn free. The spinning windless struck Mr. Campbell several times, bruising him severely, and the free turning windless allowed the ferry to turn crosswise of the current. This caused the open pontoons of the ferry to dip water on the upstream side and the strong current tipped it up sideways, filling the pontoons and causing the ferry to sink.
“As the ferry sank, the men grabbed two large planks that were used in transporting cars on the ferry, as the river carried them down stream. Soon a gate panel floated by and Mr. Grover climbed aboard that. As the men drifted down the river they drifted apart. Mr. Campbell was rescued by one of is employees, Don Whiteley, near the Bear Valley ranch about a mile down the river from the ferry on the Idaho side. Mr. Whiteley saw the accident and drove down to the Bear Valley ranch. Mr. Campbell arrived there and was in a whirlpool. A rope was thrown to Mr. Campbell, but he was too weak to hold it. Mr. Campbell went under, and when he came up a second rope was thrown to him. This time he was able to wrap it around his wrist and was pulled out.
“Mr. Grover drifted to the Oregon side of the river and was rescued by A. D. Robinette who had witnessed the accident while he sat in his car watching the men ferry the cattle across the river. Mr. Robinette drove down the river about 1 1/4 mile where he knew there was a boat, summoned help and went to the rescue in the boat. Both men were near exhaustion when rescued.
“Mr. Alexander said that the river was very high and the men were very fortunate to have been rescued when they were, as there are rapids a little further down the river which would have surely spelled disaster.
“Mr. Campbell was taken to the Community hospital, where it was found that he had no broken bones and where he was treated for exposure and bruises.
“Mr. Alexander reported that the ferry was still hanging to the guide cable Sunday when he was there, but that the sunken boat had pulled the cable into the water and that since then it had been reported that the ferry had broke loose and sunk to the bottom.”
“Sgt Jim Leslie, son of Mr. and Mrs. Dwight Leslie, arrived home Sunday from the East coast. Jimmy, who is in the U.S. Army, has been stationed in Germany the past 3 years. He has a 30-day furlough after which he has to report at Spokane, Wn. to be discharged.”
Minte Stutsman Ross died in Praire City, Oregon—wife of James M. Ross. Raised on Hornet Creek.
3-17-05
Bob Hagar sent me a story that was printed in the Denver Post newspaper in 1930. The Albert Hagar family lived about where the Coleman apartments are today, on South Fairfield Street.
“A Horned Owl by Teddy Hagar (Council, Idaho)”
“While on a duck hunting trip last autumn, my father shot a great horned owl, but only stunned him, so he was able to bring the bird home alive. As he was not badly hurt we decided to keep him for a pet, and he has become one of the most interesting pets we ever had. We named him Barney Google.”
“During the winter we kept him in a shed, and in the spring made him a house with a perch. We put a soft strap around his leg and fastened it with a long, fine chain to the perch. We fed him mice, gophers, ground squirrels and sparrows which we trapped for him. He liked the mice best and would swallow them whole.”
“We found that Barney could see just as well in the daytime as he could at night. His hearing was wonderfully keen, and he would turn his head at the slightest unusual sound. One day he kept craning his neck and looking up in the sky. For a while none of us could see or hear anything unusual until finally an airplane appeared, flying quite high. And no matter how high a hawk or and eagle would soar over our yard, Barney always would see it. He could turn his head squarely about and look straight in back of him or scratch the middle of his back with his bill.”
“Last week when the weather began to get warm, my sister and I felt sorry for Barney and turned him loose. He stayed with us one night and a day after that before he flew away. We hope he will enjoy his freedom and always find good hunting.”
Bob said, “I recall someone saying that a few days after they released the owl, Mrs. Carr—at her place up by the water tank on the hill—was chasing away some big owl that was after her chickens.”
A few more items from the 1952 Adams County Leaders:
April 25, 1952—“Born to Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Bowman of Council, a son on April 23, 1952” [Larry] The home of Mr. and Mrs. A.P. Thomas of Hornet Creek was destroyed by fire.
May 2, 1952— “Mr. and Mrs. Dick Fisk of Fruitvale are the parents of a son born April 26.”[Dale] Andy Clelland bought the Council Meat Market from Clarence Schroff, and changed the name to the Council Food Market. “He will give up possession of the Wayside Drive Inn, in the near future.”
May 9, 1952— At bottom of front page in large print: “Dedication Dance—May 17th For New Council City Hall”
May 16, 1952—“Barr Jacobs, president of the Adams County Fair and Rodeo board….”
May 23, 1952—Born to Dr. and Mrs. John Edwards, a girl, May 20 [Joyce] Fire at Shady Rest Cabin Camp—little damage. [The office was in the log building on Hwy 95 (N. Dartmouth) just north of 1st Ave. on the west side of the Hwy, where Mary Crosby had her floral shop.] A bond election passed to fund a new water well for Council. Not more than $15,000. Edith Clelland married Sgt. William S. Hover in Boise.
May 30, 1952—Nelma Glenn and Lottie Burt were selected as representatives to Girl’s State at Pocatello. “Ralph Finn and Hank Winkler were down near Eagle Bar this week to look over some mining claims belonging to Mr. Finn. While there they also did a little fishing, catching a 6 ft. sturgeon which weighed 100 pounds. They report that cars can’t go beyond Big Bar ranch road as they road is washed out.” Edward Charles Rush died—father of Mrs. Lawrence Stover and Mrs. Ruth France. Eddie Ludwig has pitched three winning games and no losses so far this year.
June 6, 1952— “Hugh Addington and Hub Fisk hurt when airplane comes down in swamp.” They were returning from Lewiston. Hugh was the pilot. They were flying over the Fisk Ranch to attract Mrs. Fisk’s attention so she could pick them up at the airport. The plane stalled during a turn and clipped the top of a tree, “going into a flat spin and plunged into a tulle swamp. The prop, right wing and landing gear on the plane were damaged.” Addington suffered cuts on his head and injured his back. Fisk injured his ankle. Both men were treated at the Council hospital.
June 12, 1952—Ron Dunn and Lowell Sayre will re-open the Wayside Drive Inn on June 18 and, “…will carry a small line of camping and fishing equipment, as well as some sporting goods, and a regular line of groceries.”
June 6, 1952— Sixteen people from Council attended a training class for Ground Observers at Midvale. Delmar Hallett is the supervisor of the local Observation Post. Such posts are being established across the nation to track and report aircraft as part of the defense effort. Volunteer Observation Posts in Montana, Idaho, Oregon, Washington and California will begin 24 hour operation as of July 14. More volunteers are needed.
We have already started gathering pictures of area barns for a museum exhibit in conjunction with the Smithsonian “Barn Again” program that is coming to New Meadows this June. We are going to need some fairly large picture frames—big enough to hold an 8X10 photo plus text—so if anyone has one they could donate, please contact me. (253-4582 or dafisk@ctcweb.net)
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Caption for photo: “This photograph appeared in the 1930 Denver Post newspaper. The kids in the picture are Teddy Hagar, age 11 at the time, and Lily May Hagar, age 7. I believe Ted lives in Boise now. Lily May died just a couple weeks ago.
3-24-05
Adams County Leader, July 4, 1952: Idaho Power is extending a power line up Hornet Creek to the Glenn Harrington and Everett Harrington ranches. A line will also be extended to the Ralph Longfellow ranch at Granger Butte.
“Clarence Fredricks reports this week that he has reopened the Shady Rest Station, and that he will be open seven days a week from now on. Mr. Fredricks reports that he will handle gas and oil, groceries and soft drinks.”
July 11, 1952: Mr. and Mrs. Bill Peterson and family of Boise took possession of the Council Hotel, having recently purchased it from Mr. and Mrs. John Cannon.
July 18, 1952: Clarence Wikoff was injured when a part of a load of lumber he was unloading fell on him. He was pinned beneath the lumber, unconscious, for about a half hour before he was discovered and taken to the Council hospital. He had a fractured pelvis and shoulder blade.
The Council Ground Observation Post will not be one of those called upon for 24 hour observation.
July 25, 1952: “Communities centering around Weiser and the Hells Canyon area will join Sunday, July 27, at Kinney Point to honor the memory of members of the Wilson Price Hunt expedition.” Governor Len Jordan and several others will speak. “There will be a dance at Cuprum Saturday evening, as well as a big bon fire, when Blane Stubblefield will be present with his guitar.” The National Guard will serve meals for a reasonable price. Police cars will direct traffic.
August 1, 1952: A crowd of about 700 people attended the Kinney Point celebration.
J.A. Mitchell of Meadows Valley died. Born April 7, 1870.
Don Strickfaden is the new Hospital Board Chairman, filling the vacancy left by Mrs. Harry Spence who recently moved away.
Born to Mr. and Mrs. Emmett Woody, a daughter.
August 8, 1952: Mrs. Bessie Roeder died. Former Goodrich postmaster
August 22, 1952: “Eddie Ludwig, who has been playing Triple A baseball with Rochester, New York, and is the property of the St. Louis Cardinals, was called this week to fill the September draft quota for Adams County. He will be inducted some time in September.”
An engine exploded at the Bear sawmill, causing a fire that burned the mill to the ground.
August 29, 1952: Larry Clay of Meadows and Miss Hazel Gill of Grangeville were married.
The opening social for the newly organized Mutual Improvement Association will be held Wednesday at the LDS hall at Fruitvale. Meetings will be held each Wednesday evening.
September 5, 1952: Eddy Ludwig left for the Army.
“Oliver Bacus and Edwin Kesler returned from Bainbridge, Maryland, Sunday, where they had been stationed with the U.S. Navy.”
September 12, 1952: Son born to Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Thomas. [Steve]
September 19, 1952: Earl Wayland Bowman died in Los Angeles. Born March 13, 1875 in Missouri. Came to Council in 1902. Was instrumental in establishing the Adams County Leader newspaper. Served in the State Senate in 1915. Was a well-known author. Buried at Forest Lawn Cemetery.
Mrs. William (Pearl) Brown died. She and her husband, ran several businesses in Council, including the Wayside Tourist Station which they operated at the time Mr. Brown died.
The LDS Church is starting a Boy Scout troop at Fruitvale.
October 3, 1952: The body of J.C. Maddison of Meadows was found floating in the Salmon River about 15 miles from Grangeville. He disappeared September 11 after he left his hunting partner to search for water.
Council will be featured in “Scenic Idaho” Magazine’s Christmas issue as the “Gateway to Hells Canyon.” A photographer has been taking pictures in the area. [I know there are issues of this magazine around. I think one is at the library. There are several pictures of Ralph Finn and other locals.]
October 17, 1952: “Harry Tomlinson of Council was accidentally shot just above the hip Sunday morning while hunting about 2 miles west of Evergreen. Mr. Tomlinson was riding a horse when he was shot.”
A son was born to Mr. and Mrs. Jack Darland [Jim]
A monument to the Cuddy Mill was dedicated at Cambridge on Sunday
October 24, 1952: The Keckler barber shop was sold to Darrell Skeen of Riggins who has moved to Council and is running the shop.
Jim Leslie and Pat Weems were married.
Norman Kilborn is home from Fairbanks, Alaska on a 30 day furlough from the Air Force.
The Council Beauty Shop closed. Mrs. Afton Quast spent a week here tending to the business before returning to Bellevue, Washington. The beauty shop equipment was stored and the building leased to the Layne Bakery.
October 31, 1952: Harriet Carr died at her home in Emmett. Born Harriet Piper, 1868. Wife of J. A. Carr who died in October of 1937. They came to Council in 1904. She was the first Adams County Treasurer.
Helen Hoxie and Frank Jones married.
November 7, 1952:
A new 381’deep well has been drilled to supply Council. A new pump was also purchased.
Harry Johnson of New Meadows died. Born 1878.
November 14, 1952: The Cambridge School District has awarded a $76, 500 contract to add a new gymnasium to the high school and build a new grade school at Indian Valley.
A girl was born to Mr. and Mrs. Gene Nelson
Bessie Gallant and Bud Lindgren married.
Council High School football team has won its third consecutive Long Pin league championship.
3-31-05
November 21, 1952
Lewis E. Winkler died at the age of 85. Born Oct. 7, 1867 in West Virginia. Came to Idaho and Council with his parents in 1878. Operated the first blacksmith shop in Council and drew the first map of the Thunder Mountain country, which served as a guide to miners during the 1902 gold rush. Carried mail to Warren on skis for two years. Owned the Golden Rule near Burgdorf mine since 1914. He was the last surviving charter member of the Council I.O.O.F. lodge.
“Applesauce is again being packed at Mesa Orchards on its continuous canning line. The plant has a capacity for 3 ½ tons of finished canned sauce an hour. As soon as the fresh apples are all packed, the cannery will be on a two-shift 18-hour daily schedule. In this modern cannery where the applesauce is processed continuously, only 8 minutes elapse from the time the apples are started on their way until the lid is sealed on the can. During this time, the four varieties of apples are blended to make a consistent high flavored , properly balanced acid and sugar combination have been peeled, cored, inspected, sliced, cooked filled into the can, and sealed. About 60 individuals per shift are required to maintain this production line.”
“Each peeler operates a bank of 3 machines from which the peeled apples pass through chutes to the inspectors who trim the bruises, skins, and other defects. The apples are flumed in a diluted salt solution to prevent ‘browning’ to a dewatering water reel where they are washed prior to being elevated to the slicer. They are further inspected before they drop into the continuous cooker where they are mixed with the proper amount of sugar. This cooker is fed by 90 lbs. Of steam through 45 small steam jets located in the bottom and lower sides of the cooker. During the 3 minutes the apple is passing through the cooker, it has been mixed with sugar in the proper proportions and its temperature raised to the boiling point. The cooked apples are discharged into a paddle type pulper where the sauce is forced through a stainless steel screen and discharged over an inclined tray into a 200-gallon holding tank. Four girls, using a modified milking machine, suck off the last defects that might have escaped the previous inspectors”
“From the holding tank, it is pumped continuously through a pre-heater which maintains the sauce at a proper filling temperature. When this temperature is reached, valves open automatically and discharge the pulp into a 5-nozzle filler. Cans passing through this filler continue through to the sealing machine at a rate of 125 per minute. From the sealer, the cans are automatically inverted and are held 3 ½ minutes to complete their sterilization before they are cooled to 100 degrees, where at this temperature they are conveyed to the storage warehouse and continuously labeled.”
“The Northwest Canner Convention has acclaimed Mesa Applesauce as tops among all those packed in the Northwest. Visitors are always welcome to view this operation.”
December 5, 1952
The 1950 census counted 1,170 homes in Adams County. 1,006 were occupied at the time of the census. 94% were single dwelling units, 25.8% were built in 1940 or later; 42% had hot running water and a flush toilet.
Hank Daniels and George Green reported to Boise for their military draft physical.
The Boise Payette Lumber Company sawmill at Council closed for the season due to cold weather.
December 12, 1952
George William McMahan died. Born Nov. 29, 1879 at Durkee, Oregon—son of Jonathan and Caroline McMahan. Came to Indian Valley in the early spring of 1887 with his parents. The family moved on to Meadows Valley in 1892. He and his brother, Edward, did much of the freighting from Weiser for their father’s store. Married Xena Rigdon in 1902. Farmed in Meadows Valley until 1928 when he retired and continued to live in the area. Survived by sons Walter and Albert; daughter Mrs. Georgiana N. Wadell; two sisters, Mrs. Cora Warr and Mrs. Daisy Phillips; six grandchildren.
December 19, 1952
Mrs. Dessa Spears of Fruitvale died at Blackfoot, Idaho. Pall bearers were Sterling McGinley, Lorne Rice, Charles Burt, Oliver Robertson, Isaac Glenn and Roy Bethel. Dessa was the daughter of George and Mary Tomlinson. Born 1878. Married Robert Spears in 1897. Had ten children. Mr. Spears died in 1921 and the family moved to Fruitvale until she became ill and went to live with her daughter. Survived by daughters, Mrs. Bertha Ryals, Mrs. Lecta Spencer, Mrs. Lucy McSparran; sons Martin and William; sisters Sarah Yantis, Emma Harp, Mrs. Edna McMahan; brothers Harry and Henry Tomlinson.
Boise Payette Lumber Company bought the Cascade sawmill of Hallack & Howard.
Vera Gayle Harrington (daughter of Mr. & Mrs. Glenn Harrington) and Owen Mink married.
4-7-05
Tina Warner recently gave me a copy of information she put together about the Bear Cemetery and the people buried there. The amount of work that Tina did to gather and preserve this priceless historical documentation is truly admirable, and I’m sure it will be a valuable resource for years to come. She took pictures of each of the graves, and put them each on a page with information about the person buried there. With Tina’s permission, I thought I would share some of this information and see if I could add a few odds and ends.
Tina opens her collection with a history of the Bear Cemetery by Clarence Warner:
In 1897 Frank Smith stepped on a broken doll's head, cutting his foot and died of blood poisoning. He was buried on a flower-covered knoll on his own ranch. Soon after (the exact date is unknown) Ben Wolverton was found dead in his cabin. No relatives were known, so the neighbors buried him near Frank Smith. Thus the cemetery was started.
Ed Brown was from England. As far an anyone knew he had no relatives in this country. While working for Joe Warner in 1917, he fell out of the hay barn causing his death.
By 1931 there were eighteen graves. One acre was set aside from the Smith Ranch (now owned by Alice Stanley) and a board of directors was appointed. They were Lois (Smith) Robertson, Pearl (James) Smith and Clarence Warner.
Pearl Smith was secretary and treasurer. When she moved away, Mavis (Warner) McGahey took her place. Twenty-one people donated ten dollars each making a total of $210. Many people donated their time and labor. This enabled a fence to be built and many other improvements to be made.
For the graves that were not marked Frank Smith (grandson of the former Frank Smith) and Clarence Warner made a search for just the right kind of rocks for markers. Frank Smith chiseled names on them.
Later Bud McGahey was able to get the cemetery on the County Tax Rolls and with help from Jay Bennion put in an underground watering system, planted grass and had a well drilled.
In the spring wild flowers are in abundance and on Memorial day each grave is remembered with a bouquet. Each year a few people turn out to grub the ever-spreading sagebrush and weeds and to set out more flowers. There are now 34 graves.
One of the first graves in the list is that of Ed “Dirty Shirt” Brown. In 1910 Edgar Brown was living in Cuprum with a Walter J.Smith. He was born in July, 1870 in England. According to the Council Leader, May 22, 1914, Brown was driving the Council - Summit stage for Pete Kramer. Brown died when he fell from a barn where he was putting hay and broke his neck in 1917. He was employed by Joe Warner on his ranch on Bear Creek at the time.
Another grave is that of infant child of Charles and Alberta Dibble. No name is given for this baby who died in 1922. Charles Dibble worked for Huntley Ranch near Cuprum, and Alberta taught school at Bear. They had one other child, a girl named Marie June.
Pete Gaarden’s grave is historically interesting. I would think most people seeing his name for the first time must wonder if it’s a typo. Evidently it’s a Danish name. Peter L. Gaarden was born in Denmark April 5, 1860 to parents both born in Denmark. In the Washington County Census of 1900, Peter was listed as a widower who arrived in America in 1882. He lived in Missouri and Colorado before coming to Silver City, Idaho in 1890, and then to Bear in 1895 at the age of 35. He married Margaret J.Jacobsons in Weiser, July 25, 1902. Margaret (Maggie) was born in Denmark and had a 4-year-old daughter, Mary when the couple was wed.
Pete Gaarden and his family lived at Bear, and he was a well-known miner in the Seven Devils district. His principal mine was in Deep Creek, and old maps show a trail leading into that drainage from the south named the “Gaarden Trail.” He evidently was a partner in a sawmill with one of the Robertsons, as the museum has a photo of the “Gaarden & Roberston sawmill” near Bear.
Pete and Maggie had two daughters of their own. Maggie’s daughter, Mary, graduated from the eighth grade at the Bear school in 1912. She taught school in Adams County the next year, and was said to have been the youngest teacher in Idaho at the time. She must have just been filling in, because she didn’t start training at a teacher’s college until the following year.
In 1927, Pete was the road overseer in the Bear-Cuprum area. The next year, the Gaarden home burned down while Pete was away at his mine. The next year (1928), the family's home in Bear burned down, and the following year (1929) Gaarden died on April 6 at the age of 69 years plus one day. He was buried in the Bear Cemetery on April 8.
99598—The girl is Mary Gaarden. Legendary Seven Devils Miner, Charlie Anderson, is mounted at center, and Pete Gaarden is afoot. Date unknown, but probably between 1912 and 1920.
00171—This is thought to be a young Pete Gaarden, but no positive identification has been made.
72058—Pete Gaarden is the second man from the left is this picture taken inside George M. Winkler’s hardware store in Council. The man on the far left is Tom Doughty; on the right side of the photo are (L-R) Charles Leonard, George A. Winkler and his father George M. Winkler. Winkler had this store from 1912 to 1918.
4-14-05
I’m continuing with items based on Tina Warner’s cemetery information.
Nancy and Walter James and their children, Anna, Pearl and Edgar, were very well-known in the Seven Devils Mining District. The couple married in 1887 when she was 19 and he was 24. They had been friends for years before they married. Twelve years after their wedding, they came to Landore in 1899 where Walter ran a butcher shop and a livery stable. Their youngest child and only boy, Edgar, was four years old at the time. When he finished grade school, he went on to attend high school at Weiser.
Anna and Pearl James were contemporaries of Winifred Brown (who later became Winifred Lindsay), and all three graduated from the eighth grade together in 1906.
On Christmas day, 1909, Anna James married a Council man named Ernest Adams. (She must have been quite young if she graduated from the eighth grade only three years earlier.) The happiness of their new marriage was marred by tragedy less than two weeks later. The Council Leader reported: “Edmund James, only son of Walter James of Landore, died at Weiser where he was attending high school - scarlet fever.” It must have been heartbreaking for his family when they brought his body to the Bear Cemetery for burial. The day of his funeral, Eva Warner wrote in her diary, "25 degrees. We all went to Edgar's funeral. Cold wind at grave."
Pearl James married William Smith at her parents house in Landore on September 18, 1913.
Just a few years later, the mining boom ended in the Seven Devils. By 1916, things had wound down significantly. The only mine still operating was the Arkansas mine at the west edge of Landore. When most of the town went up in flames that summer, people started moving away. The James family went just down the road to Cuprum where Nancy ran the Seven Devils Hotel and Walter worked at mining jobs.
When the grim reaper came for Walter on August 20, 1927, for reasons that are not clear, he was in Baker, Oregon. His body was brought back to Bear and was interred beside his son.
Just how long Nancy lived in Cuprum and/or ran the hotel is not clear. The Leader reported a fire at Cuprum in March of 1930, saying it started in “the James house, leased by the Kleinschmidt Brothers.” The fire burned all the buildings north of that house to the “Anderson place.” The buildings lost were listed as the dance hall, Mrs. Sprague's buildings and two of Mrs. James houses. The Darland Hotel and Mrs. Mabel Sproul's home were spared.
When Nancy died at the end of November or first part of December 1930, her death notice was among the Bear items in the December 5th Leader. She was buried beside her son and husband. A metal fence was placed around the graves but was removed when the cemetery was fenced and the underground watering system was installed.
I’m starting to realize how close we are to June and the Barn Again exhibit at the New Meadows depot. I’ve heard from a few people who have barns and/or histories of barns. I’ll be contacting those people soon. I’m looking for more barns, so contact me soon if you have one that should be included. (P.O. Box 252, Council—dafisk@ctcweb.net—208-253-4582)
PHOTO CAPTIONS:
95114L Nancy and Pearl James at their house in Landore, 1904. Pearl married Bill Smith here nine years later, in 1913.
95131L Written across the top of this photo is “James Hotel, Landore.” This shot was taken about 1908 – 1910. Back Row L to R: Gus Lapke, __ Peterson, Walter James, Mrs. Nancy James, Frank Sullivan. Front: Pearl James, Lawrence Brown, Orson Smith
4-21-05
I’m continuing with items based on Tina Warner’s cemetery information.
T. G. JONES—1836-1912. The information that I have on Thomas George Jones is undoubtedly part fact and part fiction, so take some of this with a grain of salt.
Jones was born in 1836 in Wales. Legend has it that Jones became rich by being in on the discovery of the Homestake gold mine in what is now South Dakota. A story of uncertain origin says that Jones went on a trip one time and brought back a Bible as a gift for his wife. Mrs. Jones may have appreciated the present until she found out that her husband had brought back a fur coat for his mistress. Mrs. Jones left him, and married his brother. After this, it is said Jones went to the Yukon. It was sometime after that when he came to Idaho.
As to how T. G. Jones acquired real estate at Landore, another story says he won 20 acres there in a poker game from P&IN railroad magnate, Lewis Hall. At any rate, Jones appeared in the Seven Devils Mining District in 1898, filed a water claim on Indian Creek, and started dividing his land into lots for a town. It wasn’t long before almost 500 people were living in the town he named “Landore” (meaning Land of Ore) after his home town in Wales where the largest smelter in the world was said to have been located.
Ed Ford had already built a cabin near the site of Landore when Jones arrived to build the second dwelling there. Jones named himself mayor, and used to stroll around Landore dressed in a stovepipe hat and a black topcoat with tails. He leased the mining claims to others who did the actual work, and is said to have spent a lot of time with the saloon girls in Decorah..
Jones sold townsite lots to a number of people, and gave the Ladd Metals Company five acres on which to built the Landore copper smelter in 1904. The 1906 list of precinct officers in Washington County (Adams County was then a part of Washington County) mentions T. G. Jones’s son, George A. Jones, as a justice of the peace. The Council Leader, May 9, 1912, announced that T. G. Jones of Landore died suddenly Sunday afternoon at 4:00 PM.
The rest of this information came from Karen McGuiness, and I’m not sure of its veracity. Sometime in the early 1920's, T.G. Jones' son, George who had no interest in mining, George's wife Lottie, and their 15 year old daughter Georgine, moved to Hollywood, California.
Many people simply moved away without bothering to sell the Landore lots they had purchased from T.G. Jones. The lots had been sold as small, patented claims inside his larger claim, and all the owners were listed on the title to this larger claim. Many of the owners could not be located, and it was not even clear who owned some of the lots.
Adams County eventually took the land for back taxes. George and Lottie's daughter, Georgine Severs, who by then lived in Portland, went to the county commissioners and convinced them to sell all of the Landore property to her. The commissioners agreed because the title was in such a mess, they didn't see how they could ever have time to straighten it out. The land was passed down to Georgine Severs' daughter, Georgine Higgins, who lived in in Van Couver, Washington. A Van Couver realtor named Karen McGuiness bought the Landore property in 1990. Along the twisted trail of land dealings, the older Georgine had sold several lots that she actually didn’t own. The final sale to McGuiness required unraveling a great deal of red tape, and I’m not sure it is unraveled even yet.
Caption for photo 95124L: Looking west down the main street of Landore, year unknown. L to R: Charles Jones, Mr. Jacobs, T.G. Jones, George A. Jones, Mr. Adanise (or Adaulise?) If Jones was a fancy-dressing lady’s man, he certainly doesn’t look like it here. The rotting logs from a few of the cabins in the background could still be found a few years ago; I’m not sure if they could still be located or not. The road still runs pretty much where the original one in this photo did.
4-28-05
I’m continuing with items based on Tina Warner’s cemetery information.
Many of you remember Dale Lake who served as our local veterinarian in the 1980s. He was/is quite a fiddler too. He remarried this past summer up at Bear. Dale’s father, John Harry Lake is buried in the Bear Cemetery. Harry Lake was born at Cascade, Idaho to August and Thelma (Ames) Lake, June 28, 1935 the youngest of 4 children. He attended grade school in Homedale, Idaho and graduated from Council High School after his parents bought a ranch on Hornet Creek and moved there. Harry married Eva Inez McGahey at a lawn wedding at Lake's home on Hornet Creek June 5, 1955. Harry worked for the Golden Rule Store in Council and the couple lived in Council. After moving to Lewiston, Idaho, Harry began work with Morgan Brothers Company where he worked until his death. Harry loved square dancing and was a caller for dances around the area. He is buried at the Bear cemetery near his grandson. The couple had three children, Terri, Dale and Tammy. (Dale’s oldest boy, Randy, who was born in Council in 1984, is now in Iraq.)
JERRY DEE McGAHEY—Jerry was born in the Council Hospital April 16, 1944 to Oscar Edward and Mavis Inez (Warner) McGahey. He died in February 1952 at the Bear School from an accident when he fell from the back of a horse and hit his head on a car bumper. He was only eight years old. Jerry was a happy little boy and enjoyed his dog and playing in the snow. He was buried at the Bear cemetery. He was survived by a sister, Eva, and his parents.
OSCAR EDWARD McGAHEY—Better known as “Bud” McGahey. Bud’s
parents, Jack and Mary, moved to Bear in November of 1936, when Bud
was about eighteen years old. (He was born May 2, 1918 in Plymouth,
Utah.) One issue of the Leader said they came to Bear from
California, and another said Tule Lake, Oregon. They bought their
place from William T. Robertson who had lived there for the past 35
years. The McGahey’s took over the Bear Post Office, which came
along with the Robertson house, and Mary became the postmaster.
(There is no such person as a “postmistress”; the only official
designation is “postmaster” whether the person is male or
female.) The July 22, 1938 Leader reported that Mr. and Mrs. Jack
McGahey were getting out of the store and Post office business, at
least for a time. Mrs. McGahey resigned as Postmaster and turned the
job over to Mr. Sid Brown of Weiser. He will run the store
too.
Meanwhile, Bud McGahey married Mavis Warner, in 1937. Mavis
was the daughter of Joe Warner, and sister to Bert and Clarence. Bud
and Mavis lived at Bear until Bud joined the Navy in 1943. He was
stationed at Faragut, Idaho and in California until his discharge in
1946. They moved to Lewiston, Idaho where Bud taught welding and auto
mechanics at Lewis Clark State College. Following that, he worked at
Dworshak, Little Goose, Lower Granite, Lower Monumental Dams, and
then at Brownlee Dams from which he retired. Bud and Mavis moved back
to Bear until his death in 1994. Mavis still lives at Bear.
Bud and Mavis’s daughter, Eva, married Harry Lake. Bud’s obituary said he was survived by Mavis, and children Eva (Lake) Bureau and Dan McGahey and seven grandchildren. He was preceded in death by his father and son, Jerry.
Since I mentioned Dale Lake as a fiddler, many of you will remember Roy Scriven who used to live at Cuprum. He died October 15, 1982 and was buried in the Bear Cemetery. Roy was born in Granada, Colorado, December 2, 1907, To Bertha (Jenkins) and Charles Moore Scriven. He lived around Wildhorse, Bear and Cuprum much of his life. He trapped for furs and had a mine that he worked. He married Donita Moore in Council, Idaho in 1940 but they were later divorced. There were no children. Roy played fiddle for many of the local dances. At his request, he was cremated and his ashes were scattered over the mountains near Cuprum. His friends set a plaque in a rock taken from his mine and placed it in the Bear cemetery as a memorial.
99025 Photo caption: “Bud and Mavis McGahey on their 40th wedding anniversary--1977.
5-5-05
The Warner family has been a vital part of the Bear-Cuprum community for over a century, and a number of them are buried in the Bear Cemetery. The patriarch and matriarch of the family were Amos and Phebe Warner.
Amos Warner was born to Salmon and Rebecca Billington, (Mason) Warner May 9, 1839 in Sagamon County, Illinois. He was the fifth of their ten children. He married Phebe Harding in Salt Lake City December 9, 1865. They lived with his widowed father in Willard, Utah after their marriage until they moved to Malad, Idaho where Amos started a general store and stage stop. In 1883 he moved his family to Elba, Idaho where they took up land by "squatters rights." They ran a dairy, and made butter and cheese. Their twin daughters, Ada and Amy, helped their mother with the butter and cheese making. Their milk house was built over a stream of water, and I would assume they used this feature to keep the dairy produce cold. Having a “spring house,” built around or over a cold creek or spring, was a common practice before refrigeration, although most people didn’t have a creek running right under their house. Milk, butter, etc. was kept cold by immersing containers in the cold water.
In 1890 Amos was moving his family to the Clearwater area, when he stopped at Bear to make some money working on the Kleinschmidt Grade. They must have like the area, because they stayed. Amos and his sons-in-laws started the first school at Bear. It ran for a term of two months. He and his daughter, Amy, were successful in getting a post office in Bear. The March 8, 1906 issue of the Weiser Signal reported that “the old gentleman Warner” had died of heart failure. Amos died at Bear on April 14, 1906 and was buried in the Bear Cemetery.
Less than three months after Amos died, Amos Warner, Jr. (Amos A. Warner) became ill and died from what his family thought later was appendicitis on June 28. He was born June 22, 1875 in Willard, Utah and came to Bear with his parents.
Phebe Eliza (Harding) Warner was the sixth child of Dwight and Phebe Holbrook Harding, and was born in Nauvoo, Illinois August 23, 1845. She died at Bear September 2, 1909 and is buried in the Bear Cemetery.
Phebe and Amos had eleven children, and also raised an Indian boy they named Frank S. Warner who had been traded to Amos's brother who then gave the boy to Phebe and Amos to raise. When they moved to Bear in 1890, their nine surviving children, their spouses and three grandchildren came with them.
One of those to come with Amos and Phebe was Charles Neven Fielding Warner, born December 15, 1882, at Willard, Utah. He spent the rest of his life at Bear. With hard work he acquired a large ranch and ran cattle in Hells Canyon and on Bear Creek. He married Lena M. Hendrix the 13th of June, 1913. The couple had two sons and were later divorced. Charlie raised the boys. He died at a Blackfoot, Idaho hospital November 9, 1957. His funeral was held at his home at Bear. He was preceded in death by his older son, Toby, and was survived by son, Lawrence, and six granddaughters.
The Adams County Leader, June 4, 1937 reported that the body of Toby Warner had been found in Snake River. Roy Janes (Toby) Warner was born to Charles N.F. Warner and Lena Marian Hendrix Warner October 13, 1914 at Tenino, Washington. He lived his entire life at Bear and along Snake River. He had a homestead on Indian Creek where he spent much of his time. He drowned in Snake River May 24, 1937 but his body wasn't found until several days later. His death was ruled an accident although there were many people who felt he was murdered. Heidi Cole wrote a lot about Toby and his death in her book A Wild Cowboy. Toby was survived by his father, Charlie Warner, his mother, Lena Hogg and his brother, Lawrence.
I’ll have more about the Warners buried in the Bear Cemetery next week.
Photo Captions:
98294—Amos Warner, Jr.
98301—Phebe Warner
5-12-05
More this week about the Warners buried at the Bear Cemetery based on Tina Warner’s research.
One of Amos and Phebe Warner’s sons was Joe. Joseph Reuben Warner
was born September 14, 1877, in Willard City, Utah. He died in Council, Idaho May 2, 1939. Joe moved to Bear with his parents in 1890 when he was 13 years old, and he spent the remainder of his life there. He married Evelyn (Eva) Daisy Shelton December 24, 1907 at Bear. After their marriage he homesteaded his allotment of land, bought two ranches on adjoining property and raised cattle."
Joe made many of the tools needed for his ranch. He tanned hides and made equipment for his horses. He made furniture, worked on many of the early automobiles in the area. He enjoyed dancing and he and his wife seldom missed one anywhere near. He whittled items for their home and toys for his children. Their home was always open to friends or strangers that happened by. His wife died in 1929 and he continued to raise his children and live on his ranch. He was survived by his three children, Clarence, Mavis (McGahey) and Bert and granddaughter, Eva.
Joe’s obituary (Adams County Leader, May 5, 1939) reveals other children of Amos and Phebe not previously mentioned here. The Leader said Joe had four sisters, that one of them was Mary Camp (more on her in another column), and another sister was Ada (Warner) Smith. Brothers Sam and Charlie Warner are mentioned.
Eva Warner—Evelyn Daisy (Shelton) Warner was born August 18, 1889 in Heppner, Oregon. She was the daughter of Frank and Belle Shelton. Her brother was Earl Shelton. Eva and Joe Warner were neighbors in their teen years. After marrying, they had the three children mentioned above.
Eva helped Joe on their ranch, working along with him clearing the fields, planting, raising a garden and all of the other chores of the times. The couple rarely missed a dance anywhere in the area and in her diary she told many times of getting home at 7 AM and working all day.
Eva died in Weiser, Idaho January 12, 1929 at the age of 49. Bert was only four years old at the time.
The Shelton family lived where the road to Black Lake and Landore (Forest Road 105) leaves the main Bear Road (Landore Road). Going back up the family tree a generation or two, we come to the grave of Alice Saling. She was born Alice Zipporah Webb, in England, January 10, 1843 (listed on 1880 Census as 1836). She married Jerry (Jesse) Saling, born in Monroe County, Mo. The couple had two children (perhaps more). One child was Glen Saling; the other was Isabella (Belle) Saling, who married Frank Shelton. Alice died in 1903 and is buried in the Bear Cemetery.
Belle Shelton—I’m not sure about the spelling of her name; in some places, it is spelled Isabella, and in others as Isabelle. Lucinda Isabelle (Belle) Saling Shelton was born in Walla Walla, Washington in 1870. Belle married Frank Albert Shelton. Frank was a mining promoter, and as such they moved and lived in many places around Idaho. They homesteaded the Shelton Place at the forks of the road leading up to Placer Basin, Black Lake and to Landore and Cuprum. While there Belle raised a large garden and grew strawberries. They fed the miners and freighters hauling to and from the mines, and had hay and stables for their horses. They lived near the Kleinschmidt Grade while Frank worked his mine at Shelton Gulch. Belle died in Boise, Idaho in 1936. She was preceded in death by a daughter, Eva Warner, and son, Earl. She was survived by her daughter, Edith Rudge and her husband, Dick Rudge.
Frank Albert Shelton was born April 13, 1859 in Davis County, Iowa to John Marrion and Mary Jane (Mock) Shelton. He married Isabelle (Belle) Saling on December 21, 1886 in Marrow Co. Oregon at W.H. Maloney's home. The couple had three children: Eva who married Joe Warner, Earl who married Jane (Warner) Bradford and Edith who married Dick Rudge. Both Eva and Earl preceded him in death.
In the 1890s, Frank was a local freighter and an expert with teams. After making a difficult trip hauling freight from Weiser to Council, he bet Council store owner, John Peters $100 that “there was no team of four horses in the [Council] Valley that could pull one ton [to Council from Weiser] without getting stuck and requiring assistance to get out of the thousand and one mud holes.” Isaac McMahan took the challenge and made it through with a loaded wagon, even though it took three days of exhausting effort for the team. Such was entertainment in those days.
In 1902, the Council Journal mentioned Frank as co-owner in "the well known Daisy Group" of claims at Black Lake near the Salzer - Ford claims. That October, the paper said that Frank, Thomas Mackey and Joe Keithley of Midvale were directors of the "Mackey - Shelton Copper Co." of Bear, “with valuable claims within three miles of the Snake.” Over twenty years later (1924), the Council paper reported that Frank had extensive mining claims in the Cuprum area. The 1920 Census listed him as a mine operator in silver and copper mines. There were no actual silver mines in the Seven Devils Mining District, but much of the copper ore contained some silver. Frank Shelton died in Boise on September 20, 1940.
Earl Shelton was born September 23,1892 to Frank and Lucinda Isabella (Saling) Shelton at Durkee, Oregon. He married Jane (Warner) Bradford on December 24, 1912 at Bear. Earl and Jane had a ranch at Bear and lived and farmed there for many years. Their children, Lyle, Laura and Boyd were all born at Bear. Earl died August 28, 1936 in Boise as the result of a logging accident, and was buried in the Bear cemetery near his parents.
Edith Opal Rudge was born to Frank and Belle (Saling) Shelton at Silver City, Idaho in 1895. She grew up at Bear but later moved to Boise where she worked for Syms-York Publishing Company and Boise Capital News and married Dick Rudge. Edith had no children but helped raise her step-daughter, Thelma, and for many years cared for her parents. Edith was born with a crippled foot which caused her much pain all of her life but loved to dance and never missed an opportunity to do so. She died in Payette in a nursing home in 1973, and is buried at Bear near her parents.
I’ll have more on the Sheltons and Warners next week.
Caption for 95187L: At the Shelton house near Bear.Left to Right: Jim Potter, Edith, Earl and Eva Shelton, Elizabeth David, Belle and Frank Shelton
5-19-05
Clarence Marion Warner was born September 15, 1909 to Joseph Reuben and Evelyn Daisy (Shelton) Warner at Bear at the home of his grandparents, Frank and Belle Shelton. (His paternal grandparents were Amos and Phebe Warner.) He lived all of his life on Bear Creek. He was a rancher and engaged in logging with his brother for a while. He married Beth Kampeter in Weiser August 11, 1934 in Weiser.
Beth, was born Elizabeth Percelia Kampeter, on October 7, 1914 in Council, Idaho to August Fredrick and Mary Wilhelmia Hildenbrand Kampeter. She attended grade school on Hornet Creek near her parents ranch. (This is the present Gossard Ranch, and years ago was the William & Dora Black place.) Beth’s brother was Bill Kampeter. Beth attended one year of High School in Weiser before graduating from Council High School.
Clarence and Beth played for the dances at the schoolhouse and loved to dance. He belonged to the Masonic Fraternity for many years. Beth loved to ride, work with Clarence doing outside work, and loved dancing and having friends visit their home. Beth was rarely ill, but when she was sick enough to call for the Ambulance on August 27, 1984, she died on the way to the hospital. Clarence lived another eight years, and died in the Weiser Hospital on May 3, 1992. The couple had no children.
As noted before, Amos and Phebe Warner had twin girls named Ada and Amy. They were the oldest daughters. Amy Phebe Warner was born (along with Ada of course) in Willard City, Utah February 21, 1867 to Amos and Phebe (Harding) Warner. She married Frank J. Smith March 20, 1887 at Almo, Cassia County, Idaho. The couple moved to Bear along with her parents and sisters and brothers. Amy and Frank established the second post office in the Seven Devils mining district in their house in 1892, with Amy as postmaster. (The first post office in the mining district was at Helena about 1890.) The Smiths soon turned their homestead into a stopping place on the busy road to the mines, and took in overnight guests. Frank and Amy had five children—Jesse, Joel Eugene (Bill), Orson, Lois, Charlotte Elizabeth.
Frank Joel Smith was born in Farmington, Utah to Wells and Miriam Davis Smith, January 19, 1860. He married Amy Phebe Warner March 20, 1887 at Almo, Cassia County, Idaho. Frank and his brother (Cad Smith, who married Ada Warner) ran a freighting business. On one of his trips to Weiser, Frank made a simple, thoughtful decision that would kill him; he bought a bisque doll for his three-year-old daughter, Lois. The story of Frank’s death stands out to me as a vivid illustration of what could happen in the days before antibiotics.
After playing with her doll, Lois left it on the floor by her bed. When four-month-old Charlotte cried for her bottle during the night, Frank got up to get it. In the dark, he stepped on the doll and the brittle bisque head shattered. A sharp piece of the bisque cut deep into Frank’s heel and the wound quickly became infected. Just three days later—July 7, 1897—Frank died from blood poisoning, leaving Amy with five small children, a ranch, $250 in debt and the homestead that hadn't been "proved up." He was buried on a flower covered knoll on their ranch. His was the first grave in what became the Bear Cemetery.
After Frank's death, Amy continued to live on the acres Frank had homesteaded and kept the store and post office. Three years after Frank's death she married Charlie Allen. The couple had one daughter, Nettie. Amy and Charlie were divorced in 1905.
Amy died at Hot Lake, Oregon January 7, 1927. She was survived by all six of her children and was buried by her first husband, Frank Smith at Bear.
Photo captions:
99355 Clarence & Lawrence Warner in the early 1970s
99456 Beth Warner in front of the Bear Post Office. The sign reads, "POST OFFICE- BEAR, IDAHO- EL 4400"
98295 Amy Smith
98227—Frank and Amy Smith's home / post office at Bear. The woman and the children are unidentified. .
5-26-05
At least two of Frank and Amy (Warner ) Smith’s five children are buried at Bear. Jesse Frank Smith was born March 18, 1888 in Elba, Idaho. He moved to Bear, Idaho with his parents in 1890 and spent his life in and around Bear. He married Mary Ann (Cornett) Lindgren March 1, 1914 at Windy Ridge, Idaho (near Cuprum). They lived on Indian Creek and at Bear as their family was growing up. Jesse had a cabin at Big Bar and spent his winters there in later years. Jesse was good with horses and always had several. He had a sawmill and cut lumber for several places around Bear.
He died in the Baker, Oregon Hospital April 30, 1974 and was buried at Bear near his parents.
Orson Smith was born at Bear, February 18, 1893. He married Addie Ingeborg “Bergie” Robertson June 25, 1919 in Council. The couple had two children, Marion Delores (Smith) Gault born April 16, 1920 and Harold Orson Smith born November 3, 1921. Harold “Ol’ Shep” Smith lives in Payette, and has written a couple of very entertaining books about area history.
Orson spent 13 months in France during World War I. After Orson's marriage, the couple lived at Bear for several years where he was overseer for county roads. He made wooden items, played the violin for the neighborhood dances and was the main barber in the area for several years. Orson died in Cambridge, Idaho July 5, 1942, and was buried in Cambridge, but his remains were later reburied at the Bear Cemetery.
Harold and Jesse’s brother, Bill Smith married Pearl James. They are both buried at Weiser.
Another of Amos and Phebe Warner’s eleven children was Mary, born February 2, 1873, so she would have been about seventeen years old when the family came to Bear in 1890. In 1905, she married Bill Camp at her parent’s home. (This marriage, and that of Orson Smith to Bergie Robertson, were a significant in that they linked several pioneer families—the Warners, Camps, Robertons and Smiths.) Bill and Mary Camp were the parents of Barney, Gene and Ella (Weed). Bill Camp died in 1937. Mary died in January of 1959 and was buried in the I.O.O.F. Cemetery beside Bill.
My 9-30-99 History Corner contained a lot of information from a Statesman interview with J. Barton Webb. He lived and worked at Iron Springs, and had detailed memories of the area. His mother is buried in the Bear Cemetery.
Lois (Francisco) Webb was born August 25,1840 at Georgetown, Tennessee. She married William Calvin Webb in Georgetown, Tennessee in 1857. The couple had seven children, Wiley, William (twins) John, Mitchell, James Barton, Alice and Fannie. William died in infancy. Wiley died in Arkansas when he was 35. Alice married Charlie Sutton and she died in Idaho when she was 50. John died at age 6, Mitchell at 15, Fannie at age 35.
In 1905 when James Barton Webb was 20 he left his birthplace at Searcy, Arkansas, to bring his widowed mother, Lois, to live close to her daughter, Alice, near Cambridge. James B. then went to work for the Iron Springs Mining Company in the Seven Devils Country and brought his mother with him. The next year they moved close to Bear and Council where he worked for the Wilkie and Kramer Sawmills. Lois Webb died March 12, 1911 and her son had a stone and a wrought iron fence installed around her grave at the Bear Cemetery. James Barton Webb died in Boise when he was 82.
The second grave at the Bear Cemetery was that of Ben Wolverton. Very little is known about him. He was found dead in his cabin sometime after Frank Smith’s 1897 death, and was buried near Frank.
--------------------------------
Photo captions:
98303 Mary Warner Camp
98300 Jesse, Bill and Orson Smith—sons of Frank and Amy Smith.
6-2-05
It has never been clear to me just when construction on the old courthouse began. The Adams County Leader started having bits about it in 1915, and then the papers after September of that year were all lost. Most of us assumed that construction had at least started in 1915. Recently, a couple of women who are descendants of Phillip Walston were doing research in the new courthouse and ran across a legal appeal to the County Commissioners from Earl Walston and William Freehafer, dated December 20, 1915. The commissioners were Frank Hahn, Jonathan McMahan and R. T. Motley. Walston and Freehafer made reference to a decision the commissioners had made on December 13 as to where to locate the new courthouse—on the hill south of downtown.
In November, the Washington County Land & Development Company had offered four lots located across the street, north of where the high school is now, and on the west side of main street. Whether the land was offered for purchase or given to the county with strings attached is not clear, but, if the offer was accepted, the county was to build, within one year, a courthouse costing no less than $15,000. If the county failed to meet this condition, the land would revert back to the Land Company. This agreement was amended to say the courthouse had to be built within 18 months. Somehow a deed to this land had been filed at the courthouse in the book of deeds on November 23rd by mistake. The commissioners said the “conditions of said deeds [both the one year and the 18 month] are each of them onerous and objectionable and would not vest the said county with complete title thereto the same are hereby rejected.” A resolution was proposed that the deed be negated by conveying the deed back to the Land Company. Hahn and McMahan voted for the resolution, and Motley voted “no.” The resolution passed.
The appeal filed by Walston and Freehafer stated that this action by the commissioners was “is prejudicial to the public interests of the county of Adams, State of Idaho and of the people, taxpayers and residents thereof, and is in reckless disregard of the interests of said county and the people thereof….” The pair gave seven reasons why building a courthouse on the chosen property was a bad idea.
1—Because of all the digging involved, for drain and sewer pipes, the $15,000 amount would only cover the cost of a new courthouse if it were built in a favorable location, without all the rock present on the chosen site.
2—A blacksmith shop was located within 200 feet of the east side of the proposed site lots, and had been there for many years. They said, “noises issuing therefrom can be plainly and distinctly heard on said lots; immediately adjoining said lots on the north is the public hitching rack of the Village of Council,…the various odors from which can be distinctly discerned on said lots.” The hitching rack was where the park is now, downtown.
Thrown in with #2 was the argument that, on the south side of the property, “which because of the peculiar nature of the formation of its soil, will grow no known from of plant, grass, shrub, or tree; to the west of said lots, and sloping therefrom, is an impassible bluff or hill, access to which said lots, if any, must be up, along and over said bluff or hill.”
3—“Said lots have a soil, commonly known as solid rock, upon and in which there has not, within the memory of living man grown any form of plant….” Wow!
4—In order to excavate for the basement an various drainage pipes, “large sums of public money must needs be expended, in excess of that necessary to be expended therefor on other sites…offered said board…and which said offers are still pending….”
5—“That Frank Hahn and John McMahan, of said Board, the two members thereof who voted in favor of said order as passed and herby appealed from, made no personal examination of said lots for the purpose of ascertaining the suitability therefore as a site for the court house to be constructed…and heard no evidence whatever as to the suitability of said lots as site for said courthouse.”
6—“That in event that is deemed desirable to grow upon said lots and about a courthouse thereon, any form of plant shrub or tree, it will be necessary to expend large sums of public funds for the carting of soil upon said lots, and large sums of money will needs be expended for the purpose of blasting in the solid rock thereof, holes for the planting of such plants, shrubs or trees.”
7—“That there has been offered said Board and said county as a site for said court house, suitable lots, free from objection, to-wit, Lots 5,6,7 and 8 of Block 9 of the Moser Division of the Town of Council….” That a deed conveying these lots was prepared “at the suggestion of Commissioner Hahn of said Board upon terms indicated by him…as acceptable to said Board, and which said deed was by said order hereby appealed from declared in not proper form for no good reason….” “That said lots herein mentioned are located in suitable places, are of soil free from stone and gravel, will grow all forms of grass, plants, shrubs and trees, and said court house can be constructed thereon at the lowest possible cost to said county and to the taxpayers thereof….” Walston and Freehafer contended that the commissioners’ decision to build on the hill “was made in reckless disregard of the interests of the people and of the county of Adams.”
In response to the appeal, judge E. L. Bryan issued a judgment on January 27, 1916, saying the order to build a courthouse and jail on the previously selected site (blocks 4,5,6, and 7 of Block 2 of the Moser Division) “be the same and is hereby sustained, and that the appeal of the said appellants, be and the same is hereby dismissed.
So that’s how Adams County came to have a courthouse built on a hill of “what is commonly known as solid rock” and on which “there has not, within the memory of living man grown any form of plant….” It is also clear that construction of the building did not begin until 1916.
6-9-05
As many of you know, Quentin Higgins—a former Council area resident who now lives in Wenatchee, Washington—wrote a book about his life, called “Beyond the Mist Lies a Yesterday.” I thought I would write about some of the history Quentin recorded.
In my “Landmarks” book, I wrote the story of Hugh Whitney, the only outlaw Council can claim as its native son (more or less). Quentin’s uncle (his father’s brother), Bill Higgins, married Hugh’s sister, Florence Whitney. Bill’s brother, Dick Higgins, married Florence’s sister, Ethel. The Council Leader reported the marriage of Bill and Florence in its February 18, 1910 issue, saying Florence was the daughter of Fred Whitney of Cottonwood.
Daughters, Florence and Ethel.
According to the common knowledge of the day, as Quentin remembers it, Fred Whitney was a hard drinker, a wife beater and was equally stern with his children. On one occasion, Fred came home drunk and beat his wife with a chair, breaking her arm. Hugh happened to be cleaning a 30 caliber pistol when the beating happened, and when things got out of hand, Hugh stuck the pistol in his father’s ribs and said he would kill the old man if he ever beat his mother again. Hugh went on to a life of violence, committing several murders and robberies. For many years, he lived on the run from the law. Quentin remembered that once, during that time, “old man Whitney” stopped by the Higgins house to visit. Mrs. Higgins asked how he was, and he said he was doing OK, and “by the way, the rest of the family are doing okay also.” The Higgins family felt he was telling them that Hugh (and his brother, Charlie, who was on the run with him) were all right and he knew where they were. Before Fred Whitney left the Higgins house, he asked for a drink of water. After drinking what he wanted, he threw the rest on the floor. He seemed to do it without thinking, as if he always did that at home. Strange.
Quentin remembered Dr. William Brown who, after practicing at Salubria and the Seven Devils, settled in Council in 1916. He said Dr. Brown carried a supply of pills in his coat pocket, and when someone he was seeing on a house call needed a certain “prescription,” Doc Brown would reach in his pocket, pull out a handful of pills, blow the lint off of them and sort out the ones he wanted.
Quentin has memories of spearing salmon with his brother, Alfred, in the Weiser River with a pitchfork. One memory stands out is of Alfred, who was eight years old at the time, spearing a salmon in the shallow riffles. Quentin’s job was to dig gravel from under the pinned salmon and grab the tines under it to keep it from wiggling off the pitchfork as they raised it out of the water. As Alfred walked home with the pitchfork over his shoulder, the tail of the big fish stuck on it almost dragged on the ground.
The old Cottonwood School was where Quentin spent his first years of school. The school is still standing on what was the Woody Jones ranch near Cottonwood Road. I think it used to stand on the south side of Cottonwood Road, a couple hundred yards from the highway. It was a one-room school, which Quentin described as, “poorly heated and poorly lighted; the windows were small, and only on the north side of the building, with small ones on the east end. Heat was provided by a pot-bellied stove in the corner. Those seated near it would almost roast while those who sat farther away were always cold.” Like any other one-room school in the old days, it smelled of wet wool in the winter, as mittens, caps and coats were hung up to dry. In the late spring, the building was hot, with poor ventilation.
Anyone interested in buying one of Quentin’s books can contact him at 1593 Fuller St., Wenactchee, WA 98801 Phone: (509)667-8255 (509)665-9191 email:
grampapa18@aol.com
I would like to thank Evea Harrington Powers for a very generous donation to the museum in memory of Susie Harrington. Evea has been a loyal supporter of the museum and is very appreciated.
Caption for 95463.jpg—
The Cottonwood School on its original location.
6-16-05
Some of the old records at the museum are interesting. I ran across a pamphlet put out by the Associated Taxpayers of Idaho in 1953. It listed the annual salaries of each of the officers in each county in the state. For Adams County, these were some of the salaries: Clerk = $2,700; Assessor = $2,500. The Treasurer, Sheriff, and Probate Judge made similar amounts. Coroner = $150; Attorney = $1,800. The highest salary in the state was $4,500, which went to a number of officials in larger counties. The total in taxes collected in Adams County in 1953 was $220,374.
A County election ballot for 1912 had candidates running on several tickets that we don’t see anymore. Aside from the Democratic and Republican candidates, there were Socialist, Progressive and Prohibition Party candidates. On the Democratic ticket, James Hawley was running for governor, James Stinson for State Representative, Frank Weaver for Sheriff, George Gregg for Probate Judge, L.L. Burtenshaw for Prosecuting Attorney; for commissioners were George Steward, Thomas Mackey and William Branstetter. Council veterinarian, W.E. Fuller, was running for coroner.
On the Republican ticket were: for State Senator, Ed Barton; State Representative, Dr. William Brown; sheriff, John York; school superintendent, J. Dwight Neale; County Assessor, Philip Ware (his portrait is on one of the window panels at the old courthouse); Berry J. Dillon (I thought his name was Benjamin); County commissioner candidates were Thomas Hutchison, Frank Hahn and Jonathan McMahan.
On the Socialist ticket was Earl W. Bowman, running for State Representative, J.L.B. Carroll for Probate Judge, Philip Walston for County Assessor, Guy Walston for Commissioner, and H.H. Cossitt for Coroner.
There were no local candidates on the Prohibition ticket, but there were a number of State candidates.
Old maps of Council show a number of different street names than those currently used. I’m not certain if the names on some of these maps are merely proposed names or actual names; some maps made in the same year show different names.
On one 1900 map, Moser Avenue (always misspelled “Mosher” following the original misspelling on the first map) ran all the way east to include what we now call Illinois Avenue. What is now Galena Street, at least south of Illinois Avenue, was called “Meadows Street.” Fairfeild was “Barton Street,” Exeter was “Utter Street.”The short, east-west street just south of the current Ace building was called Bolan Street.
On the same 1900 map, in the part of town just east of the railroad (now the Weiser River Trail), Bleeker, Moser and Central Avenues are shown as they are now, but north of these are three other avenues that were probably planned on paper but never became a reality. In order, north from Central Avenue, they are McCullough, Lombard and 5th Avenues. McCullough Avenue was no doubt named after the family who owned the land in that area. There was quite a dispute over the McCullough farm property when the P.& I. N. bought it around 1906 when they were starting to build the tracks north from Council.
And speaking of the railroad, when the tracks originally were built into Council, they swept northeast south of town—something like the highway bypass soon will—and had a right of way consisting of all the land between Dartmouth and Clarendon Streets.
Apparently 1901 was a tumultuous year for naming streets; several maps from that year show different names on the same streets. Evidently the plan was to name all of the east-west streets after states. It is really hard to tell where these streets were in relationship to present ones, but it appears that south of what is now Illinois Avenue, the next east-west avenues were labeled Nevada, Utah, Ohio and Colorado Avenues, in that order. And north from Illinois Avenue, there was Iowa, Dakota, Alaska, Havana, and Oregon Avenues. Just how Havana fit into that theme is a mystery.
Caption for Council map.jpg:
“A map of a portion of Council drawn in 1900. Notice the corral and the orchard south and west of the public square. These would be remains of the original Moser homestead.”
6-23-05
The Smithsonian’s “Barn Again” exhibit opened last weekend at the old P&IN depot in New Meadows. It will be open every weekend through July 23. Most of us take barns for granted because we see so many of them. But we live at a time in history when the original purpose for many barns is fading from mainstream relevance. Before about 1940, more people than not either made at least part of their living from farming. Today, farmers and ranchers are a small minority of the population.
The majority of barns in west-central Idaho were built for two main purposes—to store hay and to shelter livestock. Most barns had a hay storage loft above the ground floor. Almost every barn in this area has a gable roof—meaning it sheds water from a central peak to two sides. And, with very few exceptions, the older barns have a horizontal extension of the gable peak at one end—a portion of the roof at the peak that hangs out beyond the wall, and usually comes to a point. There is undoubtedly a name for this structure, but I don’t know what it is. If anybody knows please contact me. I’m going to be giving a talk on local barns in New Meadows on July 16, and it would be handy to know what to call this architectural feature. For now, I’ll just call it a “gable extension.”
The purpose of the gable extension was for the use of a Jackson fork, or some other such device, to move hay from a wagon into the hayloft. This device was used in conjunction with a system of cables and a mechanism that traveled on a small rail along the length of the barn just under the peak. Again, I’m sure these things have names, but I’m not familiar with them.
A number of you know more about this process than I do, but I’ll make a stab at explaining it. There will probably be mistakes in this explanation, but here goes. A wagon full of hay would pull up to the barn underneath the gable extension where a cable hung down to where the wagon parked. A Jackson fork was the standard item on the end of that cable in this part of the country, but slings and other devices were also used. A Jackson fork looked a little like the head of a rake with five or six long, sharp, curved tines. When it came down to the wagonload of hay, it would hang with the tines down. The person on the wagon would lift up the part of the fork opposite the tines (think of it as the handle of the rake), snapping it into a latch so that the tines were now horizontal—like a rake hanging by the handle. The wagon person tipped the fork and stabbed the tines down into the hay, in a very similar manner to how one would with a pitchfork, to lift a portion of the load.
The cable from the Jackson fork went up to the traveling device that was parked on the end of the rail. The cable went through this device, then along the rail and on out through another part of the barn and down to the ground, with pulleys to guide it, until it reached a horse that the cable was hitched to it. In later years, the horse was replaced by a tractor. A child or a woman usually operated the horse or tractor since it was a job that didn’t take physical strength. If the hay was being stacked at a derrick, this person would be called a derrick driver, so I’ll use that term here. After the fork was loaded with hay at the wagon, the derrick driver would be signaled to pull the cable. The cable pulled the Jackson fork up until it hit the traveling device, causing it to release from its parked position and be pulled along the rail.
Remember the end of the Jackson fork that the wagon man snapped into and upright position? It had a long rope attached to the release of that latch. The wagon man gave the rope slack as the fork went up. When the fork reached the point in the barn where the man doing the stacking wanted it, he would yell “trip” or some other such signal to tell the wagon man to pull the rope to release the latch. The release of the latch let the tines tip down, and the hay would fall off. At this time the derrick driver was supposed to be paying attention and stop. This didn’t always happen, especially in the case of someone operating a noisy tractor who didn’t hear the trip signal or see the hay fall. A horse would probably feel the traveling mechanism hit the stop at the end of the rail at the end of the barn and stop walking. Tractors only do what you tell them to do, which sometimes resulted in the end of the barn being damaged. The (rear) end of the derrick driver might also receive some damage from an angry barn owner. I think most people laid a pole across the path of the tractor before the point where the cable could be pulled too far.
The wagon man would then pull the fork back along the rail until it hit the end of the rail under the gable extension, at which point the traveling mechanism would lock into its park position and release the fork down to the wagon to start the process over again. Of course the derrick driver had to give enough slack in the cable for this.
When I was a kid, we had a very tall barn with a driveway in between two hay storage areas. The rail took the traveling mechanism from the center out to either side of the barn. I guess it just depended on how the cable was hooked up. At that time, we were using a Jackson fork to put baled hay into the barn—stabbing each tine into a bale. We could only move four or five (maybe six?) bales at a time. I’ve heard that this was not uncommon between the days of loose hay and the advent of portable hay elevators. We had a bad combination of a) an old baler that didn’t make very tight bales, b) some grass hay that was very slick and hard to form into a tight bale, and c) a forty-foot-high barn which made for a long drop. Sometimes the explosions were spectacular when the bales landed.
Local hay growers also used to stack loose hay out in the fields instead of hauling it to a barn. They would use wagons on sled runners to haul and feed the hay during the winter. Derricks were used to stack the hay, and I think the most common type of derrick around here was a pole derrick, also known as an “A-derrick.” There are very few left standing these days. They basically consisted of a vertical pole held in place by a frame, with a boom pole fastened across the top of it. Again, the derrick horse pulled or slackened the cable to make the fork end of the boom pole go up or down. Someone had to pivot the boom pole by hand to move it between the wagon and the stack..
I would like to hear from anyone with a more detailed description of how all these contraptions worked. Also, I think it would be great if the museum could get a Jackson fork that is in reasonable shape. In fact, wouldn’t it be interesting to set up a truncated version of the barn system at the museum—with the track, traveling mechanism, etc.?! I know there are a number of these rusting away in the tops of local barns. Let me know if you have some of this stuff to donate.
I need to correct a mistake I made several weeks ago. In writing about the Smith boys at Bear, my mind wandered and I mentioned Harold Smith as bother to Jesse and Bill. I meant to say Orson instead of Harold. Orson was Harold’s father.
6-30-05
More about barns, in conjunction with the Smithsonian “Barn Again” exhibit at the New Meadows depot.
Although hay was the main crop stored in local barns, some barns had, or still have, granaries in some part of them. Usually this space within the barn was built with heavier construction and/or reinforced to withstand the considerable outward pressure of grain against the walls. Every crack and crevice had to be sealed to keep the grain from flowing out. You will find sheets of tin nailed to certain places on barn granary walls for this purpose. Often a tin can lid or the whole flattened can was used.
Granaries built from horizontal boards stacked flat on top of each other were fairly common before commercially built metal granaries became available and affordable. Walls built with two-by-fours nailed together in this fashion was a standard method. It took a lot of two-by-fours. I’m told that for many years there was a house about three miles north of Council that people called “the two-by-four house” because is was made in this way. It was at the approximate location of 2286 Highway 95 (the old Lloyd Brown place, which now belongs to Rod Lakey). This is just south of Lappin Lane on the east side of the highway.
The oldest barn in this area that remains standing may be the one built for Rasmus Hanson on Hornet Creek. Hanson hired Elisha Stevens of East Fork and Loring Sevey of Fruitvale to build this barn in 1896. In later years, the Hanson place belonged to Sam King, and now belongs to his son, Larry Walling.
Carol Gallant sent me information about the barn on their ranch:
“The barn on the Gary Gallant ranch was built in 1916 by his grandfather, Earl Gallant and Sam Denney—Lawrence Denny’s (from Midvale) grandfather. It originally sat in the canyon a half-mile to the south and east from its present location. An indentation in the ground marks where the cellar sat along with an old fashioned yellow rose bush which marks the homestead. The site is now owned by Wilderness West. Because Gary’s grandparents were unable to grow a garden and the oldest child, Gladys Gallant Buckner, was ready to start school, they moved to the northern boundary line of the ranch. The adjoining neighbor, B.F. Price, let them use water to raise their garden and Gladys was closer to the Goodrich School. They moved the barn first in 1921. The barn was put up on logs, and Gary’s father, Glenn Gallant recalled a stump puller and a team of horses were used to move it.”
“Once the barn was moved, the household furniture was put in the may mow. A chimney stovepipe was put out the window so they could live there until the house was moved. The house burned in 1947. A shed that was also moved to the new location still stands because it is picturesque. Gladys, now 90, recalls that the milk cow remained for a time at the homestead and the chore was milking was a half-mile away from the house. Gladys remembers that by the time she had carried the bucket of milk home, cream had formed on the top.”
“The barn was originally used for workhorses or milking cows, but is now used mostly during spring calving to protect the new calves during bad weather.”
Caption for gallant 2.jpg: “The Gallant barn at Goodrich.”
Caption for hanson 2.jpg: “The old Rasmus Hanson barn on Hornet Creek.”
7-7-05
This weekend, Valley and Adams Counties will have exhibits at the Smithsonian “Barn Again” exhibit at the New Meadows depot. For Adams County it will be the same photos that were displayed at the quilt show.
Bob Spear has an extensive collection of antique tools, and he invited me over to his place to see his Jackson forks and two other mechanisms for moving loose hay into a barn or onto a stack. Both of the other mechanisms attached to a cable, the same way a Jackson fork did.
Caption for “Jackson b&w composite.jpg”:
“Various views of a typical Jackson fork. Bob had two of them—one with round tines, and one with square tines. When lifting hay, the fork was in a position similar to the image on the left. Hay was dumped by pulling a rope attached to a latch release loop (1) which pulled the spring loaded latch tongue (2). This allowed the wooden frame to which the tines were attached (3) to pivot downward while the iron frame to which the cable was attached (4) remained upright as it is shown here.”
Caption for “fork grabber B&W.jpg”:
“This mechanism was attached to a cable at the top iron loop. The hook-shaped tines were stabbed into the hay like claws, each tine pointing toward a central point. There are two tines one each side which, when lifting hay, were suspended by the iron ring at their top end (A). When a rope attached to a chain (B) was pulled, the piece to which the upper chains are attached (C) is released, allowing the chains attached in the middle of the tines at point “D” to support the weight and allow the tines to pivot downward, dumping the hay. Like a Jackson fork, it would be reset by the man on the wagon for each load.”
Caption for “fork harpoon b&w.jpg”:
“This one worked like a harpoon with releasable barbs. Just how the rope or ropes were attached to it is not clear, but the release rope must have gone down through the hole (arrow) in the frame. The points were stabbed down into the hay and the handles were lifted to the position of the left one in the photo, causing the “barb” to pivot inward to keep the hay from sliding off. Pulling the release rope would bring the handles down, as shown by the right side in the photo, causing the barb to pivot down inside the frame, allowing the hay to slide off.”
Caption for “hay trolley b&w close.jpg”:
“This is a typical trolley mechanism that ran on a rail in the top of a barn. There were a number of manufacturers that made similar ones. The rail can be seen at the left. Stan Matthews has this one set up in a garage at his place.
7-14-05
I was going through some old junk from the courthouse and found a transcript from a court hearing that caught my attention. I figured out it was from a hearing held on
Monday, February 1, 1921. The transcript is not complete, and the section we have starts with what I would assume this was the defense, as he tries to find any holes in the testimony. I have added comments within brackets.
Q—You may state your name, age, occupation and residence.
A—Wm. P. Bookman, 54, minister, my home residence is Race Track Montana.
Q--Where were you on the evening of the 26th of Jan 1921
A—Between the hours of 7 and 9:30 I closed my meeting—I was preaching there—closed my meeting at 9 o’clock.
[At first I was at a loss as to where they were talking about.]
Q—Are you acquainted with John Shaw?
A—Yes, first time ever met him was when I came here.
Q—Did you see him after the close of the meeting?
A—Yes sir.
Q—Just state to the court where you saw him, and the circumstances.
A—After I closed the meeting I put my books in my grip. I was standing near the pulpit—waited perhaps five minutes or more and I asked Mrs. Shaw what the people were waiting so long for before going out. I started out because Mrs. Shaw told me they were. I went out of the school house and leaned against a hay rack that was on Mrs. Shaw’s sleigh that I came in waiting for them to come out that we might leave. A number of people came out and were standing in front of the school house and I….
[Hmm, so it was at a schoolhouse. But which one? With the mention of other members of the Shaw family as the transcript went on, I began to wonder if it was the Middle Fork School.]
Q—Do you know the defendant here, Henry Teems?
A—I know him since I came here; he attended my meeting.
Q—Do you know whether he was present on the school ground when you went out?
A—He was not there when I went out, but came out later.
Q—Was he there when this remark you were going to make was made?
A—Yes, he was about 4 feet in front of me.
Q—Just go on and relate what occurred there.
A—When this young man made the statement that he did not ask any odds of those sons of bitches, referring to the school board, we will have a dance anyhow, this was after Mr. Harris had told them they could dance at his house.
Objection, and ans. as to Mr. Harris stricken.
Q—Just go on and state what occurred.
A—Then when Mr…this young man, Teems, made this statement, I heard John Shaw say you had better be careful what you are saying because we don’t want any trouble here. There were a number of men standing around. Henry Teems stood about 4 feet in front of me. The next thing I saw or heard Henry Teems stepped forward and took something out of his right hand pocket. I couldn’t see what he had. He stepped forward with his left hand on John Shaw’s shoulder, or the man right by him, I couldn’t tell which, any how, John turned his face to the right and Henry Teems struck him on the head and he fell forward unconscious on his face.
Q—You say you were leaning on the hayrack?
A—I was leaning just like this. I took a square and measured the distance, had Ben Shaw help me. It was 12 feet from the corner of the porch to where his head struck the ground in the snow. It was a little over 4 feet to where the hay rack was, allowing 2 ½ feet from the sleigh runner, to the outside of the rack and the rack was 7 ½ feet wide so it left a little better than 4 feet from the rack to where his head struck the ground. Somebody said, “Who struck him?” Then Mr. Teems said—Henry Teems—“Who struck him?” and Ben Shaw says “You struck him for I saw you.” Then Mrs. Shaw and Will Shaw and some others got hold of him to et him up. He was unconscious for some minutes—did not really come to himself until he got to the house. Mr. Teems left the scene then and cut across for home. I stood still there by the rack all this time.
[There were a couple less interesting questions here.]
Q—When John Shaw fell to the ground, how did he fall in relation to the sleigh there, toward the sleigh or from it, or parallel to it?
A—There is the porch, the school house runs east and west, he came off the porch and stood 6 or 7 feet from the porch as I stated. It was just 12 feet from the porch to where his head lay when he fell and it would be a little southwest of the door. The sleigh stood about here—4 feet from where his head was—out to the rack.
Recess until 1:15 o’clock P.M.
Mr. Bookman resumes his testimony.
Q—How long have you been residing in this community?
A—I do not remember the day I came out here, about 8 or 10 days ago I think.
Q—You are an ordained minister of the gospel?
A—Yes
Q—How long have you been such?
A—Every since I have been traveling as a missionary in 1906.
[There were a series of less interesting questions here.]
Q--Was there a team hitched to the hay rack?
A—Yes sir.
Q—In what direction was the team headed?
A—The school house stands east and west. The team would be headed nearly northwest if I understand the direction.
[There were many questions here about exactly where the team and hay rack was. Mr. Bookman said he borrowed a square from John Shaw to measure the distances the day before the court session. He described how teams were hitched on the north and south sides of the school each night that services were conducted.]
Q—You marked the position of John’s head where it was as he was prostrate on Friday night?
A—On Friday night the blood was there to show where it was. I marked it too, but not that night.
[There were many other questions about details here. I’ll continue with this transcript next week.]
Saturday would be a good day go visit the Smithsonian “Barn Again” exhibit at the New Meadows depot. I will be giving a talk at the library at 2:00 PM about Council area barns. It will include a lot of photos and interesting features of local barns.
7-21-05
Continuing with the hearing transcript about the assault on John Shaw, with my comments within brackets. By the way, the assault did take place at the Middle Fork School.
Q—What other persons were standing there when John Shaw addressed this other person whom you recognized?
A—This Henry Teem, another man, I don’t know his name but think they call him Shorty, he was standing there. There were a number I did not know. Mrs. Shaw was there and Ben Shaw, and Will came out just afterward and a number of others.
Q—Jane Shaw, then, Ben Shaw, came out of the school house after the blow had been struck.
A—No, they were out there at the time.
Q—Are there any windows on the west side of the school house?
A—No, the door is on the west end.
Q—What light there was came out of the door?
A—Yes, from a gas light directly in front of the door.
Q—Were you there at the time John Shaw got up?
A—No, I went over to John Shaw’s home. His wife and mother came out and were sobbing and thought he was killed and Will thought he was killed as there was a loud sound…(last part of sentence stricken by order of court)
Q—Would you recognize Shorty if you saw him?
A—Yes
Q—Would you recognize his name if you heard it?
A—Don’t know if I ever heard it.
Q—Mr. Mulvihill?
A—Witness identifies him.
Q—About how many feet was Shorty from John Shaw?
A—He was close to him, maybe 4 or 5 feet. He might have moved in a different direction though.
[There is a series of questions here asking Bookman to draw a diagram showing the locations of people, the hay sled, the school, etc. Then there is a series of questions about how good the light was outside the school door that night. Mr. Bookman said that he usually had three coal oil lamps or else a gas lamp and a coal oil light. He said, “I think we had a gas and a coal oil. I can’t say positive—that night I don’t know about.” He was sure there were at least two lights, but was not sure if they were burning at the time of the assault.]
Q—You don’t know anything about the location of the lamps which were in the building on the night of the 28th?
A—Sitting on the stand right in the east end of the room in front of the door.
Q—There was one lamp; are you sure?
A—Yes, I couldn’t read in the dark.
Q—You are not sure about any other?
A—Could not say positive that the little light was lit at that juncture. One night the gas light did not burn and we had two or three other lights.
Q—Was that a kerosene lamp on the stand?
A—Usually kept a little kerosene lamp and another lamp too.
[This is an interesting peek into a very different world than we live in—being used to bright lighting in buildings where we meet at night. Can you imagine how dim it must have been in the school?]
[The attorney asked Mr. Bookman to draw a line around the area where the light shined out through the school’s door, and Mr. Bookman said he couldn’t because he wasn’t sure about it. At one point later in his testimony, Mr. Bookman said the light outside the school was very dim, but there was snow on the ground, which he implied helped illuminate the area. There was no moon.]
Q—You said that Henry Teems approached John Shaw at the time that John had his hand on Frank Teems’s shoulder?
A—Just at the time when John Shaw said better be careful what you are saying, we don’t want any trouble here, that was the time he put his had on Frank’s should when he said that. Then Henry Teems stepped forward and struck John Shaw on the head. Took his hand from the right hand hip pocket. Put his hand in his hip pocket and stepped back.
[There was a long series of questions here, again trying to pin Mr. Bookman down on exactly where everyone was and how well he could see what happened. In answer to one such question, Mr. Bookman replied, “John Shaw, from the upper side of the rack, was about 17 feet. The rack was 7 ½ feet wide. He stood about 10 feet from the rack when struck.”]
Q—Somewhat on a hillside or slope?
A—Yes
Q—Slopes away from the school house?
A—Slopes toward the school house.
[Mr. Bookman testified that Henry Teems took one step forward and struck Shaw on the head, and that Shaw fell forward on his face “as if he was struck with a rifle.” He said John’s wife, mother, George Shaw and Mrs. Duree lifted him up immediately and turned him over, face up.]
[There was a long series of questions, asking Mr. Bookman to draw and label more on the map and about exact directions. At the end of the transcript, is “Plaintiff takes witness. Dismissed.”]
I’ll have the conclusion of this story next week.
7-28-05
The remaining pages of the Shaw assault hearing transcript begin on page 29, and there is no indication of how many pages are missing. It starts with the defense attorney questioning doctor William Brown about John Shaw’s injury. Dr. Brown said there was a contusion and swelling on Shaw’s left temple. The attorney asked whether it was caused by a glancing blow.
A—I couldn’t tell that. I dressed the wound.
Q—The wound on top of the head no doubt was caused then by a glancing blow?
A—It was torn
Plaintiff takes witness:
Q—I ask you to state, Dr. whether or not from the general appearance and relative position of the wound on the top of the head and the contusion on the forehead were not such as might be expected if one were struck over the head with a pistol?
A—It is possible.
Defendant:
Q—This wound on the top of the head, Dr. Brown, was evidently caused by a glancing blow was it not?
A—Undoubtedly.
Q—And the contusion on the temple, if that had been cause by a glancing blow, there would have been some tear would there not?
A—Not necessarily.
Q—What was the direction of the blow that caused the wound on top of the head?
A—Back forward
Q—And what was the direction of the blow that caused the contusion on the temple?
A—Nothing to indicate
Q—Would it have been possible for that wound and that contusion to have been made with one instrument in one blow?
A—Probably, owing to the character of the instrument.
Q—And a revolver could have done it wound it?
A—Possibly so.
Q—And if so, then the blow would necessarily have been from back forward?
A—Yes sir.
State rests.
After reading all this, I decided to check my newspaper notes, and sure enough, there was a report in the February 4, 1921 Adams County Leader about this hearing:
"As the outcome of a disturbance at the Middlefork schoolhouse on Friday night a goodly number of the residents of that district were in Council on Monday and Tuesday, in attendance upon a trial in the Probate court. The defendant was Henry Teem, a young farmer of the Middlefork neighborhood, who was charged with assault with a deadly weapon."
"The offense being a felony, which carries a penitentiary sentence, the trial was in the nature of a preliminary hearing. From listening to the evidence, we gathered that on Friday night there was some argument at the school-house and that John Shaw was struck upon the head in such a manner that he was knocked to the ground and remained unconscious for a considerable time. Examination by Dr. Brown, as related on the witness stand, showed two wounds upon the head, one of which was severe and the other slight. Witnesses testified that they saw Henry Teem reach into his pocket and then strike a downward blow. Since Mr. Shaw is the taller man and, according to testimony, was standing erect at the time he was struck, it is obvious that the chief wound could not have been created by a blow from the naked fist. On the other hand, none of the witnesses gave testimony indicating the character of the weapon, if any, that was used. The fact that a bob-sled was standing near where Mr. Shaw fell was entered as an element in the case and may or may not have had foundation in fact."
Evidently the defense tried to imply that Shaw could have hit his head on the hay wagon (the Leader said “bob-sled”) as he fell. That must have been the reason for all the questions about exactly where the hay wagon was, etc.
In the end, Henry Teems plead guilty and was fined $100. That would be about $1,000 in today’s money.
It’s interesting to note that John Shaw had married Essie Ball just eight months before this incident at the Middle Fork School.
We have a rare opportunity to see a silent movie on Saturday night, accompanied by live music—the way they used to do it. Don’t miss Nell Shipman's 1919 Silent Film, "Back to God's Country" in the old courthouse courtroom. It will start at 7:30.
8-4-05
One of the early founders of Council was John Peters. He was born in Germany in 1839, and came to America when he was twenty years old. At the time, there was still some gold fever in California, and Peters spent his first years in this country there, engaging in mining.
In 1863 the gold rush to Idaho was in full swing, but Peters waited until 1865 to seek his fortune at Idaho City. It took him thirteen years to find a bride in Idaho, but he married Anna Easley at Garden Valley in 1878 when he was almost forty; she was about 34. Around 1880 a baby girl named Maude was born to the couple. They also had a son, George, who died as an infant.
After Idaho City, the Peters family moved to Boise where he operated a general merchandise store for about a year and a half. In 1881, John took his family to Weiser where he ran a. brewery in the big brick building where Matthews Grain and Storage does business today (135 E Commercial). Before long, he branched out to Ruthberg—a long extinct town northwest of present day Cambridge—where a mining boom briefly flourished. He had a small store at Ruthberg and dabbled in mining.
In 1888, while still maintaining business interests at Weiser, Peters built the first store in the Council Valley. It was located nearly a mile north of the present center of Council, along what is now North Galena. A school stood near the store, and the town was almost established there. The Weiser Leader reported in its August 10, 1888 issue, "John O. Peters was here Thursday last from Council valley. He reports his business as gradually increasing, and says that he will coming week commence the erection of a new store building 18X28 feet in order to have room to carry a sufficient stock for the accommodation of his trade."
In the fall of 1891, the Peters family took in little Elizabeth David after her mother was sent to the asylum at Blackfoot. How long she lived with them isn’t clear, but she later attended school out of the area. Around this time, Peters moved his store to near the Moser place, in what is now Council. It stood about where Ronnies’ parking lot is now. The store burned in the spring of 1894. It was insured, but people in the area had become accustomed to no longer needing to take a wagon all the way to Weiser for supplies, so the loss was significant to the valley. By mid June, Peters resumed business, and started construction of a new store, probably just south of what is now the town square. On July 4, Isaac McMahan’s store at Alpine burned. Before long McMahan and Peters were partners in the new Council store. Peters also owned a hardware store in Weiser at this time. He was joined in the Weiser venture by William "Billie" Eckles, the Washington Co. Sheriff. Eckles later had a store in Salubria and then Cambridge.
According to his obituary, Peters left the partnership with McMahan and lived at Weiser for about three years during this period. He also ran a sawmill for a short time.
By 1899, Peters and a partner, Frank Raestle, started the "Council Meat Market." The partnership was short lived; Raestle sold out to Peters in July. By September, Peters sold the meat market to M.W. Addington who ran it for a number of years.
Peters went back to mining for a short stint before forming a partnership with J.F. Lowe in 1902. Their store stood just west of where Perters’s old store had been, northwest of the town square. When the town of Council was officially established the next year, Peters was on the first board of trustees, along with H.M. Jorgens, Lewis Shaw, J.J. Bolan and Isaac McMahan.
Peters sold his share of the store to James Jones in 1902. The split with Lowe may not have been on good terms. In August of 1906, someone left a candle burning on some rags and paper on the wooden sidewalk near the Lowe & Jones store. The building caught fire, but it was extinguished before it could do much damage. Lowe accused Peters of arson and had him arrested. Peters was found not guilty that fall.
The year of that fire, 1906, Maude Peters married George Gregg. Gregg was the principle of the school on the hill north of downtown, and Maude, who was only about 16 years old, taught the lower grades.
During the period after his partnership with Jim Lowe, Peters spent a winter in California visiting his brother. He then engaged in mining in the Seven Devils before going into business with his son in law, George Gregg. An ad in the October 30, 1908 Council Leader touted the Peters and Gregg store, featuring hardware, furniture and general merchandise. I think this store was west of where the Adams County Real Estate office is now. In 1909, Peters and Gregg had a furniture store in part of the Overland Hotel building. This building was where the Ace building is now.
During this time, Peters was not in good health. In the spring of 1909, John Olaf Peters reached the end of his earthly trail. The Leader reported, “Mr. Peters’ health has been failing for several years, but last Friday he felt better than he had for some time and walked up town several times during the day. He had just returned from up town about 5:30 o’clock feeling apparently well when he became suddenly ill at his stomach and went out on the porch and in less than five minutes he had bled to death from the breaking of an artery in the stomach.”
The October 5, 1911 Council Leader still contained and ad announcing, “Peters and Gregg sells furniture.” Maybe Anna Peters continued to have an interest in the business. Anna later moved to California where she died in 1935 at the age of 91.
Maude’s husband, George Gregg was the first probate judge when the county was formed in 1911. He didn’t enjoy the position for long; he had tuberculosis and died in the spring of 1914. He looks very gaunt in the photos of the first county officials. Maude married Reverend Emil Iverson, pastor of the Congregational Church, in 1918. In 1921, Reverend and Mrs. Iverson left for a vacation and didn’t come back. A couple months later, his letter of resignation from the church arrived. The couple had gone to Oakdale, California. Reverend Iverson died at Oakdale in 1936, and Maude died at the home of their daughter in Los Altos January 22, 1960.
Caption for 72006: “John, Maude and Anna Peters, about 1900.”
I MISSED ONE COLUMN HERE BECAUSE I WAS ON VACATION
8-18-05
A few decades ago, social and community-oriented clubs were very common, and they had many members. Today, their number has dwindled to a very few. This makes it even more remarkable that this year the Worthwhile Club is celebrating its 80th year of helping to make Council a better place to live.
On August 21, 1925, twenty-one Council area women met at the home of Mrs. N.H. Rubottom to establish a women’s club. Although a list of all the initial members is not available, the following women comprised most of the club: Mrs. Snow, Mrs. Rubottom, Mrs. H. A. Tatum ,Mrs. Elmer Kaas, Mrs. Wm. Spahr, Mrs. George, Mrs. Galey, Mrs. L.L. Burtenshaw, Mrs. Ross, Mrs. Gordon, Mrs. Hoover, Mrs. McCune, Mrs. Stanfield, Maude Nichols, Mrs. Kaufman, Mrs. Hugh Addington and Mrs. E.E. Soutbard
The club had no official name until the November 6th meeting, at which the name “Worthwhile” was adopted. Their motto was, “In unity there is strength,” black and gold were the club colors, and the official club flower was the sunflower.
Over the years, the Worthwhile Club undertook many community improvement projects. The first—improvement of Council’s tourist park—was one that engaged them for several years. In the 1920s, automobiles became common enough that people started traveling long distances in them. Towns often welcomed these travelers by creating a camping place for them, called, among other names, “auto camps,” or “tourist parks.” Council’s tourist camp was established in 1922 about where the high school is now. In 1926 the Worthwhile Club built a kitchen at the camp. That year they also sold Red Cross stamps and Christmas seals.
In 1927 the club donated jellies and preserves to the Children’s Home. The next year they cleaned up the tourist park, and launched a project that would challenge them for many years. That project started with a small library and reading room in the Legion Hall.
In 1929 they moved the library into the Odd Fellows Hall, and performed a play “Flappers of 44” at Council and Indian Valley. In 1930 they cleared brush from the tourist park, held a carnival and dance at the People’s Theater, and bought coal to heat the library.
One of the more interesting meetings was held on October 16, 1931. It was attended by members of all the women’s clubs along the P&IN Railroad line: Cambridge, Midvale, Meadows Valley, Indian Valley, Hornet Creek and Council. More than 100 women were present. That year, the Worthwhile Club helped send a carload of apples to the “drought district in Montana,” Canned fruit sent to the Children’s Home, and bought more books for the library. By 1932 there were 396 library books, and the club members undertook the task of cataloging them.
In 1933 there was an outbreak of small pox in the area that caused the regular club meetings for February and March to be canceled. The Board of Health evidently banned all public meetings during that period.
By 1934 the Worthwhile Club wanted a permanent clubhouse and library building. With this goal in mind, they purchased two tax delinquent, county-owned lots “across the street west from Gene Perkins’ for $10 each.” The following year, Mrs. Snow offered to donate the Cottonwood School to be remodeled as a clubhouse and library, but the members decided this would be too difficult.
In 1937 the club staged a fair and carnival, two parades and two dances. They also voted to move the library to the Congregational Church Annex.
The March 19, 1938 meeting was unique. Husbands of the club members put on a spoof of a Worthwhile Club meeting at the Odd Fellows Hall. All the ladies were weighed before a banquet, and again after it; their husbands were to pay five cents for each pound gained by their wives. The results were not reported, but someone said the scales must have been tampered with between the weighings.
At the April 1, 1938 meeting, the committee on vaccination and inoculation for small pox and diphtheria reported that over 1,000 such vaccinations had been given.
At the December 1938—Dr. Thurston spoke to the club about a community hospital. This hospital—Council’s first—was established the next year, and the Worthwhile Club donated money for furnishings. Also that year, the club hired Vivian Selby to take charge of the library.
In 1940 the club sponsored a project to help “Sheriff Wade select uniforms for children acting as patrolmen.” There were 46 active members and 16 associates. During the late 1930s and early ‘40s the club sponsored several fairs, parades and dances.
To be continued next week. Come see the exhibit about the Worthwhile Club’s 80 years of service at the museum.
8-25-05
Continuing with the story of the Worthwhile Club.
By 1941 there were 1459 books in the library, and Jean Westfall had replaced Mrs. Jack Lewis as librarian. That year the club donated a bed to the Grade School and another to the High School, donated to the Navy Relief Society, helped fill soldier’s kits, sewed for the Red Cross, and gave $5.00 toward sending the Adams County Leader to the boys in the Army. In
October they took charge of the parade in Council on “Scrap Rally Day” for the war effort. According to club records, their parade float featured “Red Devils cooking Japs over an open fire.”
In 1946 the club moved the library from the church annex to the Grade School Building. This, of course was the old, two-story school that stood near the present site of Economy Roofing. The club “adopted” a family in Holland to whom they sent several aid boxes. That year they also sponsored a scholarship to one of the normal schools (teacher colleges).
In 1947 the Worthwhile Club sent a 21-pound package of food costing $10.00 to Europe through CARE. Birthday packages were sent to the veterans’ hospital.
The club minutes note that in June of 1949 new sidewalks were laid along the lots owned by the Worthwhile Club—“this time with cement”—at a cost of $62.50.
In 1951, the club loaned the Town Board $400.00 to complete a new city hall building and library. This was the building that now houses the museum and fire department. The next year, the library moved into the new building, occupying a 20 X 30 foot room prepared especially for it. But the library was far from ready for use; shelves had to be built and other furnishings were lacking. Even so, for their September 1952 meeting, the club met in the new library where Miss Trumbo led the club in a ceremony, dedicating the new facility. When the city repaid $200 of the $400 it had borrowed, the Worthwhile Club used the money to buy furniture and books for the library.
The library officially opened in the new City Hall building in January 1953. The city allotted $300 for books and a librarian, and furnished heat and lights. The library remained in that building for the next three decades.
Later in 1953, the club sponsored a Library District election and covered all the election expenses. A total of 99 votes were cast—77 in favor, 22 opposed. The County Commissioners soon appointed the first library board.
By 1957 the club decided it had no need for the lots it had purchased, and they sold them to Ralph Finn for $750. Over the next two years they used this money to fund the placement of street signs and house numbers in Council. Several other organizations helped the Worthwhile Club with this project.
In 1963, Idaho celebrated the 100th anniversary of its becoming a Territory. The Worthwhile Club made and sold pioneer-style sunbonnets as part of this celebration.
Over the following years, the Worthwhile Club undertook many projects. One of the most notable was their publishing of Marguerite Diffendaffer’s book, “Council Valley—Here They Labored” in 1977, with assistance from the Idaho Historical Society. This book has served as an outstanding historical reference work, and although it is now long out of print, its text is available on the museum’s web site. (The easiest way to reach the web site is to go to <councilidaho.net> and click on the museum link.)
The Worthwhile Club has never stopped supporting Council’s library. After the present library building was erected, the Worthwhile Club put in may hours in 1981 landscaping the grounds around it.
Over the past half century, many civic clubs and organizations have fallen by the wayside; they just aren’t popular these days. But the Worthwhile Club is one of the survivors. As of August 21, it has lasted 80 years—a remarkable accomplishment. (It should be noted that the Odd Fellows organization is also still active, and has been in Council for over 100 years.)
In 1989 the Worthwhile Club had 23 members. Over the next decade and a half, as members aged and few new members joined, the club dwindled to the present eleven members: Robin Dunnington, Valerie Ivey, Virginia (Woods) Robinson, Dwila Probst, Lila Coates, June Ryals, Doris Harrington, Kathy Ashley, Laura Sue Mizell, Opal Newman and Debbie Lucas. (Ann Holcomb was a member until she recently moved away.) The next time you see one of these ladies, let them know you appreciate what they do.
Visit the exhibit about the Worthwhile Club’s 80 years of service at the museum.
Caption for photo 98216:
“Worthwhile Club members posing in their sunbonnets on April 19, 1963. Around this time the club had about 35 members. Those shown are:
1st row—Matilda Moser, Nancy Gould, Mrs. A. Kidwell, Myrtle Gould, Effie Kite, Irene McMahan, Helen Snow, Elsie Brown, Georgia York. Standing—Auby Taylor, Gladys Reynolds, Margaret Hamilton, Florence Brown, Mildred Averill, Mrs. Wikoff, Aline Lamb, C. Peterson, L. Clement, Olive Addington, Lillian Imler.”
9-1-05
Recently, I’ve been corresponding with a lady who is related to the Criss family. Sam and Harry Criss were merchants in this area back around 1900, and were Nadene Goldfoot’s great uncles.
In my Landmarks book I wrote that two traveling merchants named Abe Cohen and Sam Criss began coming to the Council Valley as early as 1894, selling clothing and dry goods. I must have been confused about Cohen’s first name; I can now only find references to Abe Criss, but not an Abe Cohen.
Abraham Criss was born in Russia in 1852 and came to the U.S. about 1870. The 1880 Federal census of Livingston, Polk County, Texas, recorded a 26-year-old Abe Criss as born in 1854 in Russia. It has to be the same person and the birth date must be off. People didn’t keep track of things that that back then as closely as we do now. A lot of people born in rural areas before 1920 or so—my father for instance—didn’t have birth certificates until they applied for one later in life.
Abe is listed in the 1880 census as being a store clerk. Sarah Criss, who later is listed as his wife, is recorded as being 19 years old and also working as a store clerk. Both were boarding with the same family. Just a few years later, an 1884-1885 “Directory of Texas” shows a peddler named Abraham Criss living in Houston.
By 1900 Abe and Sarah were living at Salubria. (Here he is again listed as born in 1852.) It records the couple as having married 18 years, which would make their wedding in 1882, which makes one wonder why they have the same last name in the 1880 census. Sloppy record keeping or poor memory at the time of the census? Their children are recorded as Harry, age 17 and working as a salesman (probably for his father I would think); Jessie Criss, age 9, and a daughter Harriett (? the name is not clearly written), age 6. There is a picture at the museum of the school on the hill north of downtown Council and all the students. Jesse Criss is in the front row, holding a sign that reads, “Council High School.”
The 1900 Federal Census also lists Emanuel B. Cohen who was born in 1863 in Poland/Russia, 37 years old at the time and living in Salubria. He had been in the states for 11 years by 1900, and like Abe Criss, he was a merchant.
It isn’t exactly clear if it was this Emanuel Cohen and Abe Criss who started the Cohen & Criss partnership as early as 1894, but it seems very likely. By 1898, Cohen & Criss had built a big store in Council. It sat about where Ronnie’s is now. (Formerly the Merit store, then Shaver’s.) Abe Criss died suddenly of a heart attack in March 1901. Sam and Harry Criss became well known as local merchants, and Abe’s place in the picture may have been overshadowed by the longer careers of the younger generation.
On the other hand, it isn’t even clear if Sam and Harry Criss were related to Abe. Abe had a son named Harry Criss, but he doesn’t appear to be the Harry Criss who was later in partnership with Sam Criss. By 1920, Sam Criss is the only Criss listed in the Federal census in Adams County, and his father is listed as having been born in Poland, not Russia. Plus, Sam is listed as having immigrated six years after Abe. Such are the puzzles of the genealogist or historian.
Sam and Harry Criss were devout Jews and would close their store on Jewish holidays. Born in Poland, Sam’s native tongue was Hebrew. The partners were known as the "Jew peddlers" in their traveling days, and their store became known as the "Jew Store." For most people there was no animosity behind these titles. There is an old display case in use at the museum with “Jew Store” written by hand on an inconspicuous spot to identify where it came from.
In her research, Nadene found a record of Emanuel B. Cohen having died in August 1959 in Broward, Florida. And then found a record of Ida B. Cohen, who must have been his wife, who died January 1958 in Broward, Florida.
Nadene wrote: “Did I tell you that I finally found my own grandfather, Nathan Goldfoot and my grandmother, Hattie Jermulowske married in Council, Idaho in 1906 as I remember? Hattie was the sister of the wives of the Criss brothers, Sam and Harry. They were all in Council. How my grandfather Goldfoot got there is a mystery to me so far. They moved to Portland, Oregon, but my grandmother returned to Council to have her first child, Charles Goldfoot. Her sisters must have helped her with the delivery. Nathan Goldfoot later died in Portland in 1912 in a horse/wagon accident, so I have never been able to speak to him about our history.”
“I believe it was Harry Criss's wife, my great aunt Jenny Jermulowske, who said on the marriage certificate that she was living in Cuprum, Idaho before she married. I wonder why she ever wound up in Cuprum after coming here from Poland/Russia. She was probably with another sister. They married in Council in 1900.”
Nadene is looking for any information about the Goldfoot family in the Council area. If any of you readers have some information, please let me know.
Caption for 84008: “The Cohen and Criss store dominates the boardwalk along Council’s main street, July 4, 1901.
Caption for 72114: Looking north across Council’s town square in 1924. Sam Criss’s store sat where Ronnie’s is today. Under Carl Shaver’s ownership, the Odd Fellows Hall (just to the right of Sam’s) was demolished and the store expanded into that space in the 1970s. The “Sam Criss General Merchandise” printing on the front of the building is said to still be there today, under the modern façade.
9-8-05
A while back, Chuck Wolfkiel sent me a photocopy of a page or two out of a book he had when he was in about the fourth grade at the Middle Fork School. The year was 1949-50, and the teacher was Mrs. Audrey Wenrich. I hope I have listed the names in the right grade:
Second grade—Shirley Morris, Barbara Wolfkiel, Delilah Thompson, Tommy Stevens, Della Ruth Bartlett. Third grade—Bonnie Ball, Bobby Gilman, Beth Myers, Blaine Morris. Fourth grade—Lloyd Wolfkiel, Jimmy Myers, Pauline Wilson, Janice Thompson. Fifth grade—Gerald Thompson, Larry Widson. Sixth grade— Norma Gilman, Dallas Ball, Bruce Morris, Barbara Morris, Josephine Myers. Seventh grade—Joan Gilman, Carry Wilson. Eighth grade—Carol Ball, Delmar Thompson, Samuel Wilson.
Some time ago, the Record editor asked me about when the road up Goose Creek was built from Meadows toward McCall. I looked in my newspaper notes and found the following.
Weiser Signal, Feb 15, 1905
A petition to change the road from Meadows to Lardo [McCall] to go up Goose Creek, so as to eliminate "the big Meadow hill." [I believe the “big Meadow hill” refers to the big open hillside that you can see southeast of Meadows. You can still see the scar of an old road on it, but I’m not sure if that’s the original one or not. If anyone knows, please tell me.]
Meadows Eagle, Apr 30, 1908 - County Commissioners established a county road from Meadows up Goose Creek to connect with the Meadows - Payette lake wagon road.
Adams County Leader, Apr 23, 1923
"The Morrison - Knudson company, Boise contractors, have secured the contract to do the work of construction on the Goose creek canyon road..." from mouth of the creek to the County line. The detour during construction will be over the hill "on the route followed by the former road before the canyon road was built."
Some time ago, Al Becker sent me a narrative written by his great grandfather, Dick Rutledge, when his family moved to Long Valley in 1888. They left their original homestead near Baker City, Oregon, traveling in two wagons and driving about 20 horses and 20 to 30 cattle. The wagons were heavily loaded, especially for the terrible roads of that day. They were weighted down with a hay mower, hay rake, a plow, and many smaller tools necessary to survive far from centers of commerce: axes, saws, shovels, pitch forks, a cook stove, and “the barest minimum of household goods. They covered about 10 or 12 miles per day, crossing the Snake River at Olds Ferry and then following the Weiser River north.
This type of “backtracking” from west back to points east to settle was not uncommon for some reason. I’ve heard of a number of early settlers—the McMahans to name one family—who settled first in eastern Oregon, but later decided to come to the Council-Meadows area.
Mr. Rutledge wrote: “The passage through the Weiser canyon, from Council to the Meadows, was one to be remembered. The road was nothing but a wagon trail. With no bridges and no grading or dugways, it ran from one little bar or level place to another on opposite sides of the river. To follow these bars, it was necessary to ford the river from one side to the other. I have forgotten exactly how many of the fords there were, but there were not less than 24. These fords were just places to cross the river, filled with boulders from the size of a washtub down. The water was high from the spring snows and rushing down the canyon at a terrific rate. To cross one of these fords was some job with wagons piled high and with teams of half-broken cayuses as the motive power. Horses would fall down, rigging would break, drivers would be thrown from the seat. Sometimes a wagon would stick and teams had to be doubled to get it out. It was all in the day’s work, but after a very few miles of this we were all ready to make a weary and wet camp.”
The family reached Meadows Valley by the middle of June. The road over into Long Valley was too soft from spring runoff, and in some places snow-covered, so they stayed at Meadows until July 4. It is interesting that there was no bridge across the Payette River at the time. Mr. Rutledge said, “…we had to go on down the west side of the valley through the Tamarack swamps.” (Hmm..Tamarack Swamp doesn’t have the right ring to it for the name of a world-class resort.)
Caption for 05020.jpg—“Dr. Thurston panned his 8mm movie camera from east to south in the early 1930s to film the Middle Fork School and the adjacent CCC Camp. The most easterly CCC building is visible at the right edge of the picture. This image is a compilation of frames grabbed from the movie and spliced together; it’s not the clearest image, but it is one of only two pictures of the Middle Fork School that I know of.
Caption for 00181.jpg—Although the names of the students were listed on this photo, no order was given. From the list, you can see that many of the kids Chuck mentioned are here: Sam Wilson, Delmar Thompson, Ruth Kilborn, Carole Ball, Dallas Ball, Larry Wilson, Bruce Morris, Norma Gilman, Gerald Thompson, Joan Gilman, Lloyd Wolfkiel, Karen Wolfkiel, Janice Thompson, Beth Myers, Carrie Wilson, Tommy Stevens, Jim Myers, Bob Gilman, Delila Thompson, Beth Myers, Shirley Wilson, Bonnie Ball, Blaine Morris, Della Mae Bartlett, Pauline Wilson. The fence in the background seems to be the same one in the Thurston image.
9-15-05
Back in March I was going through the 1952 Adams County Leaders for stories. It’s time to start on 1953.
January 2 issue: Caryl Fausett and Dauna Shaw were married. William Frank Betzer died on December 22. He had a homestead on Johnson Creek and was an early freighter into the Seven Devils. Alma Ross of New Meadows died. She was only 52. Ed Kesler and Patricia Moore were married at Lovelock, Nevada. Abner Clarence Witchey, 78, of New Meadows, died.
Jan. 16: Walter Wilson, son of Billy Wilson, died. He was living in Clarkston, Washington. Ester Colton, former Indian Valley resident, died. Mrs. Phileta Jane Organ, 89, of Salubria, died—buried in Meadows Valley Cemetery. Mrs. Pauline Bower and W.A. Russell, of New Meadows, were married at Winnemucca, Nevada. Ad for the New Meadows Hotel & Lounge—Dancing Every Saturday Night—Playmore Ballroom.
Jan 23: Jimmy Higgins of New Meadows and Angela Hansen of Donnelly, were married. The MacGregor Logging Company announced changes. When operations begin in the spring, it will have two separate, self-contained logging units. This is to help employees keep from living away from home and community life. Council will be the center of one of the logging units. Kiefford Lawrence has been promoted to superintendent of all company operations in the Council area. Merl Harp will be the foreman of the shops at Council. The other logging unit will be operating in the Boise National Forest. Ray Hoverson will be foreman of the truck shop. Ellis Wheeler will be foreman of the log shop. Mike Hibbard will be superintendent of this logging unit when it starts this spring. Hibbard has recently been elected Vice-President of the MacGregor Company.
Jan. 30: “Bob Mansell left Tuesday on a trip to get more machinery for the Price Valley Lumber Company’s new mill, which is being set up at slate Creek, out of Lucille, Idaho.” Called for military draft physicals—Melton Courthright of Indian Valley, Myron Cook of Fruitvale, and Henry Kinoff of New Meadows.
Forest roads built last year—extensions of the Little Weiser and West Fork of Lost Creek roads, both built by Boise Payette Lumber Company. Price Valley Lumber Company has started a road project up the East Fork of Lost Creek above Lost Lake to reach diseased timber in Butter Gulch.
“The Council Public Library opened last Saturday afternoon, January 24th. The library room is in the city hall and has been newly furnished and equipped with new desks, chairs, tables, and venetian blinds. There are about 800 books from the old Worthwhile [Club] Library and about 200 new books, including a fine up to date collection of children’s books. A pay shelf for adult reading starts with a few of the newest and most wanted books. The 3c a day rental will be used to add to the collection. The library will be open Tuesday and Saturday from 2 to 5 p.m., until the patronage warrants longer hours.”
February 6: The following may or may not be based on some real event at Fruitvale. Sterling McGinley (Anna Kamerdula’s father who ran the Fruitvale store) sometimes submitted some pretty wild and entertaining stories to the Leader.
“FRUITVALE PREPARES FOR BIG SHOOT (Sterling McGinley,
Staff
Corr.) Weather permitting, Fruitvale is making preparations for a big
day on Sunday, Feb. 8th, when the Ham and Bacon club put
on their final shoot for the season.”
“Stands have been erected for the spectators; firing ranges have been changed to better positions and all streets roped off to avoid confusion in reaching the Firing Range.”
“As an added precaution, Chief of Police, Charles Burt has added several more men to his Force to maintain law and order and handling the huge traffic expected.”
“The bandstand and the City park is getting a new coat of paint, and the park itself a good cleaning, so again weather permitting, the Fruitvale Band will give their first open air Concert of the season.”
“As an added attraction, Deadshot Cody, grandson of the late buffalo Bill Cody, and his charming Indian wife will be on hand to give information and advice to prospective sharpshooters and also put on their celebrated act that astounds the world. With his first shot, Deadshot kills his wife, and in the twinkling of and eye he fires a second shot that brings her back to life. This itself is well worth seeing.”
“The ladies free Ham shoot has created unlimited enthusiasm and no doubt competition will be mighty keen. It is suggested that all participants guard their guns closely and examine their ammunition before the event as we understand that skullduggery is afoot.”
9-22-05
Adams County Leader, February 13, 1953: June Greene of Donnelly and
Vaughn Jasper of Council were married. Helen Branstetter (New
Meadows) married George Heath (England). “The March of Dimes dance
and pie social at Upper Dale last Saturday was quite a success. About
$48.00 was made from sixteen pies, which were auctioned off by
Amos
Tillford.”
Feb. 20: Patricia Hancock (Council) married Ray Lewis (Malad, Idaho). Emmett Ellis Green of Indian Valley died. Long Valley pioneer, John Jasper died. Was an early postmaster at Roseberry. The county commissioners issued beer licenses to: Ernest Winkler, Merit Store; Frank Johnson, Frank’s Market’ E.A. Wilson, Wilson’s Beer & Lunch; Wayne Plummer, Pastime Cigar Store; Clarence Fredrick, Ace Tavern; C.H. Ayers, Evergreen Park, Andy Clelland, Council Food Market; Orval Friend, Pine Ridge Grocery; Lillian Rogers, Ray’s Café; James H. Witherspoon, Spoon’s Place; Clarence and Vernon LaFay, LaFay’s Place; Lloyd E. Monks, Mabe’s Coffee Shop; Howard C. Sarvis, Boulder Creek Station; Charles E. Day, Cobblestone Store; Davidson & Shaver, Shaver’s; L.W. Lady, Lady’s Service Station; A.B. Bair, Alpine Service & Groceries; Joe Freeman, New Meadows Hotel; Clifford Johnson, Marvin’s; Jess A. Hopper, Council Hotel Bar; Talache Mines, Inc., The Mesa Company. Some of the above also received liquor licenses.
“Leroy Magnason and Hester Mills were quietly married in Nevada last Friday. Hester is the sister of I.E. Robertson and LeRoy owns an alfalfa ranch on the Ridge where the newlyweds will make their home.”
Feb. 27: Photo of the seventh and eighth grades students from Council who toured the Statesman plant at Boise. Among them were Dale Armatage, Dick Harrington, Billy Daniels, Patricia McFadden, Joy Edmundson, Belva Steelman, Esther Woods (teacher), Melvin Jenkins, Roy Gould, Thelma Woods, Mrs. Earl Newman (teacher), Dewey Moritz, Galen Duree, Ivan Waggoner and Bennie Lucker.
Lloyd Parks, 41, of New Meadows died after a long illness. The Wayside Drive Inn was awarded a beer license.
March 6: “Forest Supervisor J. G. Kooch reports the recreational use on the Payette National Forest has increased approximately 150 percent in the past ten years.” “The belfry has been added to the Congregational Church the past week, which adds much to the finished appearance of the building. A ceiling has also been completed in the basement and cement poured for the fireplace. Equipment is gradually being furnished for the Sunday school.” “LOST: in Midvale dressing room during ball game Feb. 14th; one brown leather bill fold containing $15.00 and drivers license; one wrist watch with leather band; one class ring. Liberal reward. Phone 17R3 New Meadows. Vic Armacost."
March 13: Ella Mack died. She once lived in New Meadows where Mr. Mack operated a drug store before his death in 1929. “Evergreen Park Station Under New Management—Mr. and Mrs. Cliff Ayers of Evergreen Park Station disposed of their property to ‘Cy’ Adams of McCall, and ‘Stew’ Stewart of Mesa, the first of the week.”
March 20: Mrs. Luela Keska died. She married Frank Keska in New Meadows in 1921. He died in 1944.
[From Louise A. (Mrs. Harold R.) Ball, Box 401, Wallowa, OR 97885 –Jan 30, 2006: She didn’t’ marry Frank Keska in 1921. He was already married to my grandmother, Mary Louise Wedding Greene before 1927 as she was still alive when I was born. She died April 1927 of typhoid fever. Frank and Mary Louise were married in 1912. Both are buried in the Meadows Cemetery.]
March 27: Legion Hall to be remodeled. Mrs. Olive Schmalle of Portland plans to open a new lodge and restaurant in Cuprum this summer. It will be called Hells Canyon Lodge.
“Cpl. Kenneth A. White, son of Mr. and Mrs. Knute White, of new Meadows, was one of the specially assigned Army me who participated (March 17) in the Atomic Maneuver at Camp Desert Rock, Nevada. He occupied a forward foxhole during the atomic blast and immediately after the blast charged forward in skirmishes to mop up an imaginary enemy theoretically weakened by the A-bomb blast.”
At the training school for Ground Observation Corps, assistant director G.O.C. Margaret Fry, Patsy Bethel, Mae Gallant and Pearl Hibbard received their wings for 10 hours training. “Some 90 people from Midvale, Indian valley and Council attended the meeting. More volunteers are needed at the Council post, this being the only branch of Civil defense that requires previous instruction.”
Bert Rogers and Shirley Ball were married at his mother’s house in Council.
April 10: Clarence Favre, formerly of Salubria, died. He was Mrs. Peebles’s uncle. Carl O. Moore died.
The Fruitvale Cattle & Horse Association held its annual meeting. Present were Isaac Glenn, E.F. Fisk, Dick Fisk, Everett Ryals and Harvey Harrington and Fred Glenn. The Indian Valley Cattle & Horse Association held its meeting. Among those present were George Hutchison, Earl Craig, B.F. Johnson, John Manning, Phil Stippich, Dean Craig, and Harry Ludwig. Ludwig resigned as Sec. Treasurer, a position he has held for 34 years, as he has “disposed of his ranch interest.”
April 17: The Meadows Valley Cattle & Horse Association held its annual meeting. Among those present were Jake Ferrell, Ward Branstetter, Warren Osborn, Rollie Campbell, Bill Dryden and Howard Dryden. Lilly Bisbee and Theron Ham were married.
9-29-05
Adams County Leader, April 24, 1953: Proposals are being solicited for a building to lease for use as the Council Post Office. “Delegates from ten Civic organizations of Council met at the high school Tuesday evening to discuss the prospects of establishing a Community Recreation area for Council. The possibility of having a picnic grounds and a tennis court built on the recommended sight south of the high school was talked over and the expense involved. Those organizations represented at the meeting were the Legion Auxiliary, Ardinelle White; P.T.A., Mae Gallant; Worthwhile Club, Esther Winkler, Civic Club, Lenora Piper; X Club, Duff Ross and Eddie Maw; I.O.O.F., R.H. Young; Beta Sigma Phi, Gwen Galey; Grange, Fred Noll; Rebekah Lodge, Ralph Finn; American Legion, Myron Paradis and K.O. Yeaw; and the high school, Lowell Sayre.”
“Born to Mr. and Mrs. Frank Jones, a girl on April 23rd.”
May 1, 1953: Mrs. Jenny Palmer, a long time resident of Council, died. She was the wife of Lester Palmer and was 40 years old. “Only 29 voters turned out for the municipal election, held at City Hall, Tuesday. Lewis H. Daniels was reelected with 24 votes and Perry Kilborn, the other candidate to win, received 22 votes.”
A farewell party was held for Oreanna Martin. She is moving to Weiser. “A Mothers’ and Daughters’ banquet was held Friday evening at the LDS church at Fruitvale.”
At the People’s Theater: Friday & Saturday—Bright Victory, starring Arthur Kennedy and Peggy Dow. Sunday & Monday—Abbott & Costello Meet Captain Kidd, starring Charles Laughton. Tuesday & Wednesday—Dreamboat, starring Clifton Webb and Ginger Rogers.
Ad: “Evergreen Park Tavern—“Cy” and “Stew” 13 miles north of Council on HWY. 95. Open until midnight every day—Delicious hamburgers, homemade chili—Breakfast served all day long. “You catch ‘em—we fry ‘em.”
May 8: Nelma Glenn [now Green] is co-salutatorian, along with Mike Spence, of the graduating high school class. Graduating are: Lilly Osowa (valedictorian), Nelma Glenn, Mike Spence, Marjorie Glenn, Bonnie Miller, Bonnie Morrison, Jessie Wilson, Ann Stewart, Robert Tomlinson, Rose Mary Daniels, Dick Hancock, Lucille Palmer, Leland Wheeler, Jack Piper, Bill Summers, Neal Winkler, Joan Wright, Phylis Heathco, Betty Emery, Annie Humphrey, Marvin McElhannon, Dorothy Adams, Gary Collins, Lottie Burt, Ronald Clark, Bill McCadden, Jennie Mae Kilborn and Myrna Harp.
There are ads for several Council churches, including the LDS Church (Nello Jenkins, first counselor) and the Re-organized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints—Dale W. Uehlin, Pastor, Services at Adventist Bldg.
May 15: Darlene Carr is the valedictorian, and Patricia Nine is the salutatorian of the graduating class at New Meadows high school. Other graduates are: Winifred Hubbard, John Fields, George Whitney, Leata Carlock, Bill Sterling, Dell Cameron, Dick McLean, Bruce McLean, Bud McDougal, LeRoy Buchholtz, Donald Dillon Larry Johnson and Ronald Johnson.
The Adams County Spring Rodeo is to take place this weekend. There will be a dance at the Legion Hall where the winner of the beard contest will be announced.
“The first regular meeting of the Council Recreation Assn., was held at the high school, Friday, May 8th. Plans are underway for a public play area to be located on the lot with the Legion hall. Eventually the park will contain a tennis court, picnic tables, a fireplace, and children’s swings, teeters, slides, etc.”
Miss Trumbo received a telegram informing her of the death of former pastor of the Congregational Church, Rev. W. A. Roberts. He was the pastor here before Miss Trumbo.
“FOR SALE: Ballads of Idaho, 60c each. (Fourth book of verse by Orianna Martin), by the Emery Brothers of Wildhorse.” “FOR RENT: Upstairs apartment, furnished or unfurnished, next to Ferd’s Sweet Shop. See Ray Vondy.” “WANTED: Lawn mowers to sharpen. I have a power sharpener. George Pfann, Council.”
Mr. Norman Fliegel has purchased the Council Hardware store. “Mrs. Fliegal and their two small daughters will come to Council as soon as Mrs. Whittington can give possession of the home which was also a part of the transaction.”
10-6-05
Adams County Leader, May 22, 1953: “Thirty-one eighth grade graduates received diplomas at the graduation exercises held Thursday evening at the Council high school gym. Following are the members of the graduating class: Fruitvale—Maxine Glenn. Upper Dale—Karen Harrington, Jean Shaw. Council—Shirley Abraham, GlenAdams, Gordon Baker, Joy Edmunson, Sue Anne Evans, Dale Forrester, Joyce Gibleau, Katie Goodman, David Hunter, Romaine Lakey, Glenna Larsen, Tommy Ledington, Bennie Lucker, Eddie Martin, Patty McFadden, Jack Miller, Dewey Moritz, Jimmie Moore, Anna Marie Piper, Cleora Rice, Edward Taylor, Sandra White, Tommy Williams, Jamie Winters, Belva Woods, Thelma Woods, Shirley Van Oyen, Deanna York.
New Meadows eighth grade graduates: Billy Clausen, Jackie Blake, Barbara Richards, Roberta Rich, Leonard Clark, Raymond Schmalljon, Teddy Millspaugh, Darryl Dillon, Eva McLeod, Matt Wallace, Bobby Ratzat, Donna Morgan, Lucille Carveth, and Shirley Bedal.
Bonnie Carol Morrison and Gene Steelman were married.
May 29: James D. Mink died. Came to Council in 1918 and ranched on Cottonwood Creek until 1946 when he moved his family to Weiser.
June 5: “New Scientific Discovery Made By Fruitvale Mayor—A small group of business men from Council were in Fruitvale the last of the week to make a good will tour of that area. While passing the Fruitvale Merc. it was noticed that small round objects were dropping from the peach trees, next to the store, and bouncing across the road. Upon investigating the trees, which belong to Sterling McGinley, it was found that a nice crop of rubber balls had blossomed out. Upon inquiring of some of the neighbors, it was found that Sterling had secured a load of old tires from the MacGregor Logging Co., and had been smudging the trees most of the spring, at night. Evidently he had overdone it, thus creating the new Peach ball tree.”
“Mr. McGinley stated that he is still a little skeptical, wondering if maybe he hadn’t discovered a new rain cap for peaches to keep them warm and dry during the wet weather. In such case he states that he may have some of these caps on sale for $2.98 a piece and lower the price of peaches to 10c a pound.”
“P.S. These caps may be used on apples, oranges and grapefruit.”
The Nazarene Church has a new pastor. Rev. Will C. Bruner from Nampa has taken over the pastoral duties of Rev. G. A. Finch. Rev. and Mrs. Finch are moving to Notus to pastor the church there.
June 12: Janet Perkins and Ronald Dunn were married. “George Jones, an old time resident of the Seven Devils Mining District passed away Sunday May 31 at Long Beach, Calif. Mr. Jones lived at Landore in the boom days of that camp and still had mining interests in that region at the time of his death.” Tony Moritz died.
“Ralph Finn and Ted Hunt reported this week that they both had seen the flash of light caused from the Atomic bomb, set of in Nevada, on June 4th at 4:15 A.M.”
“There will be no Red Cross Swimming classes this year in Council as the pool is not available for instruction. The Chapter Chairman and a Committee of interested people requested the use of the pool but Mr. Lindsay, owner of the pool at Starkey, told them that he feels that there wasn’t enough interest or supervision of the members in the past, and that he felt it would be better to wait for another year before resuming the program. Mr. Lindsay feels that the facilities have been abused and that there were members that were supposed to return on the bus who didn’t. This led to confusion and to a program that lacks the coordination necessary to the best interests of both the students and the pool.”
June 19: Anna Marie Stewart and Robert Lester, along with Corinna Clelland and William Avery, were married in a double ceremony at the Congregational Church.
“The second annual Wilson Price Hunt celebration will be held at Cuprum and Kinney Point, July 18 and 19. The program will include a barbecue, saddle club parade, and an evening dance at Cuprum Saturday. Sunday, at Kinney Point, a brief address and music will be offered with the program to begin a about 1 p.m.”
Eddie Ludwig, who is now in the Army at Fort Ord, is pitching for an Army baseball team.
10-13-05
Adams County Leader, June 28, 1953: Joann Jacobs married Edward Mink at the Jacobs Ranch. Movie at the People’s Theater Monday & Sunday—High Noon.
July 10: Betty Emery and Hubert Ward were married. “J. I. Morgan, Inc. Purchase Four New Trucks—Jack Morgan, Gene Keska, Don Yokum, Lyle Maxwell and Dick McMillin flew from McCall to Spokane, Wa. Sunday. The four truck drivers each drove a new truck back, and Jack flew back.” Funeral services were held for David Hutchison who was killed in the Korean War.
July 17: Betty Byers and Joe Cole were married.
July 24: Teresa Millspaugh and William Close were married. Sheriff Frank Yantis and deputy Lyle Hellyer arrested two check forgers in New Meadows who were wanted by the FBI. Dr. Mary H. Ford and Dr. Craig Roan, both of Weiser, were married.[She is related to the Fords who owned the mines at Black Lake.]
July 31: Roberta Skeen and Lowell Madison were married. The Burt family held a family reunion at Fruitvale, with 121 members present. “Clarence Wikoff was taken to Community Hospital Monday after being involved in a motorcycle accident. Clarence had forgotten his lunch bucket and had returned home to get it. On the way back to work he hit some loose gravel near the Wayside corner, causing the machine to leave the highway. Clarence was thrown against a sign board, knocking him unconscious.”
August 7: The Phillips 66 Petroleum Company began marketing in the Council area on Monday, July 27. The following service stations are now handling Phillips products and soon will be identified with the Phillips colors and 66 shield: Council Auto Service, Evergreen Park Service, Fruitvale Mercantile, and Earl Miller’s Service (New Meadows). Hugh Addington will be the local Phillips agent. Addington has been well known as a distributor of petroleum products in this area since 1933.
August 14: James Harberd and Patricia Anderson were married.
August 28: Colleen Jacobs and Warren Pound were married. Ward Branstetter of Meadows Valley died.
September 4: “Virgil Seiple of the Mesa Company reports this week that one of the largest pear crops ever to be grown by the Company is now ready to pick. Pickers are needed and will start Saturday Sept. 5th and will work the 6th and 7th. There will be about 10 days picking with pickers getting 12c a box.”
September 11: Joel Richardson died at Boston, Mass. He once had a store where the Pomona Hotel now stands. He also owned a store at Tamarack. He was interred at the IOOF Cemetery at LaGrande, Oregon.
September 18: Christena Marie Ross, 72, a Council pioneer, died. “Mr. and Mrs. Cliff Ayers took possession of the Evergreen Park Tavern, Tuesday, when Cy Adams, former owner of the business, turned the holdings over to them, due to his bad health.” Hirman A. Reed, a former area sheep man, died.
September 25: Loraine Dooms and Hollis Burt were married. “Now that hunting season is on, a limited number of lockers are available at the Merit Store meat Dept., it was announced by Cy Winkler this week. Anyone wanting a locker is advised to get it now.” “To all persons holding lard cards from the People’s Service Market up to Jan. 1, 1953 are hereby notified that the lard saved for redemption has been in storage too long and is no longer any good. All cards expired 6 months after date of issue. Russell Evans, Former Owner.”
October 2: “X-Ray Unit to Visit Council, Oct. 5th & 6th—Anyone 15 years of age or older is urged to visit the X-ray unit in Council Oct. 5th, between the hours of 3 P.M. and 8 o’clock P.M. or from 12 noon to 8 P.M. Oct. 6th. Transportation will be furnished to anyone calling Ham’s Service Station, and the X-ray requires only one minute of your time. By X-ray you can be sure. It is better to learn the truth from a Chest X-ray while there is still time, than to proceed unaware that you have tuberculosis until it is too late. Free X-ray is made available to you through your Christmas seal purchases and your tax dollars. No disrobing is involved and the result of the X-ray is confidential.”
“Clarence Wikoff was released from a Boise hospital the first of the week, where he had been a patient for the past month. He was hospitalized here at Community hospital, and later transferred to Boise, after having been involved in an accident with his motorcycle. He returned home Tuesday.”
October 9: “Fred Laverne Mink, about 40, was instantly killed Wednesday afternoon when he was crushed between a tractor and combine. The accident occurred when the machines went out of control on a steep hill on his ranch in the Cottonwood creek area, south of Council.”
10-20-05
In the fall of 1953, Joe Warner, who was just a boy, was burned very badly in an accident. If I remember correctly, it involved a washing machine that was powered by a gas engine. The October 16, 1953 issue of the Adams County Leader contained a letter from his parents, Bert and Tina Warner, thanking the community for their financial and moral support.
In part, the letter read, “We want to take this means of thanking everyone for the benefit dance given for Joe, at Bear.” “Joe had his fourth set of grafts yesterday morning and will have to lie on his stomach until these heal. Probably for at least a week. If these grafts all take, we will be able to bring Joe back to the Community hospital. If some of them don’t take, it will mean another set of grafts. At any rate we should be able to bring him back, in from ten days to two seeks. The doctor told us that Joe’s hand and arm were alright now and most of his legs are covered. We don’t have any idea of how long he will be convalescing. I guess it depends on how quickly he overcomes the tenderness in the burned area.”
Also in that issue was a letter from Jess Hopper, praising the Council Hospital: “Just a reminder to the people of Council and Adams County: Lest we forget, we have one of the finest little hospitals in the world, right here in Council.” Of his stay in the hospital, he wrote: “Outside of a few aches and pains, those were for of the brightest days I have spent in Council. The hospital staff and the entire personnel at the Community hospital are to be congratulated on their efficiency, kindness, cleanliness, and everything it takes to build up and maintain the finest little organization of its kind I have ever known.” That week, the Leader listed 14 people who were admitted to the hospital, and 3 births. The three babies were: to Mr. & Mrs. Toney Cada, a boy; to Mr. & Mrs. Vaughn Jasper, a girl; to Mr. & Mrs. Art Deeds, a boy. (This had to be Darrell Deeds.)
October 23rd issue: Front page photo of Eddie Ludwig—“Pvt. Eddie Ludwig, son of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Ludwig of Council, wound up the season with 11 wins against 3 losses, while playing with the Fort Ord baseball team in California. He pitched 115 innings, getting 114 strikeouts, giving up 86 hits and 37 walks for an earned run, average of 1.61. Eddie also finished the season with a 425 batting average. Before entering the service, Eddie pitched for Columbus, of the American Association. Pvt. Ludwig who has been spending a furlough here with his parents, left Saturday for Camp Stoneman, California, where he is expected to receive orders for overseas duty in the Far East.”
Verla Woods, eldest daughter of Bill and Nancy Shaw, died Oct. 16—age 33. Sharon Wright married Rex Jones. Louise Wallace (formerly of Meadows) married Larry Brenner of Indiana. Phyllis Heathco (youngest daughter of Bertha Heathco) married Richard Green, son of Mildred Green of Indian Valley. “The L.D.S. weekday meetings will now be held at the Legion hall in Council on Wednesday of every week.” Albert Kampeter died—son of Mrs. Mary Kampeter, and brother of Bill and six sisters. Christina Dukovich died—lived in Council for the last 13 years. John W. Merritt, age 76 of New Meadows, died—resident of Meadows Valley for 51 years.
November 13 issue: “Born to Mr. and Mrs. Charles Hallett, of Council, a son.” Cyrus M. Kilborn, 72, of Mesa, died. Adams County received $12,582.11 as its 25% share of National Forest receipts for 1953. Mattie Moore, 67, of Weiser, died. Dixie Stover married Laverne Thomas. Dorothy Tedrow, 84, of Council, died.
November 20 issue: Everett C. Reed, of Council, died. Marie Keckler (Mesa) and Carroll Schmid (Goodrich) were married. The Council Valley Grange met last Friday, with 35 members present, and installed officers: Lester Gould, master; Charles Wolfkeil, overseer; Margaret Hamilton, lecturer; Cleo Nichols, steward; Chas. Lappin, assistant steward; Florence Hart, chaplain, Lee Hamilton, treasurer; Mrs. Cleaveland, secretary; Mrs. Cleaveland, gatekeeper; Ida Gallant, ceres; Trudy Lappin, Pomona; Mildred Woldkeil, flora; Alice Noll, lady assistant steward; Barr Jacobs, executive committee, Anna Mink, musician; Ann Jacobs, Home Ec. Chairman. Donald E. Lile (Council) and Helen Mayer (Millstadt) were married.
10-27-05
Before I get to more items from 1953 Adams County Leaders, I have a quiz for you. I will give the answer and comments after the newspaper notes. Can you guess what famous American said the following?
“I will say, then, that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races—that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of making voters or jurors of negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which will ever forbid the two races living together in terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together, there must be the position of superior and inferior. I am as much as any other man in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race.”
Adams County Leader, November 27, 1953: “There will be a bazaar, supper and dance at the Alpine school house, Friday evening, Dec. 4th.” “Johnny Fisk of Pocatello was home for Thanksgiving to visit home for Thanksgiving to visit his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jim Fisk.” William F. Parks died.
December 4, 1953: “Fire completely destroyed the lovely home of Mr. and Mrs. Earl McMahan near Fruitvale, Saturday evening. It is believed that sparks from the chimney ignited leaves on the roof causing the conflagration. The alarm was sounded in Council, and a number of people rushed to the McMahan ranch, and were able to save most of the contents of the house. Several men spent the night watching the smoldering ruins to prevent further damage.” [I believe this was the original old McMahan house of Isaac and Lucy McMahan. I still can’t believe they misspelled the name on McMahan Lane at Fruitvale; it’s should NOT be McMahon! What an insult to one of our pioneer families and our local history.]
“Mrs. Emma Brown, mother of Mrs. Bertha Keckler of Mesa, passed away at her home in Eureka, California, Saturday. Funeral services will be held in Cambridge.”
December 11, 1953: “The Boy Scouts have Christmas trees on sale at the Golden Rule store and the Wayside grocery.” “Col. Bill Welty of the Council Sale yard announced this week that he would operate the yard through the winter, if at all possible.”
December 18, 1953: Winifred Hubbard and Lee McLeod, both of New Meadows, were married. “Mary Drennan Lindsay is at home with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Lindsay of Starkey Hot Springs, for the holidays from Whitman college at Walla Walla, Wn.” In the Meadows Valley items: Mr. & Mrs. R.L. Campbell returned from a three-week trip to Florida; Darrell Campbell came home from Fort Ord for Christmas; Mrs. David Campbell held a bridge party—a few of the guests were Mrs. Jack Morgan, Mrs. Alice Richmond, Mrs. Gene Keska, Mrs. Lillian Witherspoon; a baby girl was born to Mr. & Mrs. Jimmy Higgins; John Fields was up from BJC to take in the high school Senior Ball.
For those of you who don’t know, Boise State University was initially Boise Junior College—BJC. In the Council items: “Home from BJC are Alma Averill, Neal Winkler, Dick Hancock and Bill Summers.” “Home for the holidays from the University of Idaho in Moscow are Pete Swanstrom, Mary Sue Youngblood, Andrew Finn, Delbert Naser and Lucile Palmer.” “Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Lile celebrated their Silver Wedding Anniversary” “Mrs. Harvey Harrington and Mrs. Everett Harrington were Weiser shoppers, Monday.”
The quote at the start of this column was from Abe Lincoln in his sixth debate with Steven Douglas at Quincy, Illinois, Oct. 13, 1858. It is not generally known that, although Lincoln was against slavery, he advocated sending blacks back to Africa. He said, “Let us be brought to believe it is morally right, and, at the same time, favorable to, or, at least, not against, our interest, to transfer the African to his native clime, and we shall find a way to do it, however great the task may be.”
In all fairness, Lincoln did believe African Americans had some rights, in the same debate with Douglas, he said, “...notwithstanding all this, there is no reason in the world why the negro is not entitled to all the rights enumerated in the Declaration of Independence—the right of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. I hold that he is as much entitled to these as the white man. I agree with Judge Douglas that he is not my equal in many respects, certainly not in color--perhaps not in intellectual and moral endowments; but in the right to eat bread without leave of anybody else which his own hand earns, he is my equal and the equal of Judge Douglas and the equal of every other man.”
It never fails to amaze me how simplistic, or even distorted, the common conception of history is. The usual sound bite is that the Civil War was fought to free the slaves. But think about that; even though the South may have been worried about their ability to continue slavery at some future point, slavery was perfectly legal below the Mason-Dixon Line. They didn't sacrifice hundreds of thousands of men (a majority of the fighting-age men in the South) just because they might lose their slaves at some future time. And if you had told the typical Union soldier that he was fighting to free the slaves, he may well have shot you; he was fighting to preserve the Union. Slavery was a hotly, and even violently, debated issue leading up to the war, but it became a central issue in the war half way through it on January 1, 1863 when Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, abolishing slavery. The war was not going well for the North, and he had to do something drastic. Until then, it was more a socio-economic conflict over state’s rights between the agrarian South and the industrial North, with slavery as a "hot button" issue in the mix. But the more complex issues don’t fit into a sound bite very well.
(And like another war that we're all too familiar with, the President--or the country in general for that matter--didn't have a plan for how to deal with blacks after the war...except to send them back to Africa. It became a social quagmire that is still being sorted out 140 years later.)
I can’t resist exposing one more common myth. George Washington never chopped down a cherry tree and told his father, “I cannot tell a lie.” This story may or may not have been written as fiction, but it came to be accepted as fact over time.
11-3-05
I ran across a couple odds and ends in the old courthouse material that might be of interest. One is a letter from May Robertson, dated October 4, 1916. The printed letterhead reads, “MAY ROBERTSON—Dealer in GENERAL MERCHANDISE. There is a preprinted, “Fruitvale, Idaho, ________, 191____” on the right below the main heading. Mrs. Robertson was operating the Fruitvale store—she and her husband, Albert, having bought it from O.C. Selman in 1912. They ran the store until 1920.
The letter reads:
Mr. Henke, Probate Judge,
Dear Sir, With reference to the affair we were down to see you about last week, we have had no notice of anything being done & are wondering what you & Mr. Burtenshaw [prosecuting attorney Luther Burtenshaw] are thinking of it, if any different from what you said when I saw you.
Mr. Shannon keeps inquiring & I am still of the same opinion with regard to them. The boy is very different, seems to be profiting by the scare—he has never been up to the store since I saw you & is tending strictly to school & home work.
But I believe it is true that Floyd Finn is 18 or 19 years & while I do not urge any severe penalty, I fear it is wrong not to approach him on the subject at all.
Yours very resp’y, May M. Robertson, P.M.
I have no idea what this was about, and anyone with a direct memory of it has most likely died by now.
Another letter from Fruitvale is dated November 21, 1914 and is apparently from a teenage girl. It is to P.A. McCallum, who was an attorney, but I’m not sure if he was an employee of the county, as a prosecutor, etc., at this time or not. It reads:
Mr. P.A. McCallum, Council, Ida.
Dear Sir,
I am writing you this letter to see if I can come to the hard time dance at council Friday night. I know it has been long enough now until people wouldn’t talk about it, so please have mercy on me and let me come.
P.S. Guess I will visit Mr. Henke before long.
An official letter with no signature because is it a carbon copy, is dated April 2, 1915 and addressed to A.L. Freehafer, who was a Council attorney and real estate man, who by this time had moved to Boise to work for the Public Utilities Commission. The letter was evidently from someone at the Adams County Courthouse:
Dear Mr. Freehafer,
Have you the original files in the estates of Thomas J. Stutesman and Rachael Smith: If you have I wish you would return them to me. I have had occasion to refer to them on various occasions and found them missing and Stinson thought that you had them.
The letter then refers to one of the most dramatic events in Council’s history that had just occurred—a fire that destroyed almost all the buildings on the north side of Illinois Avenue and the whole block where the Ace building is today:
“Our town underwent quite a change the other night. However it is for the best in the long run. The Hildenbrand block [Ace] being gone makes a fine open space from the old square to the Hancock barn. The town or the citizens ought to buy it and make a park of it. Some of us are going to try to have that done. Keep it in mind. It would make the property east of Fred Cool’s [Cool’s was where the public rest rooms are now, south of the square] valuable for business purposes up to Galena Street.”
There are four search warrants—each with a duplicate copy— issued to Sheriff Bill Winkler on August 20, 1932—to look for “Moonshine Whiskey and Beer. They all must have been issued on this date because Federal officers were in the area to go with Winker.
Winkler searched: 1) A building in New Meadows known as “the lunch room, situated between two service stations on the north side of the main street of the Village of New Meadows, and just west of the highway leading north therefrom.” where he found “moonshine whiskey, beer and beer mash, many empty bottles, bottle capper and rubber siphon, and arrested the man in possession of said premises and then turned all of said described property and man to the Federal Prohibition Officers who were with me….”
2) “That hip roofed house known as Rushton’s residence situated about 500 feet east of the Pea Packing plant” in New Meadows where he found moonshine whiskey and beer. There is a duplicate of this warrant for some reason.
New Meadows must not have been a total den of iniquity, as Winkler and the Feds did not find illegal booze when they searched Macks Drug store, nor at Paul Mitchell’s house located “about one half mile northeast of the Village of New Meadows, sections 13 and 24, Twp 19 N. R.1 East B.M.”
11-10-05
While doing research on the Idaho Northern Railroad, I ran across a shocking event in the Cascade News, November 7, 1947 that I had never read or heard about before. It happened in Marvin’s Café, which is the Seven Devils Café today:
Herman Bower, 42, came into Marvin’s Café about 6:15 PM where his wife was a waitress. He sat at the lunch counter and spoke to his wife for several minutes. Besides the Bowers, there were five customers and a cook in the cafe. “Witnesses reported that Bower jumped to his feet when his wife turned away to wait on a customer and pulled a .32 automatic from his coat pocket and shot his wife through the head at a distance of three or four feet. She died almost instantly. Then Bower put the gun to his own right temple and pulled the trigger.” Although the bullet passed through his head, he lived about two hours, dying at 8:25 PM. Bower owned and operated a sawmill near Bear, had lived in the area for two years, and had one son, Dale, 17 who was in the Navy.
I couldn’t help but notice that all through the 1947 Cascade newspapers, there was a report of a death as the result of a car wreck or some other violent accident in almost every issue. I have no idea why such tragedies would be so common at that time. On a lighter note, the May 7 issue featured photos of the Cascade High School graduating class of 1947. Among the ten graduates was Stanley Matthews. Stan, who has lived in Council for several decades now, grew up near the town of Van Wyck, which is now under Cascade reservoir, and has been a valuable source of information for the book about the Idaho Northern Railroad that Don Dopf and I are writing.
I stumbled across a tidbit that I thought was interesting. Christmas was not always a universally celebrated in this country. In Colonial America, people could celebrate the holiday freely at Jamestown, Virginia, while the same practice in Boston incurred a fine of five shillings. After the Revolutionary war, Christmas was viewed as an English tradition, and all things English were not popular right then. According to the History Channel.com, "Congress was in session on December 25, 1789, the first Christmas under America's new Constitution." The holiday remained unpopular for years, and Christmas was not declared a federal holiday until nearly a century later—June 26, 1870.
Some time ago, Charlie Norris asked me to look into the history behind his place at 4251 Dartmouth. I wasn’t able to find much about it; but I know is that it was a tourist camp for a while.
The 1920s were an interesting time, when automobiles started becoming affordable and people started making road trips. This was such a new phenomenon that there was no infrastructure in place to cater to travelers of this sort. Travelers had traditionally traveled all day, and then found a place to camp for the night. Of course there were hotels, but they were probably an expensive luxury to a lot of people. Since camping was the order of the day, communities started creating campgrounds for travelers. I suppose they did this, in large part, to benefit the community by getting travelers to linger in the area and spend money.
As early as 1920, plans were being made for national highways. In fact, what is now Highway 95, was then the “north-south highway” and was, as it is now, the only road going from the northern boundary of Idaho and down to the southern border. When Bernard Eastman of Payette gave a talk in Council that year, he said the average tourist car contained four people, and that they each spend an average of four dollars per day on gas, oil, repairs, food, clothing, etc. According to the economists who keep track of such things, in modern dollars that would be about $40. That doesn’t sound like much, but I’m sure that, considering the depressed farming economy during the 1920s, this would have been a lot to local farmers and ranchers. Eastman predicted that 5,000 cars—about 20,000 people—would pass through Council the following summer. Eastman was traveling around the state urging communities to provide places for these tourists to camp.
I know of three tourist camps that were in Council. The first was created in 1922, about where the old football field is, between the grade school and the high school. It was basically a grassy area where people could camp, and had a kitchen and “waiting room.” One of the Worthwhile Club’s first community projects was to build a kitchen at this camp. I’m not sure how long that camp was in existence.
Two other tourist camps existed in Council during the 1930s. The “Wayside” tourist camp was on the corner just south of where the Starlite Motel is now. It had eight cabins, a store, bathrooms with showers, a service station, and a laundry room. Even though it was said to have been established by Alva Ingram in 1931, Billy and Pearl Brown operated it that year when the Leader reported that the place had a new service station. Another mention of the place under Brown’s management was made in 1933. The next owner may have been Claud Childers who sold it to a Dr. Carter in 1936. In the late 1940s, Andy Clelland owned and operated the establishment. He was probably followed by Ed Foster who ran it in 1954. Ed Ludwig bought the Wayside about 1956, and owned it until the early 1960s. Ed’s parents, Harry and Myrtle Ludwig, built the Starlite Motel in the 1950s. The old store / gas station is still there on the corner.
The “Shady Rest” tourist camp was where Charlie Norris lives, on the west side of the highway leading north out of town, just north of Fist Avenue. It had cabins, a laundry room, showers, and a store. My info is sketchy, but the first mention of it in the Leader was in May 1952 when the paper reported that fire had damaged a building there. In July of that year, the Leader said, “Clarence Fredricks reports this week that he has reopened the Shady Rest Station, and that he will be open seven days a week from now on. Mr. Fredricks reports that he will handle gas and oil, groceries and soft drinks.” Clarence was the oldest child of Alice and Charlie Fredrick who may have had a hand in managing the place as well, up until at least 1956. I would appreciate hearing from people who remember exactly what was there. It would be wonderful to have a picture of the place when it was still in operation.
Evergreen was evidently started as a tourist camp, as the Adams County Leader for May 21, 1937 announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Marvin Imler are building a new service station and tourist camp at Evergreen.” The Forest Service had established the campground there in 1923. The campground has been closed for the past several years because the bridge was deemed unsafe, but I notice it is about done, or maybe is done by now.
11-17-05
Computer crash; no column
11-17-05
My computer crashed and ate my column for last week, along with all my email addresses. I have a printed list from a year and a half ago, so if any of you who have changed your email address in that time would send me your address, I would appreciate it. (My email address = dafisk@ctcweb.net)
Smokey Jones called to tell me that Herman Bower—the man who killed his wife and himself in 1947—was not actually the owner of the sawmill at Bear; it was Herman’s brother, Bill Bower. Herman’s nickname was “Dutch,” and he had another brother named Dave. Smokey worked for Bill Bower at the sawmill at the time of the tragedy. He said Dutch’s murder/suicide was really hard on Bill.
Since I finished the last of the 1953 Adams County Leaders, let’s see what went on in 1954.
January 1 issue: Pearl K. Winkler and Edgar Buchannan were married. Births—girl born to Mr. & Mrs. Melvin Lindsay of Indian Valley; girl born to Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Johnson of Council.
January 8 issue: Bonnie Miller of Council and Claude Morin of New Meadows were married. Roger Swanstrom and Yvonne Barman were married in Seattle. Born to Mr. and Mrs. Irving Zirpel of McCall, a boy.
January 15 issue: Births—a boy to Mr. & Mrs. Leslie Duncan of Riggins; a boy to Mr. and Mrs. Carl Preston of Midvale.
January 22 issue: “Don Shepard, 26, of Emmett and Harold Ole Frank, 29, of Klamath Falls, Oregon, are being held in the Adams County jail in Council, charged with burglary of Ken’s Service station in New Meadows, Saturday evening, Frank Yantis, Adams County Sheriff reported this week. Sheriff Yantis stated that about $400.00 in cash was stolen from the safe, after the safe door had been cut away, with a torch taken from the repair shop in the station. State police apprehended the men in Grangeville Sunday morning after an alarm had been sent out, the sheriff reports. Sheriff Yantis, Bert Hoffman and Kenneth Gardner drove to Grangeville, Sunday, returning Monday with the prisoners.
Mary T. Coriell, 42, passed away at her home in Indian Valley.
January 29 issue: Rose Mary Daniels & Norman Kilborn were married. Births—girl to Mrs. & Mrs. John Rice of Forks, Washington; girl to Mr. & Mrs. Howard Fetter of Council.
February 5 issue: “There will be a Pie Social and party at the Fruitvale school house in Fruitvale, Friday evening, February 12th, at 8 P.M. Proceeds from the affair will be turned over to the March of Dimes fund. Everyone is invited to attend.” Former Council schoolteacher, Cornelious Sweeney, died in February of last year.
February 12 issue: “VALUABLE LIVESTOCK MISSING—In Council Valley or immediate vicinity, an approximate twenty-five (25) head of boys are still missing from the rolls of Troop 320, Boy Scouts of America. Easily identified by uncombed hair, limitless energy, and astounding appetites. Size, color, disposition, or present occupation are of no particular consequence. Ample rewards for any assistance in getting the B.S.A. brand on any of these mavericks. Contact local Scoutmaster.”
At the People’s Theater Friday & Saturday— “Off Limits” starring Bob Hope & Mickey Rooney; “The Story of Three Loves” starring Peg Angeli & Ethel Barrymore. “For Rent: Rooms & Apartments by the month. Ph. 52, Pomona Hotel.”
February 19 issue: Ed Garver of Council & Shirley Nikles of White Hall, Montana, were married. Born to Mr. & Mrs. Michael Flannagan, of Donnelly, a girl. Douglas Piper of Council, and Janice Gramaglia of El Monte, California, were married in Las Vegas.
March 5 issue: “Fire of unknown origin completely destroyed the new livestock shed at the fairgrounds last Thursday, Feb. 26. The building was built last fall by members of the Adams County Fair & Rodeo Assn., to be used for 4-H livestock at fair time. The building was insured.” Miss Frances Bower, formerly of Council, and A.T. Peterson were married. Mrs. Faye Corey, 42, of New Meadows, died. Myrtle Louise Dreyer [of New Meadows ?] and George Lyons of Kooskia, were married.
“There will be a Ground Observer Corp meeting at the City Hall, in Council, this (Friday) eve at 8 o’clock. All members and interested person are urged to make a special effort to be present. There has been some changes made in reporting procedure, and at this time it will be explained. Also there will be practice in making calls.” In a separate ad: “It’s no joke!…Civilian volunteer plane spotters are urgently needed to warn against enemy planes that may sneak under our Radar Defenses. Wake Up! Sign Up! Look Up!”
Births—to Mr. & Mrs. Nolan Woods of Council, a girl. [Cheryl]; to Mr. and Mrs. Gene Fuzzell of Riggins, a boy; to Mr. & Mrs. Ross Muller of New Meadows, a boy.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Bass left Wednesday to take over the management of the Merit Store in Cascade. Ralph has been with Merit Stores Inc., for the past seven years, and Mrs. Bass has spent most of her adult life in the store with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Winkler. They will move their furniture as soon as a house is available, and Ralphie will enter school there in the near future.”
Caption for 95031.jpg—“Ralph Bass and Frances (Winkler) Bass—long time Council Merit Store managers. The Merit Store became Shaver’s and now is Ronnie’s.”
12-1-05
Elinor Hoover sent me a large manila envelope this past week. When I opened it, I about fell over. She had sent several pictures, but the one that amazed me showed Bill Hoover’s packinghouse in 1923. It was located on the southeast corner of Orchard and Missman Roads. Elinor said: “The photo of the packinghouse is one I have been searching for such a long time and just plain old good luck made it possible that it even existed. I thought you would be pleased to get it.” Pleased is an understatement. Bill Hoover was said to have had the second largest fruit-growing operation in the Council area, second only to Mesa Orchards. His packinghouse was so famous that legendary actor, Gary Cooper, toured it when he was in the area on a hunting trip in 1947. The following is Elinor’s information about the packinghouse.
“This building was built in 1923 before the days of refrigeration
and required six freight car loads of sawdust to fill the walls for
insulation. The local newspaper called it a “monster”
packinghouse, it was located two miles north of Council in the
foothills of the Orchard section on the southeast corner of Missman
and Orchard Roads and could be seen for miles.”
This
was a two-story building. All entrances (two) were on the
loading dock except for one door on the bottom floor at the west end
of the building. Most of the building was storage space, and
the floors boards on both floors were spaced so that there was
approximately 3/4 to 1 inch space between the slats so air could
circulate freely between the two floors. The processing room
was on the south side of the building and was lined with windows.
The apples were brought in from the orchards by wagon, transported to the processing room and loaded onto a conveyor belt that had round holes in it. Any apple that fell though was a cull and was dumped outside; we fed them to the pigs, made cider and vinegar. Nothing was wasted.
The apples were then dumped into an acid bath, and pushed onto another conveyor belt, spray rinsed and rolled past workers who watched for worm holes or apples that did not pass the standards of color, shape, etc. These apples were then rolled past more workers called ring facers who fitted the prettiest apples into a ring to be placed on top of a bushel basket of fruit filled from the conveyor belt. At the end of the line, workers then put lids on the baskets, pasted the label on top that stated they were extra fancy and fancy apples from the Council orchards and grown and packed by William H. Hoover, and later by John W. Hoover. William Henry Hoover was a grower who prided himself in growing the best fruit possible, and his box labels announced the contents were “extra fancy” and “fancy” quality.
The fruit was then either stored or taken to the loading dock, loaded onto wagons, taken to the railroad cars waiting at the Hoover spur about a half-mile away. These cars then took the fruit to its final destination.
The Hoovers employed about 80 people during the harvest. The people who worked for the Hoovers were from the local community or were migrant workers.
The Hoover packinghouse was torn down around 1952. Pieces of the foundation were still visible until just a few years ago.
The Hoover spur that Elinor mentioned was about where Darrell Brown’s place is where Orchard Road met the railroad. It was not just called the Hoover spur locally; it was labeled as such on railroad maps. There was a big building at the spur where apples were stored temporarily. If I remember correctly, it was just west of where Darrell’s shop is now. The spur and the building have been gone for years, but pieces of the foundation were there until about the time Darrell built his shop. It would be nice to have a picture of it, but I have never seen one.
12-8-05
Back to the old Leader files.
March 12, 1954 issue: Stella Faye Corey of New Meadows died. Joe Messier of New Meadows died. He worked at the Haines Garage. Maud (Imler) Durham, formerly of Indian Valley, died at Weiser. (Marvin Imler was her brother.)
Boys born to: Mr. & Mrs. Virgil Battershell of Midvale, Mr. & Mrs. Dorsey Campbell of New Meadows, Mr. & Mrs. Leo Phillips of New Meadows, Mr. & Mrs. Robert Collins of Goodrich. Girls born to: Mr. & Mrs. John Warning of New Meadows and Mr. & Mrs. William E. Brown of Council.
March 19 issue: Walter Kline opened a barbershop in the IOOF building. A boy was born to Mr. & Mrs. William Anderson of Midvale; a girl was born to Mr. & Mrs. Vern Bedal of New Meadows. “Although there is considerable work going on at the Council Feed and Fuel, with the construction of the new addition, Noll and Reynolds with to take this opportunity to inform people that they are still open and in business.”
“Robert E. Smylie, Idaho Attorney General, recently announced that he would be a candidate for the Republican nomination for Governor of Idaho in the 1954 elections. Smylie, …has been Attorney General since 1947. He is thirty-nine years of age, married and has two sons. Smylies’s home is in Caldwell.”
March 26 issue: A girl was born to Mr. & Mrs. Eddie Maw of Council. Boys born to Mr. & Mrs. George Alkire of Riggins and Mr. & Mrs. Cleo Patterson of Riggins. Sarah Anderson, a pioneer of Meadows Valley, died. The Game Department released 203 pheasants in Council Valley and lower Hornet Creek.
April 2 issue: The Salutatorian of the 1954 Council High School graduation class is Carolyn Clelland; the Valedictorian is Robert W. Perkins. “Members of the Adams County Fair and Rodeo Assn., met last week to discuss plans for the annual spring rodeo, which will be held at the Fair grounds in Council May 15 and 16. Queen candidates for the show this year are Phyllis Berger of Indian Valley; Peggy Abshire of New Meadows; and Betty Lou Harrington of Council.” “Top square dance callers and fiddlers of the Pacific Northwest are expected for a square dance festival and Northwest mountain fiddlers’ contest in Weiser May 8. The affair is being sponsored by the Weiser Recreation commission.”
April 9 issue: Boys born to Mr. & Mrs. Wilfred Fox of Midvale and Mr. & Mrs.
Clarence Bauer of Meadows. “Rev. and Mrs. C. M. Slaughter came recently from Grangeville to fill the pulpit at the Hiway Tabernacle. Rev. and Mrs. McElhannon have been called to Homedale.” Lloyd Wolfkiel of Middle Fork is the local winner in a nation-wide essay contest sponsored by the Grange.
April 16 issue: “Dr. John Edwards will be on the TV program ‘Your Health; on KBOI, at 9 o’clock, this Friday evening.” The Valedictorian of the graduating class at Meadows Valley High School is Victor Armacost, son of Mr. & Mrs. Bailey Armacost; the Salutatorian is Lova Sayre.
April 23 issue: Loraine Waggoner (Council) and Reid Jackson (Ogden, Utah) were married. Gay Johnson married Virginia Evans of Sandpoint. Ora Fay Reed and Leland Wheeler were married. Mrs. Mildred Ladman of Mill Creek died.
April 30 issue: Margaret Dethman, daughter of Blake Hancock of New Meadows, married Larry Hollenbeck of Lewiston. Andrew Milton Hinshaw, 77, pioneer of Cambridge, died.
May 7 issue: Mary Babbit of Council married Lindel Winkleman of Spokane.
May 14 issue: Girls born to Mr. & Mrs. Lester Rolland of Mesa and Mr. & Mrs. Ed Kesler of Council. A boy born to Mr. & Mrs. Walter Draper of Council. Adams County Commissioners approved the appointment by Sheriff Frank Yantis of Helen R. Fisk as Deputy Sheriff “and requests that she take the oath of office.”
May 21 issue: “Parallel parking will go into effect this week end on main street in Council it was reported by members of the Village board. Men are busy working on the project as a cement ledge is being put down on the high side of the street, to enable people to open their car doors without hitting the sidewalk. By having the cars on both sides of the street parked parallel, cars will have more room to pass on main street, and also a new law stating that no vehicle is to back onto a highway, will be obeyed, as Highway 95 runs through Council.”
Susan Roeder and Bert Hoffman were married. Henry Martin, formerly of Council, married Loretta Ann Robinson of Nashville. Girls born to Mr. & Mrs. Bernard Stainbrook of Riggins and Mr. & Mrs. Martin Kaiji of McCall.
Roy and Linda Mink loaned me a couple of Mink family photo albums, and I have scanned over 200 photos from them for the Museum. The ones of the football teams in the 1920s are really interesting. The uniforms had almost unnoticeable shoulder pads, and the leather helmets left the players face wide open. The field looked like a weed patch that was mowed with a hay mower. Weiser had a football team as early as 1906, but Council didn’t organize one until 1922. Their first game was against Payette, and Council lost 10 to 0. The Leader said, "...some of our boys probably had never seen a football game until the present season, let alone playing the game themselves."
Captions for photos:
Football team.jpg – “A mean-looking Council team in the 1920s.”
Fred (Dick) Mink and team captain Joe Hancock.jpg – “ Fred ‘Dick’ Mink (left) and team captain, Joe Hancock. I’m not sure if these two pictures were taken the same year. Fred Mink and Joe’s brother, Leo Hancock, both graduated in 1926.”
Football, 1925.jpg—“A game at Council. Notice the field.”
12-15-05
Last week’s pictures of football boys aroused my curiosity, so I looked in the 1925 Adams County Leader to see who graduated from high school that spring. There were no Minks or Hancocks. The ten graduates were: Mary Graves Hamill, Violet Crystal McMahan, Herbert W. McMahan, Martha L. Knight, Arthur M. Purnel, Edward J. Pettit, Oliver J. Morrison, Carlos L. Weed and Irene V. Purnel.
The same paper mentioned that an airplane passed over Council. This was an event that people talked about for weeks.
Here are more notes from 1954 Adams County Leader newspapers.
May 28, 1954: George Fields died May 25. Mr. & Mrs. H. C. Dopp celebrated their Golden (50th) Wedding Anniversary. They lived at Fruitvale from 1943 to 1953.
Births: Boys born to Mr. & Mrs. Kenneth Mink of Cambridge, Mr. & Mrs. Jesse Main of McCall, Mr. & Mrs. Michael Patoray of New Meadows. Girls born to Mr. & Mrs. Martin Kaija of McCall. (The Kaija birth was reported in last week’s hospital notes also.)
June 4, 1954: Births—boys born to Mr. & Mrs. Boyd Mink of Council and Mr. & Mrs. Bob Westfall of Boise. Lillian Plummer and Kenneth Gardiner were married.
The Forest Service will sell the Council to Cuprum Telephone Line as government surplus, and is taking bids. “The telephone circuits extend from Council Ranger station to Cuprum, Idaho. The lines include two metallic circuits, one No. 9 galvanized iron wire and one No. 12 copperweld wire on poles over the 14 ½ miles from Council Ranger Station to Hornet Ranger Station. Twenty-six and one-half miles of No. 9 G. I. ground return circuit from Hornet Ranger Station to Cuprum. The ground return circuit consists of 9 miles of pole line and 17 ½ miles of tree line. Includes seven government owned telephone instruments that are attached to the line and now in use by permittees.”
A farewell party was given for Rev. & Mrs. Duane Buehler and son who have moved to Washington. Rev. Buehler was the pastor of the Assembly of God church in New Meadows for the past two years.
“Mr. & Mrs. Frank Jensen of Nampa are the parents of a daughter, Vicki Jo, born May 27. Mrs. Jensen is the former Joan Lane, daughter of Mrs. Wayne Plummer.”
Hezekiah Fremont Petty died. He is survived by his wife, Blanche, and five sons (Fremont, Merriman, Francis, and Hezzy) and nine daughters, one of which is Mrs. April Kampeter.
June 11, 1954: A/2c Donna L. Steelman and S/Sgt. Robert Blane Kesner were married in California. Girl born to Mr. & Mrs. William Randles of Council. Elizabeth Anne Forrester and Kenneth D. Wright were married.
June 25, 1954: Afton Logue of Council and Norman White of New Meadows were married. “The date for moving the old Weiser River bridge, east of Cambridge, Highway 95 has been set for next Tuesday, June 29, from 2:00 to 8 P.M. A new bridge will be constructed.” Girls born to Mr. & Mrs. Ralph Murry of Riggins and Mr. & Mrs. John Fry. Boy born to Mr. & Mrs. Gene Camp.
“Residents of Council are reminded that if the fire siren is blown, that all water hydrants must be turned off. Although there is no water shortage at the present time, it will be necessary to have the water turned off about town to increase the pressure, where it is needed.”
July 2, 1954: Marjorie Glenn of Fruitvale and Dick Clay of New Meadows were married. Margaret Crachet of Jennings, Louisiana and Richard Westfall of Council were married. Boys born to Mr. & Mrs. Bob Fogg of McCall, Mr. & Mrs.Gay Lee McLeod of New Meadows and Mr. & Mrs. Lewis White of Riggins. Girl born to Mr. & Mrs. Robert Purcell of New Meadows.
July 9, 1954: “Dewey Lee Moritz and Jack Miller, both of Council, had a narrow escape, Sunday, at McCall, when the boys, riding in Dewey’s car were forced off of the road, and into Payette Lake by an on-coming car. It is reported that the car first rested on a ledge in about 8 feet of water, when the boys escaped from the inside of the car, climbing to the top of the 1950 Chevrolet. After a minute’s rest, the boys struck out for shore, and at about the same time the car moved off of the ledge settling at approximately 140 feet under water.”
Larry Veiths, formerly of Fruitvale, married a Salt Lake City girl. Girls born to Mr. & Mrs. Russell Byers of Indian Valley and Mr. & Mrs. Boyd Moore of New Meadows.
“Sometime during Wednesday night, locks were pried off of two doors at Ken’s Service station in New Meadows, and approximately $140.00 taken from the safe. This is the second time the station has been robbed since the first of the year. The fellow who perpetrated the first crime is doing 15 years in the Idaho State Penitentiary, having been picked up by Adams County Sheriff Frank Yantis.”
The home of Guy and Katie Marble at Fruitvale was destroyed by fire. Neighbors managed to save most of their household articles.
“An accident occurred on the Middle Fork road, near the Gilman place Saturday when a truck and trailer belonging to B.M. Brown and sons of Nampa, loaded with sheep, was making the turn. The trailer tipped over and Herb Woods, traveling in the opposite direction in his pickup, was sideswiped, which caused him to leave the road and turn over, it was reported by Sheriff Frank Yantis. The pickup was demolished and twelve sheep killed. Mr. Woods escaped with only minor injuries.”
12-22-05
Adams County Leader, July 16, 1954: Myrna Joy Harp of Council and Lyle S. Prindle, Jr. of Cascade were married. Lucy Smith, a long time resident of Indian Valley, died. Donald Johnson of New Meadows and Lottie Belle Ouranda of Boise were married.
July 23, 1954 issue: Joyce Green of Council and Raymond Barnett of New Meadows were married. Girls were born to Mr. & Mrs. Richard Leicht of Council and Mr. & Mrs. Leonard Vaile of Council. Mary Farrell of New Meadows and Rodney Hoioos of Lewiston were married.
July 30, 1954 issue: Barbara Swanstrom, daughter of Mr. & Mrs. Carl Swanstrom of Council, and Walter Samulsky of Boise were married at Elko, Nevada. Twin girls were born to Mr. & Mrs. Charles Curtis of Riggins. A boy was born to Mr. & Mrs. Robert Nichol of Donnelly.
August 6, 1954 issue: Bill Anderson of New Meadows died. A girl was born to Mr. & Mrs. Donald Boos of New Meadows. Boys were born to Mr. & Mrs. Glenn Russell of McCall and to Mr. & Mrs. Bert Rogers of Council. Of course Bert Rogers was the editor of the paper at the time. This had to be Gary.
It was easy to tell it was an election year; the inside pages of the Leader were filled with pictures of sober-looking, very conservative men (no women) along with ads outlining their outstanding qualifications.
August 13, 1954 issue: A girl was born to Mr. & Mrs. Lawrence Ford of Cambridge. Lulu Shaffer of Council died. She was the aunt of Mrs. Ernest Wing.
Phoebe Emmerson of Fruitvale died. She married Sam Emmerson in 1917. They lived at Fruitvale for the past 21 years. In addition to her husband, she leaves a son, Lorne Rice, daughter Minnie Rice, three sisters and six brothers. I remember when Sam and Minnie lived on the east side of the north end of Monroe Street at Fruitvale. There is nothing left at that spot now. A shed stood near there until recently.
August 20, 1954 issue: Darrell Paradis and Inez Clelland were married. Mary Norgaard and Fred Roeder were married.
Elva Young died. Her husband, Robert, is the probate judge of Adams County. “Survivors besides her husband include a daughter, Mrs. Troy Perkins of Weiser; two songs, Marion Young of Boise, and Herschell Young of Council; a brother, William Kesler, of Montour, Ore.; three grandchildren and one great grandchild. She was born December 18, 1877 at Salubria. “She was believed to have been the second white child born in Adams county.” These last two statements don’t concur; the old site of Salubria is, and was at the time, in Washington County. Her parents, Alex and Martha Kesler stayed briefly at Indian Valley before coming to Council Valley, and Martha probably went to have Elva at a friend or relative’s house in Salubria.
Lillian Shelton of New Meadows died. “Survivors include her husband [Norval Shelton], a daughter, Mrs. Ruby Warwick of New Meadows; two sons, Delbert Shelton of New Meadows, and Marvin Shelton of Council, one brother, five sisters, twelve grandchildren and two great grandchildren.”
Girls were born to Mr. & Mrs. Frank Clay of New Meadows and to Mr. & Mrs. Howard Lakey of Midvale. Boys were born to Mr. & Mrs. Hollis Burt of Council and to Mr. & Mrs. Delbert Liggett of New Meadows.
Cambridge Furniture Company advertised a going out of business sale. It had been in business in Cambridge for ten years.
August 27, 1954 issue: A girl was born to Mr. & Mrs. Norman Kilborn, August 26.
Big ad inside with a drawing of a man driving a logging truck: “He’s one ‘other driver’ you don’t have to watch out for. It has become more of less of an adage that ‘it isn’t you but the other driver you have to watch out for.’ It’s always in the interest of safety and caution to remember that adage when driving. But - - when you travel southwestern Idaho’s roads…main highways or ‘backroads’…you can relax whenever you happen to meet one of the red or yellow trucks of Boise Payette’s independent logging contractors. And here’s why - - First, the driver of that truck knows his equipment intimately, can handle it expertly under any and all conditions. Second, he knows the road he’s traveling … every turn and dip in it. Third, his truck is the best obtainable, is always in top shape due to minute inspection before each trip. Fourth, he is courteous, gives all drivers he meets every consideration. Fifth, he’s proud of his job because he knows he is important to Idaho’s second largest industry and is contributing to the growth and prosperity of this state. He’s a nice guy and one you’ll like to meet - - especially on Idaho roads. But, as you do, remember your own driving. Drive as he does - - with all your mind and attention on driving and the road … and always observe the common courtesies of the road. Boise Payette Lumber Company. Mills at Emmett, Council and Cascade. General office: Boise.”
12-29-05
I would like to thank Shirley Wing for a very generous end-of-the-year donation to the museum. Thanks Shirley! We appreciate it.
All last week I was researching a book that I’m working on. This one is another railroad book that Don Dopf and I have in the works. It will be about the Idaho Northern Railway that ran to McCall. While reading the old Nampa Leader-Herald newspapers on microfilm, I ran across a few items that were of general interest.
In 1911, automobiles were really becoming popular. Cities like Nampa, Caldwell and Boise were issuing their own permits for cars. I’m not sure if they actually had license “plates” yet; I think they just had a piece of paper that they were supposed to display on the windshield. It was in August of that year that Oregon passed a law making the state in charge of motorized vehicle regulations instead of individual towns.
Meanwhile, in Idaho the phenomenon of motorized traffic was so new that laws and regulations were behind the curve, as illustrated by a 1911 court case in Nampa. A policeman on a bicycle had managed to stop a motorcycle that he thought was speeding. (I would say that’s a pretty good indication of how fast the motorcycle was zipping along if a bicycle could catch it.) The driver was evidently arrested, which seems awfully severe. The Nampa motorcycle club appealed the case on the grounds that the policemen could not tell how fast the motorcycle was going without some kind of speedometer to indicate the speed.
The reason I am reading 1911 Nampa newspapers is that this was the year that the Idaho Northern started construction up the Payette River from Emmett. It had been built from Nampa to Emmett in 1902, but construction had been halted because of a legal dispute over the right-of-way, among other things. An item that really had nothing to do with the Idaho Northern caught my eye. Anyone who reads newspapers from 80 or more years ago will notice how graphic the descriptions of accidents were. Here’s an example from the Nampa Leader-Herald, 8-8-11.
“A Greek laborer who had evidently fallen from the westbound passenger train early Sunday morning between here and Kuna, was literally ground to pieces and parts of his body scattered along the track for a distance of twenty feet or more. The body was discovered by the crew of eastbound No. 18 about 5 O’clock Sunday morning. As far as anyone can tell he was Italian or Greek, about 30 years old. It is thought probable that the fellow fell beneath the wheels from the trucks where he was riding the fast westbound passenger.”
I guess stealing a ride by lying on the braces and or framework underneath railroad cars is a practice that goes back many years. On the same day that the first man’s remains were found, and at about the same time, a young man named Joe Miller narrowly escaped the same fate while illegally hitching a ride the same way between Nampa and Caldwell. “After several hours on the trucks, one of Miller’s legs cramped and in spite of all he could do, it dropped from the rod on which it was resting and was caught between the ties and a rod or break-beam, and the bones snapped off above the ankle. After the broken leg dropped over the ties for some little distance, the lad was able to get it back to its resting place again, and when the train stopped in the yards here, he crawled from the car and made his condition known. He was taken to the city jail and made comfortable until he could be turned over to the care of Deputy County Physician Beller. Miller showed unusual nerve and it is a miracle that he did not lose his life by fainting, falling or being dragged from his place on the trucks when the leg was caught and dragging over the ties.”
Another story from that issue of the Herald-Leader was copied from the Meadows Eagle newspaper. Evidently there had been a previous incident of this kind.
“ANOTHER MEADOWS BEAR STORY—Sheep Herder Worsted In Round With Bear. Meadows Eagle: While sleeping peacefully out in the open, on the banks of Granite Lake last Thursday night, Herman Teglar, a sheepherder in the employ of P. E. Short, was awakened by an uproar in camp and sitting up in bed, was immediately felled by a powerful blow between the eyes, which was followed by a vicious attack by a bear, the cause of all the trouble. Tegler was frightfully clawed and bitten by the enraged animal before his dogs drove it away. His left side was torn to the intestines and there were eleven cuts to the bone on his head, which required eighteen stitches. The camp tender, fortunately coming to camp next day, found the injured man, delirious and with a blanket wound about his torn body wandering down the trail, and hastened with him to McCall. The news of this second attack upon a sheepherder by a bear spread rapidly and the story grew until several men have been killed and many injured, but the above is a true version.”
1911 was the year that Hugh Whitney was on the run after killing a man near the Montana-Idaho border. When the following report was printed, Hugh and his brother, Charlie, had just held up a bank in Cokeville, Wyoming. The date of the robbery is a little eerie to us today: 9-11-1911.
Nampa Leader-Herald, 9-15-11:
“STILL AFTER WHITNEY—BANDIT AND PARNER HELD UP COKEVILLE BANK –Posse Following Him Into Section In Which He Escaped Before.”
“The Pocatello Tribune of Thursday says that Hugh Whitney and his brother were seen Tuesday crossing the toll bridge at Chubb Springs, 30 miles north of Soda Springs, headed south through the country which Hugh traveled in making his escape from the posse which pursued him following the killing of Conductor Kidd. Joe Jones, chief detective of the Short Line; Deputy Sheriff Jim Francis of this city; Sheriff Fisher of Fremont county and Deputy Clem Booneville formed a posse at Idaho Falls to travel east and south along Whitney’s old trail to intercept him and are now in the field.”
“Elmer Bazzert, a sheepman, says the two Whitneys stopped at his ranch eight miles from Cokeville, the morning after the bank robbery and begged smoking tobacco. The same day they stole a feed and a pack horse from the Kinney ranch.”
2006
1-5-06
I ran across more news reports about the Whitney Brothers in the Nampa Herald-Leader. I guess I should remind readers that the Whitneys lived near Cottonwood Creek, south of Council before the notoriety of Hugh and Charley. This was in the 6-25-12 issue of the Herald-Leader:
“Dan Hansen, marshal of Cokeville, Wyo., died at that place Friday as a result of wounds received in a fight Thursday night with the Whitney brothers. Bert Dalton, an accomplice of the desperadoes, is in jail and has confessed his connection with the Whitneys. Peter Olson, a local banker, found a note on his gate post Wednesday night, demanding that $1,500 be left deposited Thursday night at a spot near the Bear river bridge. The note was signed ‘Hugh and Charley Whitney’ and contained a threat to kill Olson and his entire family unless the money was forthcoming. Olson turned the note over to Marshal Hansen, who went to the spot indicated and at once became engaged in a battle with the bandits. He received a bullet in the side at the opening of the fight. His horse was killed by a second bullet. The wounded officer was found by the roadside two hours later by an automobile party and was taken to town. Six armed guards are keeping watch over the jail to prevent the Whitneys from attempting to release their confederate.
In the 6-28-12 issue, it was reported that Bert Dalton was thought to be the killer of Marshal Hansen: “He tried to lay the blame on the Whitney brothers, but the Whitney brothers, by reputation fight in the open and Marshal Hansen was killed from ambush. Tracks left by Dalton showed beyond doubt that he is the murderer.”
”During our investigation we learned that Charles Manning, who has lived in Cokeville since the Whitney brothers became active in that section of Wyoming, is a friend of the Whitneys. He admitted that the Whitney brothers called on him the night before the murder and told him of their scheme to blackhand a resident of Cokeville out of $1.500. Authorities found that Manning had photographs said to have been taken three weeks ago of himself and the two Whitney brothers in an automobile. It was also learned that, on the night before the murder, Manning left with two big six-shooters and double belts of cartridges. When he returned he was without the weapons. It is the general opinion among citizens of Cokeville that Manning furnishes the Whitney brothers ammunition and other supplies and keeps them in touch with the movements of agents of the law. So convinced are the authorities in Cokeville that Dalton murdered Marshal Hansen that they will file charges against him. He is known to be a close associate of the Whitney brothers, but not of the dashing character of the two principal bandits.”
The 10-8-12 issue had an interesting bit about the fact that sheep were being herded to the new Idaho Northern railroad at Montour (between Emmett and Horseshoe Bend) to be shipped by rail to Twin Falls for the winter: “They come from the Council country and are driven from the range to Montour instead of to points on the P&IN road where they were formerly loaded. In driving to point on the ‘PIN’ road sheepman were compelled to go through settle communities where they could not graze on the way. In driving to the new shipping point on the Idaho Northern they can graze all the way, thus making it cheaper and much more convenient.”
You may recall that when Hugh Whitney shot the conductor and sheriff on the train, he was accompanied by a man named Albert Sessler (spelled Sesler on Whitney’s wanted poster). The 10-18-12 Helald-Leader contained the following. Notice how long the first sentence is:
“Nick Carlson, the man brought to Pocatello from Green River last week on suspicion of being the man who held up, shot and robbed President C. A. Valentine of the Farmers & Traders bank of that city on the night of July 4, is in reality Sessler, an ex-brakeman on the Short Line who was one of Hugh Whitney’s companions at the time the latter shot and killed Conductor Billy Kidd on a Short Line train near Spence over a year ago, is the firm belief of Chief of Police, John Ellis, of Pocatello, who brought the suspect back from Green River, put him through the third degree, and yesterday turned him over to Sheriff Cooper for safe keeping until a further investigation can be made.”
“That Carlson, or Sessler, is a bad egg, has been definitely proven by letters found on his person. One of them is a from a man in Jackson Wyo., who addresses Carlson as Steadman, and contains mysterious allusions to ‘clouds gathering in the east and threatening storm.’ Another letter is from Belle Fisher, a notorious courtesan at Kemmerer, relating to some sort of a frameup between the two, which Chief Ellis believes refers to a conspiracy to burn some property in order to get insurance. While in Green River, according to scattered evidence gathered by detectives, Carlson had a large diamond, answer the description of one of the stones taken from Banker Valentine, concealed in the butt of his gun. This information was gleaned from inmates of a house of ill repute who state they saw the gem repeatedly. The officers have the gun, with an aperture in the butt large enough to conceal the diamond, but the stone is gone. While in Green river, Carlson sent a telegram to a young lady stenographer at St. Anthony, instructing her to notify a certain person that there would soon follow a registered letter for him containing matters in connection with ‘H. and C. Whit.’ In writing the message, Carlson ran his pen through the last three letters of the world ‘Whit.’ That the message referred to Hugh and Charley Whitney, the desperadoes, seems certain.”
1-12-06
At the suggestion of the new owner of the Record, I will be featuring my book “Landmarks—A General History of the Council Idaho Area” in this column in serial form. I will be adding notes and relevant commentary, using information that I’ve run across since writing the book. I will include footnotes when they are of interest.
On old Courthouse Hill in Council, Idaho, there are many places where basalt rocks lie half-buried, peeking out of the earth. They have been there for millions of years, watching an incredible story unfold. They have seen many changes since being forced from the depths of the planet and pushed out over hundreds of square miles of the earth's surface as part of a huge, molten mass. Over the eons, these rocks have been covered with water, ice and finally with soil. They have been pushed, pulled, crushed and cracked-baked by the sun for millions of summers, and frozen by as many winters.
For thousands of relatively recent years, these rocks saw a colder climate. Huge patches of snow and ice remained unmelted for centuries at a time and slowly rearranged the surface of the earth. After these "ice ages," the rocks witnessed a proliferation of life around them. In addition to a wide variety of plants, there were large mammals, including mammoths, mastodons, camels, sabertooth cats, ground sloths, horses and bison. And then a new species began to appear: man.
All races of man are immigrants to Idaho, but one has been here a few thousand years longer than the others. It is thought that the first humans wandered across the Bering Strait land bridge from northeast Asia to North America toward the end of the last ice age, about 15,000 to 20,000 years ago.
When it comes to information about these first Americans, one thing needs to be emphasized: archaeological excavations in this part of Idaho are so few, and the evidence from them so sketchy, that it is often difficult to reach firm conclusions. Native Americans in this area kept no written records, and their oral traditions contain more myth than hard fact. With few exceptions, European Americans only began serious study of Idaho's aboriginal culture in the late 1930s. By that time, the oldest living Indians often had little personal memory of their ancestors' ways of living.
So far the archaeological evidence seems to indicate that humans first arrived in what is now Idaho about 14,000 years ago. One site in Southern Idaho contains human artifacts dated at 17,000 years ago, but this chronology is not universally accepted.
During the first era after human arrival here, it appears that this part of Idaho was used lightly by people who mostly passed through it. For a long time the climate for these early Idahoans was cooler and wetter than it is now. Most of their activities centered in the valleys along the Snake, Boise, and other major rivers. Then about 4,000 to 7,000 years ago the annual precipitation began to decrease and the temperatures generally rose. At the peak of this trend, the climate was hotter and drier than it is now, and much of southern Idaho became a desert. Because water was more abundant here in the higher valleys along the upper Weiser River, these areas became more populated. By about 3,000 years ago the climate had stabilized to something like we have today. (Footnote: Because evidence is so sparse and inconclusive, there are several, divergent theories as to the timing and nature or climatic changes in the Northwest in prehistoric times. The broad chronology given here outlines the general framework of most of them.)
The oldest, directly dated, native burial site in western Idaho was discovered at the southern end of the Meadows Valley, on the DeMoss ranch, in 1985. This Indian burial site was dated at about 6,000 years old. The remains of sixty individuals were found here, all within a two square meter area about two meters underground. This site contained evidence that early people here were not just subsistence hunter-gatherers, but had a complex and stable society that had time to perform detailed rituals.
Another archaeological dig, the Hetrick site at Weiser in 1993, showed continuous human habitation beginning 11,000 years ago.
In 1962 an archaeological excavation was conducted where Highway 95 was to be re-routed over Midvale Hill. Evidence found there indicated that early people used this site as a seasonal camping place from about 2,500 B.C. to 2,000 B.C. A quarry was found here where fine-grained basalt was flaked to make stone tools. While basalt is native to the Adams County area, obsidian-the shiny, black stone more commonly associated with early tool making-is not. Any piece of obsidian found in the vicinity of Council had to have been carried here. Much of the obsidian used by early people of this area came from Timber Butte, northeast of present day Emmett, Idaho. This was the closest source of obsidian to the Council area.
In 1972 another archaeological site was discovered when Highway 95 was re-routed down the northern side of Mesa Hill. Just up the hill from where a new bridge was to be built across the Middle Fork of the Weiser River, artifacts very similar to the ones at the Midvale Hill site were found. Again, stone tools were made here from fine-grained basalt. The site appears to have been used as a temporary campground from about 5,000 B.C. to 3,000 B.C.
Remains of pit houses and rock shelters in Hells Canyon indicate that people lived there from about 6,500 years ago until the time non-natives arrived in the early 1800s.
1-19-06
For those of you who didn’t catch it last week, I’m starting a serialization of my “Landmarks” book in this column. I will be adding comments and information within brackets.
By the time the second group of immigrants arrived on this continent--this time traveling west from Europe-two general groups of people had established themselves in what is now Idaho. To an extent, the two native groups were separated by the natural geographic barriers of Hells Canyon, the Seven Devils mountains, and the rugged Salmon River country. To the north of these general boundaries was the "Shahaptian" or "Plateau" culture, which primarily consisted of the Nez Perce tribe. To the south was the Basin culture, composed mostly of the Shoshoni (also spelled Shoshone) tribe. The western edge of Idaho south of the Snake River, and eastern Oregon, was home to the Paiute tribe.
Some anthropologists think the Shoshoni are an offshoot of the Comanche tribe; the two tribes may have had a common language up until sometime between 1700 and 1800. Linguistic evidence suggests that both the Shoshoni and Comanches had ancestors in common with the Aztecs of South America. One theory is that these common ancestors migrated south of Idaho in the very early days of human arrival in America, and then subgroups drifted back here about 1350 A.D. Apparently there were already other people in southern and central Idaho at this time, but the Shoshoni culture quickly dominated. Their culture was more technologically advanced, and brought new knowledge and skills for hunting, fishing, stone tool making, pottery making, and harvesting plants for food. The new advances may have included the bow and arrow, which appeared at about that time. [Before the bow and arrow, the atlatl was a common weapon. The museum has a replica of an atlatl on display. It was made and generously donated to by Jack Wassard.]
In his journal of a wagon trip across Idaho in 1853, Henry Allyn phonetically spelled out the way the Shoshoni pronounced the name of their tribe as "Shaw-shaw-nee." [I’ve often wondered where the spelling “Shoshone” and the pronunciation as “show-shone” (long o, silent e) came from. To me, this first-hand account of the pronunciation of the tribe’s name seems pretty dependable. Even so, “shaw” may have been how Allyn heard what could have been interpreted as more of a long “o” (show) sound. It’s my impression that pronunciations often don’t translate well from one language to another. As in many languages, old-style Indian speech accented at least some vowel sounds that don’t seem to have a direct equivalent in English. It may be that neither “shaw” nor “show” is exactly correct. Try saying “show” with relaxed lips instead of forming a round shape, and you’ll see what I mean. In the same way, the “ee” sound on the end, may have been a non-accented “i” sound (as in “it”) that whites either mispronounced or dropped because it didn’t fit English speech patterns.]
The Shoshoni were often referred to as the "Snake" Indians. Plains Indians were said to have called them the "snakes" because the Shoshoni painted snakes on sticks to frighten enemies. A more likely source of the name is the hand movement the Shoshoni used in "saying" their tribal name with sign language. It involved a wiggling motion reminding one of a snake. This is possibly a linguistic link to the Comanche tribe; the sign language gesture for "Comanche" is the sign for "Indian" followed by the sign for "snake" which involves wiggling the index finger forward in a snake-like motion. The Snake River acquired its name because the "Snake" Indians were the predominant tribe along its course.
The names given to various Shoshoni subgroups can be confusing because they have been called different names by different people. Whites often had trouble pronouncing or translating Indian names, and many times uncaringly came up with distorted versions, or they simply made up their own names for native groups. Many of the tribal names used today are non-native labels bestowed by European Americans.
A common term used to designate the lowliest of American aborigines was "Diggers." The poorest of the Shoshoni who managed to survive in the deserts of southern Idaho were often referred to by this name.
1-26-06
Aside from a standard name meaning "the people" used by most tribes in whatever language they spoke, even the Indians themselves were not consistent, by European cultural standards, in the names they used. Often it depended on where they were and what they were doing at the time. For instance, when northern bands of the Shoshoni were in the mountains hunting mountain sheep, they called themselves "Tukadeka," meaning "Sheepeaters." (The name is sometimes spelled Tukudika, Tukedeka, or Tukudeka.)
In general, the Indians in the northern part of the Shoshoni territory were called "Northern" or "Mountain" Shoshoni. The Mountain Shoshoni group in Idaho most commonly known as the Sheepeaters was made up of scattered groups who ranged across the Seven Devils and Salmon River areas. They survived by constantly moving from one place to another, in small family groups, over a large territory. During the summer they roamed the headwaters of the Weiser, Payette, Boise, and Salmon Rivers. They wintered in lower elevations, such as along the main Salmon and Snake Rivers. Big Bar, in upper Hells Canyon, was a favorite wintering spot.
The Indians who spent a great deal of time in the general Weiser River drainage were sometimes called the "Weiser Shoshoni" or simply as the "Weisers." They were not necessarily a completely separate group from the Sheepeaters, and in some old accounts are referred to as such. The Weisers also traveled during the warmer months in small groups consisting of one or two families. They often gathered with other groups at a common winter camp at (or near) Indian Valley or near the mouth of Crane Creek. These groups or "bands" would also come together at other times of the year to cooperate in building fish weirs or making drive lanes to trap large game animals.
Mountain man Alexander Ross, who spent time among the Shoshoni in Idaho, said that the name Shoshoni in their language meant "inland." He said they seemed to be divided into three main groups: the Shirry-dikas (dog-eaters), the War-are-ree-kas (fish-eaters), and the Ban-at-tees (robbers). His description of the Ban-at-tees seems to indicate the Mountain Shoshoni and/or Sheepeaters.
Ross's opinion of this group was quite negative:
“The Ban-at-tees, or mountain Snakes, live a predatory and wandering life in the recesses of the mountains, and are to be found in small bands or single wigwams among the caverns and rocks. They are looked upon by the real Sho-sho-nes themselves as outlaws, their hand against every man, and every man's hand against them. They generally frequent the northern frontiers and other mountainous parts of the country. In the summer they go almost naked, but during the winter they clothe themselves with the skins of rabbits, wolves and other animals.”
“They are complete masters of what is called the cabalistical language of birds and beasts, and can imitate to the utmost perfection the singing of birds, the howling of wolves, and the neighing of horses, by which means they can approach, by day or by night, all travelers, rifle them, and then fly to their hiding-places among the rocks. They are not numerous, and are on the decline. Bows and arrows are their only weapons of defense.”
[As I’ll mention later, as Ross said, the “real Sho-sho-nes,” - - meaning the more southern, larger groups of tribe - - thought of the Sheepeaters as rather backward. As Max Pavesic said, they thought of the Sheepeaters as we think of “hillbillies.”]
To some extent the Shoshoni shared the northern edges of their territory with the Nez Perce, and the western edges with the Paiutes. The Nez Perce sometimes hunted, fished, and camped in the Seven Devils, Hells Canyon, and the upper reaches of the Weiser and Little Salmon Rivers. There is even evidence of Nez Perce habitation as far south as the mouth of the Weiser River. As a result of frequent contact with the Nez Perce, the Weisers and other Northern Shoshoni adopted a number of elements of the Nez Perce culture and life-style. The interaction between the tribes was generally, but not always, cordial. Legend has it that a two-day-long battle once occurred between the Nez Perce and Shoshoni over who would have free rein in the Meadows Valley. The battle reportedly occurred about a quarter mile north of the present town of New Meadows, and the Shoshoni lost.
[Footnote: Early in the 1800s there was continuous fighting between the Nez Perce and Shoshoni tribes over village sites along the Snake River and along Pine Creek on the Oregon side of the Snake. Seven Nez Perce village sites were totally destroyed, and four others depopulated, as a result of these bloody feuds. These may have included a village or campsite on Wildhorse Creek and one on Indian Creek.]
[My 10-25-01 History Corner detailed more about the conflict between the Nez Perce and the Shoshoni. There are a few good stories of battles between these tribes in a book in the Council library: Yellow Wolf by L.V. McWhorter. McWhorter spent years interviewing Yellow Wolf and other native eye witnesses to the Nez Perce War of 1877. (Washington State University has a substantial collection of McWhorter’s writings and photographs.) This book has priceless insights about the cultural mentality of Indians in general during that time. There is at least one story of a battle between the tribes that occurred between Riggins and New Meadows.]
Relations between the Shoshoni and their Paiute neighbors to the west was generally friendly. The two groups had different (although related) languages, but had very similar tools, sociopolitical organization, religious practices, and general lifestyles. The Paiutes that moved to the east of their traditional territory to live with the buffalo hunting Shoshoni of Idaho and Wyoming became known as "Bannocks."
2-2-06
As with most Native Americans, the life-style of the Mountain Shoshoni can be divided into at least two eras: before the horse, and after the horse. Before the Weiser Indians acquired the horse (probably around 1750) they were a quite different people from the classic, romanticized image we have of "the noble red man." For instance the tipi is a post-horse dwelling. Before the Shoshoni got the horse, and even afterwards in some bands, the most common dwelling was a dome or cone-shaped "wickiup" made with poles covered with grass thatch or even sod. Wickiups made with a roof of pine branches, brush, and bark, were usually constructed in forested areas.
At campsites that became more permanent, wickiups were sometimes built over a depression or a hole dug into the ground that varied from one to four feet deep and ten to twenty feet across. These types of dwellings were more common in southern Idaho where villages were less transitory than those in the northern reaches of the Shoshoni territory. So far there is little, if any, evidence of native villages of a more permanent nature along the Weiser River. [Since writing Landmarks, local people have told me about round depressions left by lodge pits on No Business Creek and Kinney Creek.]
In summer the Shoshoni sometimes erected temporary shelters by placing deer hides or other skins over a frame of willow branches. They also used caves and other natural shelters at times. In the post-horse years the Shoshoni sometimes used tipis made of buffalo hides. Sites have been found on the Payette National Forest where rings of stones remain that were used to hold down the edges of tipis.
The pre-horse style of dress was more simple and plain. It's hard to imagine Indians without fancy beadwork, but before Europeans introduced glass beads, woven cloth, and metal to Native Americans, the Weisers used only porcupine quills, bones, teeth, seashells (acquired through trade), and other natural materials to decorate themselves.
Another item that has become synonymous with Native Americans is the bow and arrow. But it was only about 1,000 years ago that native Idahoans acquired this weapon. Until that time, the atlatl was the only mechanical means they had of throwing a projectile. The projectile was a dart resembling a long, heavy arrow or very light spear. Most of the so-called "arrow heads" that we find today are actually points made for atlatl darts. Arrow points were generally smaller, and are sometimes misnamed "bird points." Shoshoni bows made of wood and laminated with mountain sheep horn were highly prized among Indians all over the West. [The only example I’ve seen of such a bow was at the Museum in Teton National Park. This is an outstanding museum; see it if you can. The bow was surprisingly short- -maybe about 3 feet long or less, if I remember right.]
Before the horse, the Shoshoni subsisted by hunting primarily small game and making optimum use of well over 100 species of plants. According to Alexander Ross, even after they had horses the Shoshoni would eat about anything-including snakes, mice, lice and grasshoppers. [One has to understand how desperate Indians sometimes got for food during certain times- - especially in late winter / early spring.]
They sometimes used poison tipped arrows, had snowshoes, and used dogs for hunting and as pack animals. [When Max Pavesic was giving a talk at Cambridge, I asked him whether the Shoshoni ate dogs, as many other tribes did. He gave me a definite “no.” Later I read a first-hand account of some mountain men who traveled across southern Idaho in the early 1800s; at pretty much every Shoshoni village where they were guests, a dog was killed and cooked for dinner.]
Shoshoni winter camps were generally at low elevations to avoid snow and cold temperatures. They needed to be near a source of water and firewood. Food was stored under the sandy floors of their pit houses, hung in caves or trees, or buried nearby. Dried plants were often hung inside the wickiup. Winter provisions usually included dried fish and other meat, pemmican, berries, and roots. The horse somewhat altered the places where the Shoshoni wintered because the animals needed grass to eat. They never cut grass for their horses, but depended on the grass growing at the wintering site. If the winter was severe, and a suitable campsite was not found, horses sometimes starved.
2-9-06
First a correction. In my 9-22-05 column, I quoted the Leader’s 3-20-53 death notice for Luela Keska, which said she had married Frank Keska in 1921. Louise A. (Mrs. Harold R.) Ball, who now lives in Wallowa, Oregon, wrote to say that “Luella” and Frank were married in 1912 at Pollock. I’m guessing “1921” was a typo with the 2 and the 1 reversed.
You Meadows Valley people will recognize some of the names Louise mentioned: “My mother was Grace (or Myrtle) Madelen Greene who married James C. Madison April 9, 1922. Her mother was Mary Louise Wedding who had married Allen Greene. He was killed, and Mary Louise Greene (born June 1876) married Frank Keska (b.1869- d.1944) at Pollock, Idaho in 1912. They had 2 children. Eugene Frank Keska (b. Jan 4, 1914—d. 1967). Beatrice Keska Hancock, b. May 23, 1916 at Meadows, Idaho.” Louise’s grandmother, Mary Louise Wedding Greene, died of typhoid fever in April 1927 when Louise was two months old.
“My father, James C. Madison, was said to be the first white child to be born in Meadows Valley. He was born Dec. 13, 1884 and died Sept 1952. His father was Christopher Madison who was born in 1841 in Burlington, Iowa. He came out West as a cattle drover. He settled in the poorest and most rocky and hilly land. He was not a farmer. His mother was Julia Ann Evans. She was born October 12, 1856. She was 15 years younger than he was. She had married 2 times before she married him. Christopher died of a ruptured appendix on Oct. 22, 1896.”
Louise is the sister of Lowell J. Madison (who lives at Meadows), Leslie B. Madison and Gaylen M. Madison.
Now back to Landmarks.
Winter was always a challenge to native survival, depending to a great extent on whether they had stored, or could find, enough food. One of the first life-saving foods that could be harvested when spring arrived was the root and leaves of the Arrowleaf Balsamroot, sometimes informally known as "sunflowers." The first run of Salmon was also a vital, early-season food source. The Weiser River was a major salmon spawning stream, with several species running up the river at different times over the summer. The Shoshoni would gather at various locations along the Weiser to harvest the fish. They most often speared salmon, but also used weirs made from willows or nets woven from sagebrush bark.
Two other staples of the Weiser Indian's diet were chokecherries and serviceberries. Chokecherries were pounded to crush the seeds, and the juice was squeezed out. The remaining pulp was dried and stored. Serviceberries were smashed and formed into cakes. Indians returned to the Council area to pick berries at least through the early 1900s.
Some other common sources of early native nutrition include: 1
Seeds: Crested wheatgrass, Bluebunch wheatgrass, Milkweed, Evening Primrose, Goldenrod, Cattail (rush), and common sage (when other foods were scarce).
Roots: Cattail, Camas, Cous biscuitroot, and Bitterroot
Greens: Tapertip Onion, Goosefoot (Lambs Quarter), Mint (boiled for tea)
Berries: Hawthorn, Currant, and Rose
One less common food source was the thin, inner cambium layer of bark from pine trees.
In the mid 1700s the Shoshoni acquired horses, most likely from their Comanche cousins to the south. The Nez Perce acquired their first horses from the Shoshoni. After the Shoshoni acquired horses they were able to travel much farther, hunt big game animals more often, and meet socially in larger groups. Contact and trade with more distant tribes became more common. This contact brought social changes similar to those adopted by many other western tribes; the Shoshoni embraced many of the elements of Plains Indian lifestyle, including living in hide tipis, wearing more stylish clothing such as feathered headdresses and war decorations, and practicing certain dances of Plains origins. [The Plains Indians were apparently the coolest dudes around, as many tribes seem to have been copied their style. It is a little difficult sometimes, in looking at photographs of Indians of the western U.S. from the late 1800s, to detect original style elements of their tribe because they have so many Plains influences mixed in, or completely substituted for the original, traditional style.]
In general, between the coming of the horse and the arrival of the white man they enjoyed a period of greater prosperity than they had ever known.
The more conservative, isolated Sheepeater groups who lived farther back in the mountains did not adopt many of the new ways. Because of the harsh terrain, they didn't even make as much use of the horse. Although they spoke the same language as other Shoshoni, they retained an older, slower style of speech. Some other Shoshoni groups thought of the Sheepeaters as being quite backward.
Since the Weiser Indians consisted of small, somewhat isolated bands, they may not have adopted as many of the changes as some of the larger groups of Shoshoni. Regardless, the horse did bring them more frequent visits from other native groups, especially from their Nez Perce neighbors to the north.
2-16-06
By 1800, ships had explored the northwest coast of the American continent, but non-natives knew nothing of the areas inland. After the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, Spain, Russia, Great Britain, and the United States claimed this region. In 1804 President Thomas Jefferson sent Lewis and Clark to explore the headwaters of the Missouri River and the area between there and the west coast.
The first Euro-Americans to pass through what is now Idaho were members of the Lewis and Clark expedition on their way west in 1805. On their return journey from the west coast in 1806, a party was sent to the Salmon River from the expedition's camp near present-day Kamiah to gather fish. The party did not go far toward the Seven Devils beyond the confluence of the Snake and Salmon Rivers, but mentioned that both rivers appeared "to enter a high and mountainous country."
Lewis and Clark asked some of their Indian guides to draw a map for them, showing the principal rivers of the area. When the Indians obliged, their drawing showed a great river flowing across Southern Idaho and swinging north to near where the expedition was camped. Lewis and Clark called this body of water "Lewis's River," but it later became known as the "Snake River" because of the dominance of the "Snake" Indians along its course in southern Idaho.
The Indians may have mentioned the Weiser River at this time, but the actual naming of the river came later. After Lewis and Clark returned east, Peter Weiser, a member of the original expedition, returned west with fur trappers working for Manuel Lisa. A map of their travels was forwarded to William Clark who was preparing a map of the Northwest. When his map was published, it showed a tributary of the upper Snake (where Lisa's men had been trapping and exploring) as "Wisers River." Clark had originally planned to call the Weiser River the "Nemo," but the name Weiser prevailed. Weiser is pronounced locally as "Wee-zur." There was some confusion later as to the origin of the name when a well-known trapper named Jack Weiser became one of the first white men to trap in the Weiser River area.
The first non-natives to start exploiting the Pacific Northwest were fur traders who followed close on the heels of Lewis and Clark. Beginning in 1807 the region was the stage for stiff competition between the British Hudson's Bay Company and the Canadian Northwest Company. At the time there was no clear boundary between British and U.S. claims, and both countries wanted the region.
Fur companies sent representatives around Cape Horn by ship to the mouth of the Columbia River. From here trapping expeditions probed eastward as far as Montana. Between 1808 and 1812 they established several "forts" within the Columbia River drainage. These were not much more than cabins where they wintered and traded with Indians.
The first whites to leave a written account of exploring close to the Council vicinity came west with an expedition sent by John Jacob Astor. Astor expanded his fur company interests to the northwest coast in the spring of 1811 by establishing Fort Astoria near the mouth of the Columbia River. It was known that the Columbia was somewhat navigable, and if Astor could find a land route between the headwaters of the Missouri River and the Columbia he would be several jumps ahead of everyone else in exploiting the new territory.
Astor hired Wilson Price Hunt to locate such a route. Hunt's expedition traveled west across the continent to reach what is now Idaho. After reaching the Henry's Fork of the Snake River in October 1811, they made dugout canoes from cottonwood trees, and proceeded in these crude boats down the river. By the time the Hunt expedition reached a spot near the present site of the town of Burley, they were thoroughly defeated by the river. They found they could no longer ride out the rapids, and often could not climb out of the canyon to go around them. The party consisted of 65 people, including Marie Dorion - - a seven-months-pregnant Indian woman and her two children, ages two and four. The group had lost much of their gear and was virtually without food. They decided to split into five groups. Three main groups continued north and west, each trying a different route.
The group led by Hunt cut north to near present-day Boise, then on to where the town of Weiser would later be established. From there they proceeded up the Weiser River, then up Mann Creek to its head, and back to the Snake. As they continued down the Snake River toward Hells Canyon on the 6th of December, Hunt's party rejoined one of the other groups from the original expedition. Here, Hunt was informed that the west side of Hells Canyon was impassable, but that the remaining party under Donald McKenzie had continued north on the east side of the river. All three divisions of the expedition had seen no game, and were on the brink of starvation.
It seems strange that the Hunt expedition saw no game animals along the Snake River as they approached the Hells Canyon area in December and January. Today that area is the wintering ground for great herds of deer and elk.
Hunt decided to try a route north through the Weiser River valleys to reach the Columbia River. This route made sense considering Idaho geography. These valleys are the least mountainous way to reach the Salmon River drainage from southern Idaho. However, the Shoshoni that Hunt met along the Weiser convinced him that the snow was too deep in this direction.
Hunt then tried to get the Indians to guide him over an alternate route toward the west. These natives must have thought Hunt was out of his mind to be trying such a journey in the dead of winter. They wanted no part of it.
2-23-06
Carole Gallant sent me an obituary for a lady named Marjorie Herron Lane who died in December of 2005. It said her parents, James and Stella Herron lived at Goodrich, beginning in 1913, and ran a store and shoe repair shop. Does anyone know anything about this store and shop? Gary and Fred Gallant’s grandparents, Abraham and Anna Schmid operated the post office and store at Goodrich from about 1918 through about 1941. Carole wondered who owned the store before the Schmids. I don’t know, but it looks likely that it was the Herrons.
The Herrons later operated a rooming house in Council. The first mention I find of the Herron’s establishment in town was in the Aug 21, 1925 issue of the Adams County Leader when a fire burned their house, along with several other buildings in that part of town near the Pomona Hotel (intersection of Main and Moser). The Herron rooming house (which apparently was also their home) seems to have been located about where the Council Telephone building is now, northeast of that intersection. They reopened another rooming house “near the depot” almost immediately. In 1928 they may have been associated with the Pomona in some way. 1932 found them in the shoe repair business, “west of the Merit Store,” when they bought Mr. Essy’s shop.
The last mention of the Herrons that I made note of was in 1937 when Col. Bert Simpson leased their property “west of the tracks” to hold auctions every Saturday.
Now back to Landmarks.
After much arm twisting, and several gifts, Hunt was able to convince one of the Shoshoni men to guide his party over the Blue Mountains and on to the Columbia. The route they followed, with slight changes, later became part of the Oregon Trail.
One has to wonder why the snow would have been too deep to the north of the Weiser River drainage, but not over the Blue Mountains. By modern highway, the highest point between the Weiser and Salmon Rivers is between Price Valley and New Meadows, and is not significantly higher in elevation than Council. From there, a trip down the Little and main Salmon Rivers would have been hampered by relatively little snow. It may well be that the trail north followed ridges though mountains high above the Salmon Rivers. Later, non-native routes did just that. Two examples are the Boise - Lewiston Trail through the Seven Devils, and the mail route between southern and northern Idaho in the late 1870s.
[Footnote: Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman, July 7, 1877, commenting on the mail route between Boise and the Mount Idaho (Grangeville) area: "From the point where the Little Salmon trail leaves the mail route to the Main Salmon river at the mouth of the Little Salmon, the distance is 50 miles. Between the last named points the route is difficult, passing over a high and rugged mountain to avoid the deep canyons on the Little Salmon River."]
[The subject of the “Old Boise” or “Boise-Lewiston” trail has been researched lately, and may not have been more hype than reality. More on that later.]
Although it would seem insane to travel over any kind of wild country in winter, this was the primary season of activity for trappers. Winter and early spring was when the beaver's fur was in prime condition. But one has to wonder why Hunt would make an exploratory journey in winter.
Donald McKenzie, who led the group from Hunt's expedition north along the east side of the Snake River, was a rugged Scotsman from Canada. Weighing over 300 pounds, this redheaded giant had tremendous physical strength and endurance. He was so energetic that he earned the nickname "Perpetual Motion." He was very experienced in the fur business, and had a natural ability to lead men. Because of this, he had been an extremely valuable asset to the Northwest Company, and was retained by the Hudson's Bay Company when it bought out the Northwest Company in 1821. McKenzie later became governor of the Territory of Manitoba, Canada.
On the agonizing journey toward the north, McKenzie's group of ten men had no horses or food. As they struggled along the snowless breaks of the Snake River they took a route high up along the ridge tops. Although they could often see the river far below them, they suffered terribly from thirst. Try as they might, they could find no game to shoot. Desperately hungry, the men dug through their packs, finding and eating any source of nourishment--including an old beaver hide.
Finally, probably near the Seven Devils Mountains, the weakened and exhausted group was caught in a snowstorm. Their situation seemed utterly hopeless. Finding a sheltered place, they lay down and tried to resign themselves to certain death. It was then that one of the men looked out through the swirling blizzard and beheld a sight that must have made him think he was hallucinating. Up the hill from them was a bighorn sheep! The animal was humped up under a rocky overhang, seeking shelter from the storm just as they were. It must have taken almost all the strength one of the men had left to climb to a spot where he could get a shot at the sheep. Fortunately he managed to drop the animal where it stood; had the sheep been able to run any distance in that steep country, the men may well have been too weak to follow it. It's hard to imagine the elation these men must have felt. Their lives were saved. No one knows just where this fortuitous event occurred; it would be interesting to know the spot. No doubt the men of the McKenzie party would have thought it appropriate to erect a monument there.
After a difficult journey that totaled 21 days, the McKenzie group reached the confluence of the Salmon and Snake Rivers. Historians have speculated the course taken by these men to reach this point, and to make a long story short, nobody really knows. They likely followed what would become known as the Boise - Lewiston Trail part of the way, but it is doubtful that they traveled through the most rugged part of the Seven Devils. They probably cut to the northeast, and may have traveled through some part of the Rapid River drainage. They may even have gone father to the east through Price Valley and hit the Little Salmon before the main Salmon River. At any rate, on the Salmon River they encountered Nez Perce Indians who took care of them and helped them continue down the Salmon, Snake, and Columbia Rivers. They arrived at Fort Astoria in February, about a month ahead of Hunt.
3-2-06
Apparently following Hunt's descriptions of the territory, Robert Stewart of the Pacific Fur Company explored what is now central Idaho the next year (1812). He reported that "Wiser's River" was "well stocked with wood and water."
In 1813 John Reid, a former member of McKenzie's group from the Hunt expedition, returned to the mouth of the Boise River to establish a trapping camp. With him was the Indian woman, Marie Dorion, her husband, and two of her children. Everyone in this expedition, except for Marie Dorion and her children, was killed by Bannock Indians early the following spring.
In 1818, boundaries were agreed upon by most of the nations claiming the Northwest. Great Britain and the U.S. consented to allow citizens of both countries to occupy what is now the northwestern United States--at that time called "Oregon Country." This led to intense competition between the two countries, especially in exploiting its fur resources.
Donald McKenzie returned to the mouth of the Boise River with a large group in the fall of 1818 to trap and establish friendly relations with, and between, the Indians of the region. In this party was Jack Weiser, the man after whom some have mistakenly assumed the Weiser River was named. Also in the group was a Canadian named Francois Payette, after whom the town of Payette, the Payette River, and the Payette National Forest are named. Francois Payette trapped and explored this part of Idaho off and on for about 18 years, and was in command of Fort Boise for a time. He is considered by some historians to be one of the most important figures in the early history of southwestern Idaho.
Donald McKenzie led three trapping expeditions into Idaho between 1818 and 1821. Initially he found a great deal of intertribal conflict, with the Shoshoni fighting the Nez Perce and other Shahaptian-speaking groups. There was also a constant problem with vicious Blackfoot war parties raiding deep into Idaho from Montana. After a number of council meetings McKenzie was able to bring relative peace-at least between the Idaho tribes. During these negotiations, the other groups of Shoshoni denounced the Mountain Shoshoni as a cause of "constant friction" with the Nez Perce. They were told that if they did not abide by the terms of the new treaty and "live like the other Snake tribes they would be punished with death."
In the eastern states it had been the practice of whites to induce Indians to do the actual work of trapping in exchange for trade goods. In the West, Indian men generally spurned trapping as women's work. However, by the time McKenzie left the area in 1821 many of the Shoshoni men had begun to trap.
During McKenzie's later escapades in the Idaho area, he wanted to see for himself whether the Hells Canyon route was practical for travel. About 1819 he and a party of men pulled a barge up the Snake River, starting from the mouth of the Clearwater River. After almost two months of superhuman effort they actually made it through. It obviously was not worth the trouble. Nearly 50 years passed before anyone was foolhardy enough to bring another boat onto this stretch of the Snake River.
One of the first recorded explorations of the Weiser River drainage is that of a trapping excursion led by Alexander Ross in 1824. By 1826 American trappers had penetrated deep into the Weiser River country as far as Payette Lake.
Working for the Hudson's Bay Company, Peter Skene Ogden led a group of trappers into the Weiser River country in September of 1827. His party started upstream from the mouth of the river, but stopped after about twenty miles when their progress became hindered by a narrow canyon with steep rock bluffs on either side. The next day they backtracked and traveled up Monroe Creek to a point near its headwaters, then northeast to the Weiser River. That night they camped near the present location of Midvale.
Ogden had hoped for good beaver trapping along the Weiser, but soon found that a group of forty American trappers had beaten them to the area. Ogden resented finding Americans intruding on what he considered British territory. He almost moved on without setting any traps, but decided to try to deprive the Americans of any pelts that he could by taking every beaver possible. Ogden's group soon concluded the Americans had already eliminated the majority of the animals.
This conclusion is interesting, as Ogden's journal reveals how abundant beaver must have been here. On their first day on the Weiser they caught seventeen beaver. On the second day they caught thirteen, and after reaching the area where the Americans were camped, "only" nine. Evidently this was dismal trapping. Ogden said the Americans complained "of the scarcity of beaver in all directions, and are equally at a loss with myself where to find any. . . ." The expedition continued north to the Little Weiser River, and camped about five miles up this tributary. The location of this camp was in Indian Valley near the place where Alexander Ross had camped in August of 1824. They caught eight beaver that day. From here Ogden went south to Crane Creek, then east to the Payette River.
The Weiser River continued to be heavily trapped at least through 1831
when a group led by John Work scoured the Weiser and Payette River country thoroughly.
3-9-06 missing
3-16-06
After Wilson Price Hunt’s 1811 journey, the next major party to venture near the Council area was led by Captain Benjamin Bonneville. In 1832 Bonneville took a leave of absence from the U.S. Army to lead an exploratory expedition through the Northwest. Since claim to much of this territory was still in contention between the United States and England it was suspected that Bonneville might have been "spying" on behalf the United States. U.S. officials denied this assertion, and no one has ever determined a clear reason for his expedition.
By this time, more outposts had been established in the vicinity of the Columbia River. After spending some time at a base camp in southern Idaho, Bonneville set out for Fort Walla Walla. Apparently Bonneville, like Wilson Price Hunt, was either undaunted by a journey of several hundred miles in the dead of winter, or else he was not aware of the rigors of the terrain and climate. He began this journey on Christmas day of 1833 with only three men, cutting across the Snake River plain of southern Idaho. Upon reaching the Blue Mountains, they encountered too much snow to continue west. As they had already traveled part of the way on the frozen surface of the Snake River, a decision was made to return to the Snake and continue in this fashion down the river through Hells Canyon. To their disappointment, the weather warmed and the water became relatively free of ice except for narrow ribbons along the banks and occasional ice "bridges" that spanned the river. In spite of this they went on, mostly using the ground along the shore when it was not too steep to do so.
Imagine what it must have been like for these men when they tested the ice. Picture yourself hundreds of miles from even the most crude outpost of civilization, in the dead of winter, on the back of a bug-eyed, snorting horse as he edges across the rumbling, settling ice, while untold millions of gallons of water plunge mere inches below you through the deepest canyon in North America. What must the nerves of these men endured on that last stretch of creaking ice before they admitted that it was just too foolish to continue?
Where the ice was too thin, and rocky cliffs plunged straight down to the water, the party sometimes climbed far up the side of the canyon. At one point, two of their horses plummeted into the river. One of these animals was rescued, but the other was swept away by rushing water. It is thought that Bonneville's group made it about as far north as the mouth of Thirty-two Point Creek (just across the Snake from Sawpit Creek and Sheep Rock) before the sheer rock walls on either side made it impossible to continue down the river bank, and travel on the ice became too foolhardy.
The party then tried to climb over the mountains on the west side of the river, but after making it almost to the summit they could find no way through this incredibly rugged country. Their only alternative was to go back down the way they had come, but this proved even more difficult than the climb up had been. After an exhausting ordeal using rappelling ropes, they were able to get both themselves and their horses safely back to the river.
At this point they considered killing their horses, drying the meat for food, and using the hides to make boats in which to continue down the Snake. Had he done this it certainly would have been the last mistake Bonneville ever made. Fortunately they decided to try again to climb over the mountains to the west.
The party back-tracked about four miles up river where they found a more passable, though still difficult, route over the summit, and succeeded in reaching the Imnaha River. At the Imnaha the starved and exhausted group found some Nez Perce Indians who fed and cared for them, and eventually guided them to Fort Walla Walla.
The Nez Perce had always been friendly to whites. Captain Bonneville, as well as Lewis and Clark, noted that the Nez Perce were among the most friendly Indians they encountered in the West. This tribe continued to befriend the white man up until about 45 years later when their kindness and friendship were rewarded with imprisonment on a reservation.
Accounts written by Washington Irving of the hardships of the Bonneville and Wilson Price Hunt expeditions in the Hells Canyon area were widely read. As a result, the canyon, and the Wallowa and Seven Devils mountains on either side of it, were avoided and remained relatively unexplored by whites for many years.
I would like to thank Orville Harp for a donation to the museum, and for a nice card with a photo of one of his irises that he raises at Gridley, California.
3-23-06
About 1840 the fur trade started to decline because of lower demand for beaver pelts in the East. As the white trappers faded from the scene along the Weiser River, the Indians went back to their old, undisturbed life-style. However, storm clouds were brewing on the eastern horizon.
In 1840 a branch of the Oregon Trail was established over the Blue Mountains, and by 1843 there was a flood of immigrants coming through the present-day Boise area on their way to western Oregon. One of the wagons that came through on this route in the 1840s was that of the Allen family. Traveling with them on their way to the present site of Portland, Oregon was their young son, Levi Allen, who would later play a key role in the history of the Seven Devils and the valleys along the Weiser River.
In 1846 the United States acquired what is now the Northwestern U.S. in a division of territory with the British, and even more settlers came through on their way to Oregon. Oregon Territory was created in 1848, and included what is now Washington. In 1853 Washington Territory was created; it included what is now Washington, northern Idaho, and western Montana. This Territory was expanded in 1859 to include what is now all of Idaho and Wyoming. Washington received its current boundaries when Idaho Territory was created in 1863.
During the 1840s the Weiser Indians were not directly influenced by the hordes of people, wagons and livestock coming west on the Oregon Trail, but their cousins in southern Idaho found the campsites they had carefully used for untold generations destroyed. The camps and streams were filthy from the immigrant's domestic animals, and the surrounding areas were bare of grass and stripped of fuel for fires. The Indians of the arid Snake River plain, who already had to struggle for subsistence "had to watch their food sources destroyed by whites ignorant of Indian culture and blind to the delicate balance of the area's natural resources." Deprived of their usual sources of life, the Shoshoni and Paiutes resorted to preying on wagon trains - - stealing horses and killing livestock. Whites retaliated, and the situation quickly escalated into full-scale war.
In 1854 Fort Boise was abandoned because of this serious "Indian uprising." For a number of years native Idahoans along the Snake River massacred whites at every opportunity. Aside from futile efforts by military authorities, most of what is now Southern and Central Idaho was practically "given back to the Indians." Some expected the vicinity would remain unsettled for another 50 years except as a stopping point for travelers who dared to pass through on the Oregon Trail under heavy military protection.
It is hard to pinpoint an exact starting point for the settlement of Idaho by Euro-Americans, but probably the most influential domino to fall in the series of events occurred near California's Sacramento River in 1848. James Marshall was cleaning out the ditch down stream from the water wheel at John Sutter's sawmill when an unusual looking rock caught his eye. When he picked up that rock, which turned out to be a gold nugget, it was as if he sparked an explosion that shook the entire world.
One of the major motivations in the European "discovery" and conquest of America was the lust for gold. Columbus and those who followed him, including the first white people to exploit Idaho, were motivated to a large extent by the possibility of finding untapped sources of this precious purveyor of wealth and power. Beginning the year after the discovery of gold at Sutter's mill, a tidal wave of humanity that was almost unprecedented in human history surged to California in a mad rush to strike it rich. This flood of tens of thousands of gold seekers soon splashed some of its overflow into the Northwest.
In 1852 E.D. Pierce, a "forty-niner" and trader in California, came up the Columbia River to the Clearwater River in Idaho. He soon suspected that there was gold in the area. During the next eight years there were a number of gold rushes to various areas in the Northwest, but resistance to any invasion of whites by the Nez Perce Indians prevented mineral exploration in the Clearwater and Salmon River areas. A treaty had been made between the United States and the Nez Perce to keep non-natives out of their homeland. Pierce, however, was determined to exploit the area, and worked incessantly toward that end.
Wrapped in a self-righteous mantel of "Manifest Destiny," Pierce smuggled prospecting equipment into Nez Perce territory on the North Fork of the Clearwater in 1860. He did indeed find gold, and began to energetically promote the area. Word spread all over the west that a fantastic new gold region had been located.
Although he risked starting a war with the Nez Perce, the unscrupulous Pierce invited prospectors to sneak into the area, and even guided them to the most promising locations. By May of 1861 nearly 1000 prospectors had invaded the Clearwater region to seek their fortunes, and many more were hot on their heels. Several small towns sprang up, including Pierce, Elk City, and Oro Fino. By the end of the summer the non-native population of the area that would become Idaho had gone from almost zero to over seven thousand, all located in the vicinity of the Clearwater River.
[Pierce’s illegal actions would be repeated many times in the West. Indians were relegated to what whites considered worthless land and agreements to that effect were solemnly made, only to be violated later when anything of value was found there. Criminals like Pierce, whose crimes were committed against people that the dominant society devalued, have often received honored status in history. I’m not sure if Pierce has been honored with other namesakes, but there is at least one Idaho town named after him.]
That same year (1861) gold was discovered just to the south, and the boomtown of Florence was established. The gold along the Clearwater had been fairly evenly distributed in the ground with few, if any, rich veins. But around Florence the deposits were close to the surface and more concentrated. Here a man could become fabulously wealthy over night. The result was an even more intense rush of gold-seekers to the region.
Faced with such an overwhelming deluge, the Nez Perce gritted their teeth and bitterly did what they could to resign themselves to their fate -- at least for the time being.
3-30-06
I got a call from a Joyce Mustell asking if I had any information about her father and her birthplace. She was born in a cabin at a gold mining operation in 1935, somewhere in the vicinity of Bear. My first guess was that it might have been at Placer basin, since there was a resurgence of mining activity there in the ‘30s. But there was also gold mining going on in a couple other places during that time as well—at the Maid of Erin near Black Lake and on North Hornet Creek. Joyce said the cabin had a window over the kitchen sink that was the windshield from an old car. If that rings a bell for any of you readers, please let me know. Her father’s name was Robert Hull; her mother’s name was Alma. If anyone remembers them, I’m sure Joyce would love to hear about it. The Hull family apparently only lived in this area about 9 months. (This is apparently a different Robert Hull than the one who was looking for Bob Keyes a few years ago.)
Now back to Landmarks.
Shortly after it was established in 1860, the Oregon Steam Navigation Company was growing rich by dominating transportation up the Columbia River to the Idaho gold fields. In the spring of 1862 the company made a decision that would play a crucial role in the settlement of the Weiser River Valleys by hiring Levi Allen, a 23-year-old Portland man, to explore the Snake River Canyon south of Lewiston. In spite of the experiences of earlier explorers, they were still eagerly hoping that commercial traffic could make it through Hells Canyon to southern Idaho.
Allen's group of 13 men, calling themselves the "Stubadore Company," started up the Columbia River from Walla Walla on March 12, 1862. They pulled their boat, loaded with 6 tons of supplies, to Lewiston, which at that time was nothing but a city of tents pitched in the springtime mud. Except for the boomtowns along the Clearwater River, much of Idaho was unexplored by non-natives.
Allen's expedition continued up the Snake River and through the northern part of Hells Canyon, but soon discovered the obvious fact that a navigable water route through the canyon was nothing but a pipe dream. They returned to Pittsburgh Landing where they established a base camp.
Abandoning the original plan, the group explored the general area. With horses rented from Indians who were also camping at Pittsburgh Landing, Allen and six others of the party journeyed south through the mountains along the east side of the Snake, arriving at the north part of the Seven Devils after four days. Finding deep snow there, they continued on foot, starting out at 3:00 AM in order to travel on the frozen snow crust. Carrying about 100 pounds each, they were able to struggle only about 6 miles each day. [How crazy would you have to be to do this anywhere, never mind hundreds of miles from civilization?]
After finding Meadows Valley and the Little Salmon River, they climbed over into the Payette River drainage and followed this river south as far as Horseshoe Bend. Here they decided they had gone far enough.
Allen and his men had gold pans with them, and were constantly looking for the yellow metal. They would have been stunned had they known how close they came to becoming fabulously rich. Just two months later, and only about 16 miles from where they gave up their southward exploration, one of the richest gold strikes in the West would be discovered in the Boise Basin.
From Horseshoe Bend the group tried a shortcut back to the Snake River. When they arrived at Hells Canyon they could not find a way down to the river, so they began to backtrack toward the Little Salmon. Allen said:
“One night we camped in the Seven Devils close to the summit on the Snake River side. The next morning we could look down the mountain and see the Peacock mine, a copper property. We all went down the hill and looked it over. I told the boys we would take it up, but they all said they didn't want anything to do with it as it was too far from transportation. So I told them to help me, I would stake it.”
How prophetic this concern about transportation was. From beginning to end, Seven Devils mining efforts would struggle under this crippling handicap.
Another omen of the unpredictability of these mountains was the fact that Allen's party found the Peacock outcropping in early July, and celebrated Independence Day in the midst of a storm that dropped six inches of snow on them.
4-6-06
Near present-day Cambridge, three wagons from Goodale's wagon train split from the party and headed north for the mines at Florence. The fate of these wagons, and the story of the eight young men who accompanied them, has become a local legend.
That same year, whites started using a trail up the Payette River, which went through Long Valley, past Payette Lakes, and on to Warren and Florence. These eight men either didn't know about this route up the Payette, or it had not yet been established. One has to remember that, at this time, Boise was not yet a town, and the vast area between there and Florence was totally uninhabited except by Indians. Other than the earlier fur trappers and very few prospectors it was virtually unexplored by non-natives. These men may have been the first to attempt to reach Florence from the south instead of via Lewiston; they certainly were the first to attempt it with wagons.
The best known of the men on this expedition was Dunham Wright, who was a distant cousin of Abraham Lincoln. Footnote: Two other young men who were along on this expedition were Roll Rogers and John Swisher. Rogers was later (1880) a sheriff in Union County, Oregon at LaGrande. Swishser homesteaded at Richland, Oregon in 1878. This information came from a Record-Courier newspaper (Baker, Oregon) article, from the Sept. 23, 1948 issue, by W.W. Lloyd and Mrs. Edna A. Mehlhorn.
Almost seven decades later, Wright returned to this area to recount his adventures. It was 1929, and Council was holding the first of several community "Pioneer Picnics." Wright, then 87 years old, was the featured speaker at the event. The following is quoted mostly from his oratory to the large crowd, printed in the June 14, 1929 issue of the Adams County Leader. Some punctuation changes have been made, and comments added within brackets: [ ]. Quotes from other writings by Dunham Wright (in which he sometimes wrote in the third person) are included within parentheses: ( ).
Footnote: The speech came from the Adams County Leader, June 14, 1929. Additions within parentheses are taken from a letter written by Wright, in about 1922, to John York of Cambridge, Idaho. Wright sometimes wrote in the third person in this letter. It was published in Indian Valley and Surrounding Hills by Barry and Woods, pp. 5-7
I was here, in these hills and valleys 67 years ago and was doing everything in my power to find a way out of here. . . . It was August 1862 that I passed through this district, and as we drove up this morning I wanted to see some of the old sarvice bushes from which we picked sarvice berries on that former trip. Friends, without those sarvice berries, I would not be with you today.
With seven other men I left the main emigrant train of 60 wagons at Middle valley and started to go to Florence where rich placer diggings were reported. We started with three wagons. The first day we left one wagon and doubled our ox teams on the other two. Then we rolled rocks, cut trees, got down steep mountains by tying trees behind the wagons, and the hill sides were so steep that it seemed the wagons would tip over endwise. [They went up the Little Weiser River drainage.] Then we came to more difficulties and finally to what looked like the jumping off place. [This was near the head of the Little Weiser, overlooking the steep drop off into Long Valley.] There we abandoned the other two wagons and cut up the wood of them to make pack saddles. (One of the men was a carpenter and had some tools with him. Cinches and other straps were made from the canvas tops of the wagons. They camped here for about two weeks.)
We had to make pack animals out of our cattle and that is a mighty hard thing to do. Cattle won't stand for it. But we put our blankets on them and we had one pony that we packed with our small quantity of flour and ammunition. (Everything in readiness we took a long last sorrowful look at our old wagons that we had mutilated, leaving chains, trunks, and all other paraphernalia that could not well go on oxen's backs.)
Finally, when we started with this pack train, we did not proceed far when the pony rolled down the mountainside and landed in a small lake at the bottom. (It took two men half a day to get him back, delaying our trip down the mountain, dark overtaking us long before we were half way down, having to stop and tie our oxen to trees and so dark we had to feel for the tree, took our packs off and got into our blankets, etc. the best we could, tired, hungry and thirsty. I woke next morning almost 15 feet below my blankets.)
When we got the pony out and repacked, we neglected to put on the ammunition, and went away without it. Then we found ourselves in a hostile Indian section without ammunition. The Indian signs were to be seen here - - figures with arrows sticking in them, and we knew what that meant. (The Indian trails had pictures of men made on peeled trees with red paint and an arrow left sticking in them.) We did not take to the Indian trail, but traveled after dark among the lodge pole pine -- tired, hungry, chilled, and anything but comfortable. I was then a boy of 20.
We followed down a stream and came to a valley where there was high grass [Long Valley], and during camp, a yellow jacket swarm attacked our cattle, causing them to go bucking and bawling in every direction and scattering our food and bedding to every quarter of the compass. (It was the greatest stampede the world has ever known for the size of it I think. Eight big steers going bucking, spiking, bawling, tails in the air, tinware rattling like a chaviri, they turned their packs underneath them and tramped our bedding and wearing apparel into strings, and tinware into a cocked hat, the whole thing looked as though it had passed through a terrible cyclone.) We spent three days getting things together, salvaging what food we could find through the high grass and what clothing and quilts we could get that would hold together.
4-13-06
I somehow left out the lead-up to last week’s column, which explained about Goodale’s wagon train from which Dunham Wright and his friends parted. Here it is.
The year 1862 was probably more significant to what was soon to become the territory of Idaho than any other. The previous April, the first threads of tension in the Eastern U.S. had snapped at Fort Sumter. By 1862 the national fabric had torn apart as the Civil War swung into its full, bloody stride. But the war took second billing in Idaho. In this new frontier, it was as if a curtain had opened, spot lights blazed, and trumpets blared. Thousands of fortune seekers dashed onto the pristine, wilderness stage to begin a frenzied performance.
If one month of 1862 were to be singled out as the most pivotal, it would be July. Aside from Levi Allen's discovery of copper in the Seven Devils that month, another rich gold-bearing area was discovered by James Warren at what became known as "Warren's Diggings" or "Warren's Camp" about 23 miles southeast of Florence. The town established here was referred to as "Warrens" for many years, and later simply as "Warren."
[The Warren mining area was a microcosm of frontier sentiments about the Civil War. The Southern miners lived more or less in their own town, named Richmond (after Richmond, Virginia) at the mouth of Slaughter Creek. Union sympathizers stayed about a mile downstream at a settlement they named Washington. Richmond was located on rich placer ground, so it’s site was obliterated as men dug it up, looking for gold. Washington survived and its name was later changed to “Warren’s” after James Warren who discovered the first gold and helped organized the first mining laws there. According to 1870 (five years after the end of the war) census information, of the 234 men living in the Washington (Warren’s) mining district, only 26 were from southern states; 125 were from northern states and 109 were from foreign countries.]
[W.A. Goulder told of the day news arrived that shook the district: “Stephen Waymire . . . came upon the scene, bringing us the sad and startling news that President Lincoln had been assassinated. At first, we thought he was joking, but we were soon convinced that his story, astounding and incredible as it seemed, was only too true. The young man’s eyes were filled with tears and his whole being seemed crushed under his burden of sorrow. No other word was spoken by and any of the company. We silently gathered our tools and we all went mournfully to our cabins. . . . A short repast, with the fewest words possible, was eaten and then all went to town, where we found the only flag in the camp at half-mast with groups of men standing around. . . . The little town had been suddenly changed from a scene of business activity and social gaiety to one of the deepest silence, gloom and sorrow.”]
At almost the same time as the strikes at Warren were found, enormous gold deposits were discovered in the Boise Basin northeast of present-day Boise.
Another major event that fateful month was that Tim Goodale started a wagon trail through the heart of the Weiser Indians' territory. Looking for an Oregon Trail shortcut, Goodale took a train of about 60 wagons from Boise, through the Emmett area, and across the hills to near present-day Cambridge. Here the party was at a loss as to how to proceed for about two weeks. Exploring to the north, the intimidating appearance of the Cuddy and Seven Devils Mountains convinced them it would not be wise to continue in that direction. To the west they ran across John Brownlee's ferry, which he had just built across the Snake River near the mouth of what would become known as Brownlee Creek. [Footnote: According to a Record-Courier newspaper (Baker, Oregon) article by W.W. Lloyd and Mrs. Edna A. Mehlhorn, in the Sept. 23, 1948 issue, "The party had heard from packers who traveled between Umatilla and Boise about Brownlee's ferry and a route beyond it that would take them back to the Oregon Trail at Flagstaff Hill near present-day Baker City."] Brownlee came to the wagon camp and made a deal with the group to ferry the wagons across the Snake without charge if they would build a road to his ferry. This was agreed, and the road was built. It followed a well-marked Indian trail that already existed along this route.
While the wagon train was camped in the Cambridge area, a girl named Martha Jane Robertson died on August 21 and was buried in that vicinity. A monument commemorating this first non-native grave in this part of Idaho now stands beside the Cambridge museum.
Although it was never adopted as a popular route for west-bound wagon trains, Goodale's road between Boise and eastern Oregon quickly became a major route traveled by thousands gold-seekers coming from Oregon to the Boise Basin. This cutoff became known as the "Brownlee Trail."
[There is a Brownlee Creek that flows east into the Payette River about five miles up stream from Horseshoe Bend where the Brownlee Trail came down to that river.]
4-20-06
Wright was nearly overwhelmed by the ordeal. He felt they were hopelessly lost somewhere in the uninhabited vastness of the Rocky Mountains. The men camped at Payette Lakes for three weeks, trying to find a way out. They climbed to the top of the highest mountain they could find in an effort to detect smoke from a friendly campfire, but saw none. They almost froze at night, having nothing but a few blankets to sleep under. They soon had almost nothing to eat but serviceberries. He noted that in this strange country the familiar stars in the sky were the only things he had ever seen before. His gold fever, which had burned hot until that point, left him and never returned.
Wright continued:
Like old Moses leading the children of Israel out of the wilderness, we had to lead out of that wilderness, but while he was forty years at it, we were only three weeks. Finally we were obliged to take the Indian trail down the Salmon. After many difficulties, we saw in the distance what we thought was a band of elk, but what proved to be cattle. When we found they were cattle, we shouted for joy. We had subsisted on a little piece of bacon each morning and those sarvice berries. We were hungry and exhausted, but salvation was at hand.
The young men eventually made it to Florence, but met with the same disappointing failure to strike it rich that most of the other fortune-seekers there had.
A few years later, early residents of Indian Valley found the wagons abandoned by Wright's party. They burned what was left of the wagons to salvage the iron. Iron was a hard-to-acquire material for early settlers because they were far from any place to buy it. A good blacksmith could turn almost any scrap of iron into a useful item.
The settlers who found the wagon remains were puzzled as to who would have taken the wagons to such a remote spot-and why. It remained a mystery for a good many years before Wright's story became known. A local legend even developed that some kind of treasure was buried there, and a number of people dug around the site looking for it.
The location where the deserted wagons were found became known as "Burnt Wagon Basin." The Forest Service erected a small monument at this location in 1963.
Dunham Wright and his companions probably didn't know it, but their problem getting down the east side of the divide into Long Valley was caused by an interesting geologic feature which is characteristic of this part of Idaho. The mountains are generally steeper on the north and west sides and more gently sloping on the south and west sides. This phenomenon was caused by forces associated with plate tectonics. The "hot spot" at the surface of the earth that we know as Yellowstone National Park was once far to the west of its present location. Actually it would be more proper to say that the land over the hot spot was once far to the east of where it is now. As the American continent drifted westward it slowly passed over the hot spot. At a time when the hot spot was under what is now southwest Idaho, tectonic forces somehow caused the landscape for hundreds of miles in all directions to form ripples (mountains) which tilted toward the hot spot. Council Mountain, like many other mountains to the northeast of where the hot spot was when this event occurred, slopes more gently on its west and south sides. Its east side is so steep that it sometimes forms sheer cliffs. This characteristic can be seen on even relatively small hills in the Council area.
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The Adams County Historic Preservation Commission (the group that is working to revitalize the old courthouse) received a letter and five photos from a lady in Santa Ana, California the other day. She found the photos on the ground near a dumpster where she works. The only clues as to the location of the pictures were that on the back of one was written “Council” and “Hornet Creek.” All of the photos were related to the Wilkie family who used to live on Hornet Creek and at Fruitvale before 1912. Two were modern, color shots, and three were old. Two of the old ones show members of the Wilkie family; one shows the Art Wilkie house that stood just south of where the old Hornet Guard Station stood. The last time I checked, the foundation of this house was still there. I have written back to the lady, asking her how she found us. I’ll let you know if I get a reply.
Caption for Art Wilkie house…jpg:
“This one of the photos found near a dumpster in Santa Anna, California. It shows the Art Wilkie house on Hornet Creek. The museum photo of the house is taken from the side facing left in this photo.”
Caption for Photo 82002.jpg— “The Arthur and Lillian Wilkie Home on Hornet Creek about 1908. 1 & 2—Harry and Dora Whiffin 3—dog 4—Bernie _ 5—Adrian 6- Libbie 7—Lillie (Lillian Whiffin Wilkie) holding Audrey 8—Waldo Wilkie.”
4-20 issue column inches = 28 plus 2 photos
4-27-06
I got a response from the lady who sent the Wilkie photos she found by a dumpster in Santa Ana, California: “I was so excited to receive your letter. I am so attached to my old family photos, I could just let the pictures lay around the back and be destroyed. I really appreciate you taking the time to send the letter to let me know you received the photos and especially that you knew all about them. That was great!”
I offered to send her info about the Wilkies via email (which I have now sent). She said, “I would love to receive an email from you on the Wilkie family. Finding the pictures made me feel a little attachment to them. You are right I did not have much to go on, but there were a few clues on the back and I was able to figure out the County and then from there I found you on the Internet. To my advantage, because I work for an attorney service, I do have access to a lot more information on locating people etc. We have a special Skip Trace program to help us locate people and/or entities.”
Now for more from my Landmarks book. This is the section about Packer John’s cabin, which seems appropriate timing considering the current controversy about selling some property there.
It was also in 1862 that a Lewiston man named John Welch (also spelled "Walsh" or "Walsch") developed a business packing mail and supplies to the new mining towns, and acquired the nickname, "Packer John," by which he is better remembered. He established a route from Lewiston to the Boise Basin, following an Indian trail along the Salmon and Little Salmon Rivers. This route later became known as the "Packer John Trail" or the "Shortcut Trail."
Late in the fall of 1862 Welch was heading south with a pack string loaded with supplies. When he reached the head of the Little Salmon River in Meadows Valley he couldn't continue into Long Valley because of deep snow in the mountains. He built a small cabin near the base of the hill to securely store his supplies, and returned to Lewiston for the winter. The following spring he took another load of supplies to the Boise Basin, then returned to his cabin and took the goods he had stored to the Basin. Welch reportedly had a similar cabin on the North Fork of the Payette River.
When Idaho became a territory the next year (1863) its political parties were looking for a central location to hold a convention. At the time, Welch's cabin was very probably the only building between Warren and the Boise Basin. Since it was located about half way between the only areas with any population in the new territory--Boise Basin and Lewiston--it became the site of Idaho's first political convention that fall. Today a monument and a state highway sign guide travelers to the site of Packer John's cabin. It is located about 1/4 mile north of the highway, just east of Old Meadows.
In 1880 John Welch and a partner, George Wirtz, discovered the gold deposits at Black Lake that led to the mining activity there. [Although this statement in Landmarks is literally true, to my embarrassment this was not “Packer John” Welch. I have recently learned that he did not live long after his packing days and died in the mid 1860s.]
The following is an article about Packer John’s cabin from “History of Meadows Valley” a mimeographed “magazine” produced by Bessie Baker’s Meadows Valley High School English Class in 1945.
“It was the popular stopping place for travelers and highly in favor with the early Argonauts as the Mountain House. That it was well constructed is attested by the fact that it has stood in stress of sun and storm for almost fifty years. In fact it had been long overlooked and neglected until some two years ago, when the Women's Club of Meadows initiated a movement for its preservation. It then showed signs of decay and seemed in danger of falling into oblivion. The Women's Club rallied to its rescue and by interesting the legislature and secretary of the State Historical Society in its preservation have restored it to its pristine glory and insured its history from forgetfulness. Through the effort of the club and with the assistance of some of the men of the community, an appropriation was secured and the land whereon it stands purchased as a state park. The cabin was taken down, all decayed logs removed and replaced, with roof logs and a new covering of tamarack shakes put on. The floor was re-laid—two half windows put in, a quaint old door of pioneer architecture hung at the entrance with the peculiar long handmade wooden hinges of the first settlers who executed carpenter work with the ax and draw-shave. The proverbial latchstring provides the means of opening and locking the door and the whole made as near as way be a replica of the original. The stones of which the old fireplace was built were used in restoring the heating plant and the cabin made good for another fifty years. To suitably mark the structure, a bronze memorial tablet has been selected and in due course will be attached to the building with appropriate ceremonies. There is probably no more interesting historic building in the state than this, quaint, old Cabin located as it is at the foot of the picturesque range of mountains separating Meadows Valley from Long Valley and immediately on the first and oldest trail between the early mining camps of the territory. Now that the state owns it and the State Historical Society is caring for it, there is no doubt but it will be preserved for many years for the sons and daughters of the Commonwealth to enjoy.”
Caption for composite photo:
“This composite photo shows Packer John cabin at different times and conditions. The dates of these pictures are not known - - only that the upper left one is 1895 or later.”
5-4-06
I’ve mentioned before that the sign on McMahan Lane at Fruitvale is misspelled as “McMahon.” The county is coming around to the idea of changing this, and I’ve been calling everybody I can who lives along that road to see if they have any objections to correcting the name. I haven’t been able to reach a couple of those folks, so if you’re one of them, and if you would like to comment on this, please give me a ring (253-4582).
Now back to Landmarks and the importance of the year 1862.
Although it happened far away, another event in 1862 became a basic foundation stone to Idaho's future: Congress passed the first Homestead Act, granting land to settlers. (Footnote: The first Homestead Act actually took effect on January 1, 1863)
By the end of 1862, the writing was on the wall; Idaho would never be the same again.
When what is now Idaho began to be settled in the early 1860s, the only established route to get here was the Oregon Trail. But when the onslaught of prospectors and settlers began, it surged eastward up the Columbia River.
Between Idaho and the nearest major supply point to the east was a couple thousand miles of dust, rocks and sagebrush. Portland was much closer, and had become a sizable town after twenty years of settlement. Large quantities of goods were being transported to Portland by ships traveling around Cape Horn. From Portland, steam ships carried cargo up the Columbia River. These ships had to portage passengers and cargo around impassable rapids such as those at the Dalles. (These rapids have since been eliminated by backwater from the Bonneville Dam.)
Umatilla Landing (at present-day Umatilla, Oregon) became the principal point at which freight wagons were loaded to take supplies over the Blue Mountains to the Boise area. In the early 1860s, it was not uncommon to see pack trains with as many as 100 animals carrying 250 to 400 pounds each traveling this route. It took thirteen days to cover the 300 miles to Boise City. Roads were soon developed, and freight wagons took over this route.
During this time many people traveling to the Boise Basin gold fields used what was sometimes called the "Foot & Walker's Transportation Line." This was a humorous way of saying they walked.
[The next sentence in my book is “To get from Umatilla Landing to the Boise Basin, these fortune-seekers often used the ‘Old Boise Trail,’ also known as the ‘Boise - Lewiston Trail.’” This trail was recently nominated to be placed on the National Register of Historic Places. But it turns out the trail may well not have been all it was promoted as being. After the next paragraph from my book, I’ll comment more on this.]
From the Dalles, Oregon the Old Boise Trail went through Enterprise, Oregon, across the Snake River and up to Sheep Lakes in the Seven Devils Mountains. This last-mentioned part of the trail is marked on maps of the Nez Perce National Forest, but its route south from there is not shown on Payette National Forest maps beyond the Forest boundaries at Horse Heaven. Basically it went through or near Horse Heaven, then south to Lost Basin (just northeast of Smith Mountain). Here the trail forked, with one branch going south toward Cambridge. The other branch went east over the saddles at the heads of Bear Creek and Lick Creek to Railroad Saddle; through Price Valley and Meadows Valley, south over "Packer John Mountain" onto the Middle Fork of the Payette River; across the South Fork of the Payette at Garden Valley, and then climbed into the northern part of the Boise Basin. (Footnote = this info from Weiser Signal, Jan 21, 1905 and from Jesse Smith and Anna Adams oral interview tape transcript by Jim Camp, spring 1971)
[Dale Gray has recently investigated the history of the Boise Trail as part of the nomination for listing as a Historic Place, and found that the “Golden Age” newspaper of Lewiston was nearly the sole promoter of this trail as a route to the gold fields. Like most newspapermen of that era, as editor of the Golden Age, Mr. Leland did what he could to promote his town and bring traffic trough it. It may well be that the Boise Trail was his invention for this purpose, and the route may not have had the historic significance often ascribed to it during the 1860s and in later years.]
[ There were, of course, many trails traveled by animals and Indians throughout the area described. And fortune seekers may well have used them. But a trail over the Seven Devils would have been useable only late in the season, and prospectors were notorious for rushing into gold areas as early as possible in the spring. Gray says, “If Lewiston Traffic was using the Craig Billy crossing, they would easily rise up to the crest on a relatively gentle slope and would then descend to the Little Salmon route as soon as they could after bypassing the flooded sections of the Main Salmon. The Boise Trail provided this bypass and this may well have been its main function.”]
There was a trail up the Little Salmon (used by Packer John) that would have been a faster route to the Boise Basin from Lewiston. Gray points out: “If a period of significance could be established for the Boise Trail, it would likely extend from the first passage along the route by miners heading for Boise in the late spring of 1863 and end with the establishment of Fort Boise in early July 1863—a period of at most six or seven weeks and maybe as little as three.”]
[Another interesting quote from Gray: “The trail is shown making a sharp eastward turn and descending down to the Salmon in the vicinity of Tom Pollack's cabin. GLO records show his cabin in 1901 to have been near the mouth of Rapid River on the south-facing slope of the canyon. This is a few miles south of Riggins along the Little Salmon River.”]
[Later miners, during the Seven Devils mining ear (1880s to 1916), may have used a route credited with being “the” Boise Trail- - giving the legendary route added credibility.]
[And finally back to the last comment on the Trail in Landmarks:] Nez Perce tradition says that the first horses acquired by that tribe were taken over a trail that sounds very much like parts of this one. The story says that a party of Nez Perce came down the trail to trade dentalia (a very prized sea shell used in trade) to the Shoshoni for several horses.
5-11-06
When Idaho Territory was created on March 3, 1863 it looked nothing like the present map of the state. It included what is now Montana, Wyoming, and parts of North and South Dakota and Nebraska. Lewiston was considered so much closer to civilization than any other town that it was chosen as the territorial capitol. The Territory had four counties, ten mining towns, and an estimated non-native population of 20,000. Three quarters of those people inhabited the Boise Basin area. For that reason the capitol of the Territory was soon changed to a new town that was born just that year: Boise City.
Beginning in 1862, some miners started traveling up the Weiser and Payette Rivers to reach the mining areas around Florence and Warren. As the area around Boise City grew, the Weiser River route through the Council Valley became the principal avenue of travel for pack trains carrying supplies to the gold camps at Warren. This route was easier to travel than the more direct but torturous terrain along the Payette River. The Weiser River trail was also free of snow earlier in the spring.
Pioneers who frequented the Council Valley in those early days told of huge groups of Indians who gathered here. Perry Clark, a member of the Idaho Territorial Legislature and later an Indian Valley schoolteacher, described what he saw near the present town of Council. He said that from on top of the little hill just north of present day downtown, he could see "many hundreds of Indians and thousands of head of Indian horses at one sight, literally covering the valley as a blanket." Clark never actually lived here, but he named the place "Council Valley" because he interpreted these gatherings as being Indian "Council" meetings.
The word "council" probably doesn't fit the principal nature of these native gatherings. The Weiser Shoshoni spent most of the year roaming in small, independent, family groups, and had little use for political organization. The Shoshoni were fond of festivals, and held large gatherings at least once a year where they would probably, among other things, hold council meetings. But trade was the most important function of these gatherings, enabling each group to acquire items that could not be found in its own local area. The next priority was probably having a good time. At these festivals the Indians would engage in competitive games like gambling and horse racing, and would generally celebrate the beginning of the salmon runs up the Weiser River. [Some people think casinos should be below the noble Native American culture, but in fact gambling has been a part of Indian culture into the distant past. Because spirituality was so integrated into native life, the gatherings may also have had a sacred aspect.]
Before 1862 the main, annual, Indian rendezvous in this region was held in the Snake River Valley between the mouth of the Boise River and the mouth of the Weiser River. Held in the early summer, it would last for a month or more. After the introduction of the horse to Native Americans, members of more distant tribes began to attend the festive gatherings on the Snake River, and it became one of the bigger, annual, native gatherings in the Northwest. It must have been an incredible sight: thousands of Indians with their camps spread out across the valley, surrounded by enormous herds of horses.
Similar festivals were also evidently held in the Council Valley during those times. Alexander Ross reported encountering such a native gathering in 1824 at a location on the Weiser River that would seem to indicate the Council Valley. Although it is thought that he grossly overestimated their numbers, he reported seeing about 4,500 Indians with about half that many horses and 900 teepees.
It is hard to tell just how prominent the Council Valley was in this regard, or how early such native gatherings were held here. For the period before 1862 all we have are a few sketchy accounts and very incomplete archaeological data. The festivals here seem to have peaked about 1872 when about 800 Umatillas (Cayuses), 500 Nez Perces, 75 Klikitats, and 1,125 Shoshoni and Bannocks - -a total of about 2,500 Indians -- gathered here.
After the sky seemed to open up and rain white men around the Boise Valley in 1862, the big native festival that had been held along the Snake River was relocated to the more remote Council Valley to avoid contact with whites. This is why Perry Clark and others saw so many Indians here. This area was chosen partly because it had been relatively unaffected by the storm of white activity all around it. In addition, a Weiser Shoshoni chief named Eagle Eye was able to maintain peace between the various Indian groups who gathered here.
Although the Shoshoni band that roamed the Weiser River drainage was composed of independent groups, they did recognize Eagle Eye as their principal leader. Born sometime during the fur trade era (1820s and 30s), he would have been in his 40s or 50s when white intrusion began in 1862. Eagle Eye was very effective in preventing native conflict with non-natives; he accomplished this partly by minimizing contact between the two races.
5-18-06
I have a question about the picture with this week’s column. I know who the man is; he’s my grandfather, Russell Merk - - my mother’s father. What I’m curious about is the building. The sign on the side of it says “Council Valley Grange” and that meetings were held every second and fourth Friday at 8 PM. But this doesn’t look like the present Grange Hall to me. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m not sure just what year this picture was taken, but I would guess the 1940s- -maybe a little earlier. Somebody please tell me if it actually is the current Grange building, or if not, where this would have been.
While I’m on the subject of the Grange, I’ll give you just about everything I know about the various Grange organizations in the area. The first reference I have to the Grange is in 1909 when the Dale Grange was organized. This would have been Upper Dale, as Lower Dale did not yet have a name. The Fruitvale Grange was organized in 1913 in what is now the Joslin home on the corner of Fruitvale-Glendale Road and Rome Beauty Avenue. In January 1926 a Grange was established at the “Council Orchards,” which was somewhere between Orchard Road and Mill Creek Road. Does anybody know exactly where? In any case, it didn’t last long; the Leader announced in April of that year that Instead of creating a new Grange at Council, the Orchard Grange would be "moved" to Council. That’s the extent of my encyclopedic knowledge of local Grange halls. I would appreciate hearing from anyone with more information.
Now back to Landmarks.
It has been claimed that the Nez Perce name for the Council Valley was
"Kos-ni-ma" (pronounced Quashnima). The term supposedly indicated "red fish" or salmon. There seems to be no evidence to support this. (Footnote: There is no word even resembling Kosnima in Nez Perce or Shoshoni dictionaries, and their words for red or fish are not even close. One photograph of Starkey in the Council Valley Museum collection (photo #96167) is labeled, "Quasnimah Springs - Starkey, Idaho." Just how this fits into the legend is unclear.) The Shoshoni name most closely associated with this general area might be "Seewooki." This word generally referred to forested country, and, when used more specifically, indicated the people or vicinity of the Weiser River.
Several early residents reported that the Indians centered their meetings in the Council Valley around five large pine trees located about three quarters of a mile north of present-day Council. (Footnote: This info came from an essay by Rose Freehafer. Miss Freehafer personally interviewed pioneer, Bill Camp, and quoted him in her essay. Camp, who spoke the Nez Perce language to some extent, said, "I was working for the Indians in the early days, and one of them told me that they [the five Council trees] were in the Kesler field." This field was about three quarters of a mile north, northwest, of Council.)
Until the 1920s there were five pine trees in a field at that location, but the landowner later cut down all but one of them. Hugh Addington remembered the trees as standing more or less in a row.
In 1917, when Arthur Hallet acquired ownership of the land where the Council trees stood, all five trees were still there. Arthur's son, Byron (Buff) Hallet said the last tree died in 1928 and was harvested for firewood. Buff Hallet planted five young pine trees near the location of the original Council trees in 1986. At this writing, these new trees are growing on the south side of Airport Road, straight south of the Council airport. (Footnote: Some of this info came from a hand written note, signed by Byron F. (Buff) Hallett, that was with a piece of root from of one of the Council trees donated to the Council Valley Free Library during the 1980s.)
As early as the 1920s, the idea existed that an old pine tree located just south and west of where Highway 95 crosses Mill Creek was the one, and only, Council tree. This idea was revived in the 1960s. The origin of this idea is unknown. [Aside from a few other older people telling me about this idea of a council tree there, George Lafferty, son of J.B. Lafferty (born 1918), told me that he remembered attending annual celebrations at this Mill Creek location as a young boy. A tree there was touted as "the Council tree."]
5-25-06
I found out that my suspicions about the photo of my grandfather and the Grange Hall last week were not totally unfounded. That is the current Grange Hall in the background, and the picture was taken at the front entrance. But it was before the cloakroom was built onto it to form the present entrance. Gary Gallant filled me in. His parents, Fred and Ida Gallant were active members of the Grange for many years. Before the organization moved into the current building, meetings were held upstairs in the Odd Fellows Hall, which stood where the east half of Ronnie’s Market is now. I’m not sure when he established it, or when the building was erected, but at least in the 1940s, Charlie Hanson operated a Night Club at the current building and location of the Grange Hall. Some time in the late 1940s or early ‘50s, the Grange moved to Charlie’s building. Not too long after that, remodeled it, adding the cloakroom and obviously (from the photo) residing it.
Back to Landmarks.
In 1863 Reuben Olds got permission to put a ferry across the Snake River at Farewell Bend about 12 miles below the mouth of the Weiser River. Olds planned to capitalize on gold seekers coming to Idaho from the more settled areas to the west of there. He would also get business from wagons going west on the Oregon Trail. At the time, most travelers on the Trail crossed to the west side of the Snake River at Fort Boise, at the mouth of the Boise River. Some, however, waited to ford the Snake near Weiser.
The first non-natives to live along the Weiser were William and Nancy Logan who ran away from their parent's homes near Baker to get married about 1863. Bill and Nancy figured that most wagons traveling on the Oregon Trail would soon be continuing along the east side of the Snake until they reached the easier and safer crossing provided by Olds's new ferry. As things turned out, they were right, and they took advantage of the fact for a short time. They built a house of willows and mud along the new route near the mouth of the Weiser River, and operated a successful roadhouse.
Before long, the Logans moved a short distance up Monroe Creek. When Thomas Galloway and Woodson Jeffreys arrived at the present site of Weiser in 1864 there was nothing at this location but sagebrush desert. Galloway opened a stage station and supply house, and generally catered to the traveling public. The spot became known as "Dead Fall." In 1866 Jeffreys established the first post office here under the name "Weiser Ranch." The post office was closed in 1870, but reopened in 1871 as "Weiser." The location changed its official title again in 1878 or 1880 to "Weiser Bridge." This presumably derived from the fact that a bridge now spanned the Weiser River at this point. In 1883 the name was permanently changed back to "Weiser."
The town was just east of present-day downtown Weiser. After the Oregon Short Line arrived, the railroad built a depot west of the town. After a fire destroyed much of the business section of Weiser in 1890, the town moved west to the depot. For some time after the town moved, the original section of Weiser was often referred to as "old town."
Before hordes of fortune seekers started occupying Idaho, fighting between Indians and whites had been mostly restricted to the area along the Oregon Trail. But after the non-native invasion of Idaho in 1862, the friction spread over a wider area.
During the 1860s the relationship between whites and Indians almost everywhere in the West reached an all-time low. Hostile natives were on the attack in most western states. Some of the most horrible atrocities committed, both by Indians and by the U.S. military, took place during this decade.
The government tried a combination of treaties and military force to gain control of the situation. For years nothing seemed to work. In Idaho, as elsewhere, resentment toward the Indians grew to the point that statements advocating genocide were openly made in newspapers. In 1867 one upstanding citizen, in a letter to the Statesman newspaper, recommended inviting all the Indians to a feast containing strychnine to "poison every man, woman, and child of them." Finally in 1868, after a series of military confrontations referred to as the "Snake War," tensions in Idaho Territory were somewhat reduced.
Caption for photo 05176: Lou Keckler was in town last year and gave the museum a couple of pictures; this was one of them. I can’t figure out where this was. The only info written on the back of the photo says, “Square house to left is Uncle Gus's," (marked with an arrow here) which would have been Gus Keckler's, but I have no idea where that was. Somebody who can recognize the spot, please give me a ring. (253-4582)
6-1-06
Settlement of the Weiser River Valleys
Meanwhile, the loop in the Oregon Trail to Olds Ferry had brought large numbers of emigrants across the mouth of the Weiser River on their way farther west. Travelers on the Oregon Trail must have felt like the children of Israel wandering in the desert after months of traveling through mostly desolate, sagebrush wasteland. By the time they got this far west it was late in the season, and the bone-dry countryside was only occasionally punctuated by feeble strips of green along its rivers. As they trudged along week after week they must have grown weary of seeing land that was devoid of trees other than scattered juniper. When they reached the mouth of the Weiser River the scenery was still the same depressing desert drab, but far off to the north they caught tantalizing glimpses of forest-clad mountains. The word that there were lush valleys along the Weiser River had to have piqued their interest.
With the winding down of Indian wars in Idaho in 1868, some travelers decided to end their journey at the Weiser River. By this time most of the best land in Oregon had already been claimed. More than a few families continued on to Oregon, but then then backtracked to this area.
Mann Creek--a tributary of the Weiser River--formed the first farmable valley north of the Weiser area. The main travel route north from Weiser, to Mann Creek and beyond, followed an old Indian trail; it went up Monroe Creek, over into Mann Creek, and on over the hill into Middle Valley. From very early on, wagon roads followed this trail to reach the upper Weiser River valleys. This general route is still followed by Highway 95 today. Although Mann Creek was settled earlier, it didn't have a sufficient population to warrant a post office until 1876.
The next valley up the Weiser River acquired the name "Middle Valley" because it was between the upper and lower valleys along the river. The first settlers came here in 1868, but the actual town of Midvale wasn't officially established until 1903. The first bridge across the Weiser River (other than the one at its mouth) was built at Midvale near the site of the present bridge. The first road to points north crossed the river here and proceeded through the hills to the northeast.
The next valley up the river was where the Little Weiser River entered the main Weiser. This vicinity also began to be settled about 1868. It was named "Salubria Valley" because the location was said to be "salubrious," meaning "pleasant and beneficial to ones health." The community of Salubria was established where the first wagon road entered the valley from the south-a little over a mile southeast of the present site of Cambridge. Salubria was granted a post office in 1870. The forming of an actual town began with the first store, which was erected in 1885. Salubria was the only town in that vicinity until Cambridge was established along the railroad when the tracks reached the valley in 1900. Almost no trace of Salubria remains today.
North of Salubria, the main Weiser River entered mostly narrow canyons with little farmable land. As a result, settlement followed the more open valleys along Little Weiser River to the east. Along this river, about ten miles from Salubria a large basin formed. It was called "Indian Valley" because the Weiser Shoshoni often wintered there. Indian Valley began to be settled at about the same time as the Salubria Valley (1868).
To the east of Indian Valley the terrain swept up into a high mountain range that ran north and south, separating the Weiser River drainage from Long Valley. To the north, the Middle Fork of the Weiser tumbled west to the main river, slashing steep breaks along its course. This challenging obstacle to wagon travel farther north is probably why settlement of the Council Valley lagged behind that of the lower valleys.
[Not long ago, I learned from a geologist that the hills near the mouth of the Middle Fork, including Mesa, are the remains of an alluvial fan formed by material washed out of the Middle Fork drainage eons ago.]
In case you didn’t notice, the museum opened over the Memorial Day weekend. A big thank you goes to the wonderful people who volunteer their time to be hosts there. Drop in and see them!
Caption for photo: “The Ace Saloon and Council Hotel, sometime between 1938 and 1942, when Jim and Laura Ward ran the hotel. Notice the old school in the background on the right.”
6-8-06
Although it would be almost another decade before the Council Valley would be settled, it did acquire at least one non-native occupant in 1868: a 32 year old bachelor named Henry Childs. Just what enticed Childs to this area is not certain, but he was known to have done some mining and trapping. He built a home and did some farming about 2.5 miles up Hornet Creek from the present site of Council. His place was located near where the Old Hornet road now branches from the Council - Cuprum road and goes across to the west side of the creek. Hornet Creek was named after a nasty encounter that Childs had with a nest of hornets while he was clearing brush. [Footnote: This incident with the hornets may have happened after the arrival of the Moser family, as the story seems to have come from them.]
In those early days, the Salubria and Indian Valleys, and even Middle Valley, were referred to as the "upper Weiser," "the upper valleys" or the "upper country." The Council and Meadows Valleys were later included as part of the upper country. Early upper country residents referred to the Weiser area as the "lower country." This tradition continues today, and the terminology has evolved further. Newcomers hearing an upper country person say they are going "down below" are often confused until it is explained that this generally indicates a trip to anywhere between Weiser and Boise.
All during the fighting of the 1860s, the Weiser Indians had mostly stayed to themselves in the more remote mountains of their territory. Even so, they were falsely accused of numerous atrocities. Typical of the mind-set of the time, Eagle Eye acquired an unearned reputation among many whites as being a murderous savage.
In 1867, based only on rumors, the Weiser Indians were declared to be hostiles. A scouting party was sent from Fort Boise to find them, but Eagle Eye moved his band into the Salmon River mountains before the troops arrived. At the Indian's abandoned campsite along the Weiser River the soldiers found footprints measuring 17 1/2 inches long. The newspapers made big news out of this, and one of several legends of "Bigfoot" began. [Footnote: There actually was a hostile Indian named Howluck in the Owyhee mountains at this time who was called Bigfoot. The best known Indian called Big Foot was a Lakota Sioux who was killed at the massacre at Wounded Knee in 1890.]
In 1868, after false reports that the Weisers had been causing trouble, soldiers were sent from Fort Boise to capture Eagle Eye's band. The Weisers were forewarned, and they moved north, but the troopers caught up with them near the present site of Riggins. The forty-one Indians in the group, including Eagle Eye, were arrested without incident and taken to Fort Boise. Among their possessions was a pair of moccasins over sixteen inches long, stuffed with rags and fur. Apparently, these were the source of the fake footprints seen the year before.
After a personal meeting with the governor of the Idaho Territory, Eagle Eye was able to convince him that the Weisers were peaceful and would cause no trouble. The Indians were released, but public pressure to put them on a reservation continued. At this time the population of the Weiser band fluctuated between 40 and 100 individuals.
Eagle Eye had no intention of living on a reservation. He had seen how other Indians had fared after surrendering to this fate. Some of them were so destitute that they had resorted to begging on the streets of Boise. Eagle Eye let it be known that if the government would leave his band alone they would live in peace without relying on support from the government. The newly arrived settlers at Indian Valley also didn't want the Weisers removed from their area. They realized that Eagle Eye's peaceful group provided them with some degree of protection from more hostile natives that were roaming the countryside.
For the next few years after the Snake War of 1868 there was little fighting between whites and Indians in Idaho--but there was constant tension. Groups of heavily armed Indians roamed freely throughout many parts of Idaho and Oregon. And they were not all well behaved. These natives were a source of constant anxiety for the settlers. To them the situation felt very much as it would to us today if armed motorcycle gangs were roaming Idaho.
White people in those days generally thought of Indians as being very dirty. Since whites of that era usually only took a complete bath about once a year, we can assume that some American natives were pretty unsanitary by modern standards. Indians were viewed as a scraggly-looking people with a strange, backward way of talking and mannerisms that often seemed rude. They were accustomed to a hard-sometimes even violent-lifestyle, and some of them had "criminal records."
Whites of that time who didn't hold such negative opinions of Native Americans seemed to go to the opposite extreme. The resulting image of the "noble savage" was cultivated mostly by Eastern liberals.
One can imagine how barbaric white people must have seemed through Indian eyes. Native Americans had a totally different view of private ownership and property rights. To nomadic tribes, the idea of an individual owning a piece of land was very foreign. The survival of natives in much of the West depended on being able to roam the land freely, sharing it as a group. The idea of any one person owning a part of the earth was as ridiculous to them as someone owning the air. White people cut the earth-mother into pieces to be bought and sold like their prostitutes for whatever selfish purpose the owner pleased.
I’m looking for a place along the highway south of town to put up a 4’X4’ sign to let people know about the museum. We’ve already been given permission for one north of town. If anyone has property within a few miles of town where we could put this sign for three months during the summer, please contact me. (253-4582)
Caption for photo:
“Fred Emery in front of an old cabin. Looks like 1950s or earlier. Location unknown. (If anyone knows, tell me.) Old cabins like these are getting harder to find, and in another generation, may all be gone.”
6-15-06
The Shoshoni lived by the seasons, traveling what are commonly called "seasonal rounds" to wherever the next source of food was ready to harvest. At certain times of year it was time to dig camas, and at others to catch and dry fish, etc. This life was deeply entrenched in cultural and spiritual tradition. One might compare this lifestyle to a continual series of Easter or Christmas-like seasons full of cherished, traditional, and sacred activities-except that these activities concerned life and death matters. When whites established farms or built towns on locations that the Indians depended upon for their survival, it was devastating.
The Weiser Indians would often camp on ground that was claimed by homesteaders, and according to some reports, sometimes turned their horses loose into settlers' grain fields. There were constant reports of Indian thievery that were often unfounded, but too frequently were true. Many of the displaced natives were desperate. They had been uprooted from the only way of life and survival they had ever known, and were trapped in a hostile, bewildering world. It is no mystery why many Native Americans became bitterly hostile toward whites.
In spite of the abuse demonstrated against them, the Weiser Indians showed themselves to be an extremely tolerant people. Even after whites began to take away the Shoshoni wintering grounds by settling in Indian Valley, the Weisers remained cordial to them, even going so far as to show the invaders how to harvest and preserve salmon from the rivers. They also became a source of hired labor on the farms, helping with the harvest of crops.
There were members of both races that made sincere efforts toward peaceful coexistence, but the unfathomable cultural gap between whites and the natives along the Weiser River (and everywhere else on the continent) ultimately proved so wide as to be almost completely irreconcilable.
All during the 1860s and 1870s there was a continual hue and cry to put all Indians on reservations. But the management of reservations was a bureaucratic quagmire; the money sent from Congress to support impounded natives was pathetically inadequate. To keep Idaho Indians from starving they were allowed to leave the reservations and fend for themselves for extended periods.
In 1873 the Modoc Indians in southwestern Oregon chose to fight rather than return to a miserable existence on their reservation. The resulting Modoc War instilled deep apprehension in both whites and natives in Idaho. Everyone realized that the situation here was teetering on the brink of the same kind of disaster.
Even though Eagle Eye's band kept a low profile, they were the target of a great deal of white resentment because the Weisers' home territory was the site of larger and larger intertribal gatherings. As tribes from outside the Council Valley began to visit this last place of refuge in growing numbers, some of the outside Indians stayed in the area permanently. In spite of the odds against peaceful coexistence, Eagle Eye was able to maintain relative tranquillity between the whites and all the natives who visited or lived in his area.
In March of 1874 Eagle Eye was ordered to bring his band in to the Fort Hall reservation. He refused, and because of a lack of funds, the authorities were unable to enforce the order.
The next year (1875) the Wallowa band of the Nez Perce tribe was ordered to surrender to reservation life, and their lands were opened to white settlement. This was the band of which Chief Joseph was a member, and was the last of the free-roaming bands of the Nez Perce. The Wallowas refused to submit, but the government was still too under-funded and disorganized to do anything about them or Eagle Eye.
Legend has it that the following summer (1876) settlers on the upper Weiser heard rumors through local Indians about a big Indian victory over the whites. The battle had supposedly occurred very recently in the buffalo country east of the Rocky Mountains. Days later, vivid accounts came from Boise of how Indian savages had slaughtered Custer's Seventh Cavalry on the Little Big Horn River in Montana. The fact that the Weiser Indians had received word of this battle before local whites had heard about it left the settlers feeling very uneasy. News of the Custer massacre only accented the fears of Idaho whites, and deepened their resolve to rid the Territory of Indians. [I have not been able to trace the source of this story. It was told by old time Council area residents, and may or may not be true.]
6-22-06
By 1870 the heyday of placer mining in the Idaho Territory was over, and other occupations started becoming staples of the economy. The population shrank from its previous high of 20,000 to about 15,000.
By 1874 the expansion of railroad lines in the West had made supply routes through Utah more practical for Idaho than the one over the Blue Mountians from Umatilla Landing. That year a mail route was established between Boise and Warren by way of Indian Valley, Council Valley and Meadows Valley.
Sometime in the 1870s another old bachelor, John Mulligan, established a home farther up Hornet Creek from Henry Childs. It isn't known just when he arrived here, but it may have been before the Mosers.
The family of George and Elizabeth Moser was the first white family to settle in the Council Valley, arriving in the fall of 1876. When the Mosers first arrived at the present site of Council they camped along a tiny creek a short distance west of where the creek flowed between a small rocky knob and a larger hill that stood, somewhat conspicuously, in the southern part of the valley. This campsite was in what would someday be the west side of Council, just west of the present intersection of Moser Avenue and Railroad Street, near where the train depot later stood. The fact that much of the area was a jungle of brush indicated that there was good farmland underneath.
Near the hill east of their campsite there was a fork in the well-worn trail leading through the valley. The west branch was an Indian trail that went up Hornet Creek to the Seven Devils Mountains. Even though copper deposits had been found in the Seven Devils fourteen years earlier, there was little or no mining activity there when the Mosers arrived. The main branch of the trail--probably also originally an Indian path--continued north. It was being used by pack trains traveling to and from the gold mining country around Warren and Florence. There were still no wagon roads north of Indian Valley at that time, but this trail was well traveled. Warren had swollen to a population of about 5,000, and pack trains of up to100 animals sometimes used this route just to supply the town with flour from Cuddy's mill near present-day Cambridge.
Soon the Mosers built a log cabin just north of the creek and southwest of the larger hill. Before long they built a second cabin. In one old photo, it looks as if one of the Moser cabins stood right in the middle of what is now Moser Ave. Their homestead encompassed most of what would become the west side of Council, including the town square, Courthouse hill, and the land on which the schools now stand.
In 1877, the year after the Moser's arrived, two more families settled in the Council Valley: the Whites and Lovelesses. Robert and Elenor White and their children had traveled west with the Mosers, but spent the winter in Boise before continuing to the Council Valley. Robert later became Council's first Postmaster, first school teacher, and probably the first justice of the peace.
Zadock Loveless was a widower who came here with his son Bill. They took up a parcel of land that adjoined the north end of the Moser property. Lucy McMahan, an early pioneer of the area, claimed that Loveless built the first house in Council in 1876, but didn't live here until 1877.
At this time, the Council area was known as "Hornet," "Hornet Valley" or "Hornet Creek" because it was the point where Hornet Creek entered the Weiser River. This was a common practice, leading to informal place names such as East Fork, Middle Fork, etc.
The new families had barely settled into their new locations, when a storm of terror blew in from the north.
I got a letter from Lou Keckler about the picture I put in my column a few weeks ago. He said the photo was taken looking east at the Mesa townsite. Thanks Lou!
6-29-06
This week I’m starting the section of Landmarks about the Nez Perce War. It was one of the most dramatic times in this area’s history. Ironically, there was no violence from Indians- - or even any real threat-- anywhere closer than Riggins during this whole time, but you certainly could not tell this by the actions and attitudes of whites from Boise to Grangeville.
The following semi-fictionalized account is based closely on historical facts. Much of it is taken from the Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman, June 21, 1877 containing the letter from Solon Hall to Milton Kelly, plus the June 26 issue of that newspaper.
The morning of Monday, June 18, 1877 would be stamped on George Moser's memory for the rest of his life. He was going about his early chores and tending to his garden. It was the first garden at the family's new homestead, and the plants were off to a good start. Just as George finished propping up some boards to shade a row of small cabbage plants from the heat of the sun, he looked up to see a familiar figure riding around the foot of the little hill just northeast of his cabin. He always looked forward to seeing Edgar Hall; the eighteen-year-old mail carrier was the nearest thing to a newspaper the Moser family had, and Edgar was certainly more current with his news. Even at a distance, George could tell something was wrong. Edgar was coming in with his horse at a hard trot, and his customary packhorse was not trailing behind. As the boy came closer, a chill went up George's spine; Edgar's horse was drenched with sweat.
This day was one Edgar Hall would also long remember. He was accustomed to long periods in the saddle as he carried mail between Warrens and Indian Valley. But he had never attempted to cover the 80 or so miles of treacherous mountains in 24 hours, and he was about to accomplish just that. Such a ride would have been difficult under the best of conditions, but Edgar had just covered the worst part of the trip in the blackness of night. The frantic advice of the Warrens postmaster to get back to Indian Valley and warn the settlers as soon as possible echoed in his mind with each passing mile.
As Edgar approached, George called out to him, "What's wrong, son?"
Edgar dragged his right leg over the back of the saddle and dismounted stiffly as he spoke: "Indians killed 14 people along the Salmon river a few days ago. There's a big bunch of 'em and they're comin' this way."
George Moser stood stunned for a moment, trying to absorb the impact of Edgar's words. The two exchanged a few sentences that George could not later recall because his mind was reeling. As Edgar went on his way south, the Moser household exploded with frantic preparations to abandon their homestead for the relative safety in numbers at Indian Valley.
[It's interesting to note that George Moser liked Edgar Hall so much that he named is only son, Edgar, after him. I got this information from Roy Gould, who had taken notes while talking to his uncle, John Gould.]
Word spread quickly, and the few settlers in the "Hornet" area fled to Indian Valley. Some took their livestock with them and planned to go to eastern Oregon until the next year.
Meanwhile, news of the Indian uprising reached Boise via telegraph. General O.O. Howard sent a dispatch stating that the hostile Nez Perce were on their way south toward the Weiser River valleys. With the arrival of this news, the Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman office exploded with activity. Milton Kelly, owner and editor of the Statesman, prepared a headline for the next day's edition: ""HOSTILE INDIANS IN NORTH IDAHO-29 Settlers Murdered-Indians making for the Weiser."
"Judge Kelly," as the Statesman editor was often called, was alarmed by the possibility that the Indians were coming south toward white settlements. He asked the Governor to send arms to the most northerly and exposed settlements: those along the Weiser River. Kelly even volunteered to deliver the guns himself. Governor Brayman promptly accepted Kelly's offer, and within two hours of the arrival of the news of the massacre Kelly was on his way north with 25 needle guns, five pistols, and a thousand rounds of ammunition.
To transport the guns and ammunition, Kelly had to use a wheeled vehicle, so he did not take the direct route via the Crane Creek trail. Instead he booked passage on the stage to Weiser. Near Weiser, Kelly was met by Woodson Jeffreys with a team and wagon. With Jeffreys were twelve mounted men who received guns and headed north with Kelly and Jeffreys. Kelly covered the 110 miles from Boise to Salubria in twenty-six hours, arriving on June 18th. No one along the way had heard about the massacre at Salmon River. Kelly's reaction had been so swift that Edgar Hall had only brought the news to Indian Valley that morning. Some of the settlers were skeptical about the truth of the story until Kelly showed them a copy of General Howard's proclamation that the hostiles were making for the Weiser River valleys.
On the day after Kelly left Boise, 25 more rifles were sent to Indian Valley by Governor Brayman.
Eileen Nelson called to fill me in about the picture of the Schroff place that I featured a couple weeks ago. Walter Schroff was her grandfather, and her father, Clarence, is in the picture. The house was on Pole Creek, and the location is probably on one of the more recently established places with homes up there. The Schroffs had a garden, a big barn, a cellar and all the other standard features of a homestead. Walter was from Austria, and Eileen said when she visited Austria there were many little canyons that reminded her of her grandfather’s homestead on Pole Creek.
Walter Schroff died in 1932 and is buried in the Hornet Creek Cemetery. His wife, Minnie, died the next year.
Caption for photo 72030: “Edgar Hall with his mail-carrying packhorse. The exact date is unknown.”
7-6-06
The string of violent events that led to all this had begun in the spring of that year (1877). The government had decided it was ready to back its orders for the Wallowa band of Nez Perces to report to the reservation. The Indians submitted and moved in the direction of the reservation, but disaster ensued. While the main group of Nez Perce was camped near the town of Mount Idaho (near present-day Grangeville), some resentful young warriors left camp and settled old scores by killing white settlers along the Salmon River. The first murder happened not far north of the present town of Riggins. Things snowballed until 14 whites were dead and the situation was completely out of control. The conflict that followed became known as "The Nez Perce War."
When Edgar Hall arrived at Indian Valley on the morning of June 18th with news of the initial massacre, his father, Solon Hall, immediately wrote a letter for Edgar to take to Milton Kelly and the Governor. This was the same day Kelly arrived at Salubria, 12 miles away. When he wrote this letter, Solon had no knowledge of Kelly's arrival with guns:
Indian Valley, June 18, 1877
Hon. Milton Kelly
Dear Sir:
The Indians have broken out on Salmon river and have killed fourteen men. We are looking for trouble here every minute. If you can assist us in getting something to protect ourselves with you will do us a great favor. We send a petition to the Governor for arms and ammunition; and if we can get them, please send them to Crystal Springs by stage or some other same conveyance. If the Governor asks security send word and I will be responsible. Please go with my son to the Governor. Edgar (the expressman) got to Warrens Saturday night, and started back the same night and came here in 24 hours from Warrens -- getting in two days ahead of time. The Postmaster at Washington (Warrens) advised him to get back as soon as possible, as he feared that the Indians would cut him (Edgar) off the trail. My son, the bearer, will give you all the particulars as nearly as I could. Please do for us all that you can, and oblige.
Yours, &c.,
Solon Hall
[Southeast of Weiser via Highway 95, there is a spot along the railroad that still bears the name “Crystal.” I think this was at or near the location of “Crystal Springs” mentioned in Hall’s letter.]
After his arrival at Salubria, Milton Kelly wrote this letter:
Salubria, June 20th
I reached here the next night after leaving Boise City, with guns and ammunition all right. Twelve men came up with me from the Lower Weiser and from Mann's Creek. No one had heard of the Indian outbreak. The news created great excitement here and all along the road. I was only twenty-six hours to this place, 110 miles from Boise City. The families on this, the west side of the Middle Weiser Valley, gathered in here to Abernathy's place, Salubria last night; and the men brought all the arms they had--which were not many--and remained here, keeping a guard out all night. The arms I brought were badly needed--especially the ammunition. A company of twenty-five men will be organized here to-day [sic] under Captain John Sailing, and scour around the outskirts of this and Indian Valleys to-day, hoping that Major Collins and command will be here to-night. The families on the east side of this valley, and those in Indian Valley, got together at Wilkins' place.
Major Collins was the commander at Fort Boise. By "Wilkins' place" Kelly probably meant "Wilkerson's," although the Indian Valley gathering point was actually at William Monday's house. (Monday's name is spelled "Munday" in most old accounts.) The settlers from Indian Valley and Council (about ninety men, and fifty women and children) first gathered at Solon Hall's house on June 19th. That night, guards were posted in case of attack. One of the group later recalled, "They put out guards, but forgot to give the first lot out any cartridges, and they stood guard for about four hours with empty guns, and were so rattled (I guess that is the right name for it) they did not think anything about it until when the relief came they asked for the cartridges."
[It surprises me, in reading old accounts of Indian conflicts, how few guns and how little ammunition the pioneers seemed to have. I think of those people as being armed to the teeth, both for defense and for hunting. Evidently this is a misconception.]
7-13-06
Continuing with “Landmarks.” The settlers have heard the news of the Salmon River murders by the Nez Perce, and have gathered at Solon Hall's house at Indian Valley. Some time back I did a story about the old Solon Hall house. It is still standing, but hardly recognizable after an extensive remodel. The location is maybe a half-mile (at most) south of the Indian Valley store, and just east of the main road.
The next morning it was decided there was too much brush near Solon Hall's house, and the settlers moved to William Monday's place. Monday was the Postmaster at Indian Valley, and the post office was in his home. [At one time, I knew where Monday’s house was, but all I can remember now is that it was west of Halls, closer to the present Alpine store. If someone has the physical address, please let me know.]
That day, June 20, would prove to be an eventful one. After writing his letter that morning, Milton Kelly accompanied twenty armed, mounted men to Indian Valley under the leadership of John Sailing and William Allison. Meanwhile, the first few families moving from the gathering place at Solon Hall's had reached William Monday's farm. As they were settling in, someone looked down the valley toward Salubria and saw armed riders coming. Adrenaline pumped through every vein as the men grabbed guns and ran to the fence in front of Monday's house. One of the group recalled, "We were sure they were Indians. We supposed they had passed through the hills and taken Salubria and a band of them were coming up there to take us too, and no one knew how many there were behind."
[Much of the information here comes from a typed, autobiographical memoir written by Ida Hitt. She was a pioneer of the Indian Valley and Salubria areas. Hitt Mountain, west of Cambridge, was named after her husband, Amos Hitt, who is mentioned later. Other accounts came from an anonymous author known only as “Alex” who occasionally penned a column entitled “The Old Timer” in the Weiser Signal during 1894.]
Milton Kelly and the volunteers from Salubria who were coming to aid the settlers had no idea they were causing such panic as they rode up the valley. The new guns they carried flashed in the sun and made them look very formidable to the people huddled near Monday's house. Ida Hitt remembered the incident vividly: "The women and children ran in to the house, all but I. I caught up my little cousin, and hid behind a bush with the intention when firing began I would run to the trees along the stream and follow down it, which I believe yet would have saved us."
One of the settlers named Alex later wrote:
“The house where we were was at the upper end of a lane leading from the road, and another house, Billy McCullough's, was at the lower end of the land, close to the road, so this handful of men determined to meet them at the foot of the lane and keep as many as possible from coming up to the house. The nine--no, only eight, as there was one coward among them; he wouldn't go. Mrs. Mc. said to him ‘Why don't you go?’ ‘I ain't any gun.’ ‘Take the ax that's good for one.’ But no, he wouldn't go but got in the house among the women, worse frightened than any of them. The eight crept down through the tall rye grass. As they were going, Tom Price said, ‘Boys, every feller pick his man; that __ on the big brown horse is mine,’ and they did. Each on had his man picked, and the only thing that saved them was that something got wrong with one of the saddles and they all stopped while the rider fixed it. They happened to be just on the other side of the house, so our men couldn't see them, and they thought they were preparing for a rush.”
As Kelly and the volunteers started forward again, they saw two settlers approaching on the road from Solon Hall's. Instead of turning up the lane to Monday's, they rode east to greet the two men. At some point while she was hiding in the brush, Ida Hitt heard William Monday shout, "You better throw up your hands, you damn sons of bitches!" [The fact that Ida included this expletive makes me wonder what the one was for which she only inserted a blank in the previous quote! It must have been worse.]
As Alex put it, when the volunteers "saw the eight men with guns come out into the road, it was their turn to be frightened, as they saw how near they had some of them come to being shot." William Allison later remarked that he was sure he would have been killed if he had turned up the lane. He was the man on the big brown horse that Tom Price had picked out to shoot.
Alex continued:
“Well, by night everybody in Council and Indian valleys were camped there--some two or three hundred, all told. A little fun was had, in spite of our fears, by the young folks getting a suit of women's clothing for the coward, who brought his bed and made it down among the women and children, but it did not hurt his feelings. He was a married man too, but his family were east and were spared the shame of seeing him display his cowardice. They made a corral of the wagons around the house and guards were stationed-this time with plenty of ammunition.”
After things settled down, Milton Kelly had time to evaluate the situation at Indian Valley. He later wrote:
“The first object was to learn the feeling and condition of the Weiser Indians--about seventy in number, under Eagle Eye. Solon Hall and other citizens in this valley had already anticipated this movement and runners had been sent out, and the Indians were in camp at their regular camping ground, next to Hall's place and promised peace and friendship with the white people and that the men should remain in camp until the trouble was over. Several straggling Indians from the Malheur and Fort Hall agencies were seen who had permits from the agencies to travel and hunt, but went into the Weiser band and promised to be peaceable and remain in camp.”
Caption for photo:
Another photo from the Ford family collection. The caption for this photo read, “Lake Huntford.” It isn’t clear which lake this was, but the Fords gave names to many geographic features that were not officially retained on maps. I wonder if these ladies hiked very far in those long skirts and long-sleeved blouses.
7-20-06
Continuing with Landmarks. The settlers from Council Valley have fled to Indian Valley for safety in numbers after the outbreak of the Nez Perce War of 1877.
Late in the day on the 20th, George Riebold arrived from Warren with an urgent letter for the Governor. The letter was dated June 18, and started off with elegant penmanship; by the end, it had degenerated into more hastily-written scribbles. It went into detail, listing every person killed by the Indians. On the fourth page there was reference to the town of Mount Idaho: "It is greatly feared that the entire Settlement has been annihilated. . . ."
The letter ended with a plea for help:
“They have not made any raid upon us as yet, but we expect it hourly. We are fortifying ourselves as best we can, but we are comparatively helpless-there not being sufficient arms and ammunition here to enable us to stand much of a siege. It is nearly certain that they will attack us, as several Indians have been seen skulking around in the mountains near us. The messenger, Mr. George Riebold, who carries to you this communication can tell you more particularly our situation and needs. The object of this communication is that you immediately dispatch to us aid.
Very Respectfully Yours,
Jas. W. Poe”
Although it was not mentioned in the letter, Riebold relayed news that an even worse disaster had happened involving the Nez Perce. While Edgar Hall was starting his desperate ride from Warrens to Indian Valley on June 17th, cavalry troops had clashed with the Indians just north of the present town of Whitebird. The soldiers were brutally defeated.
[One of the most memorable moments during my research for Landmarks was at the Idaho State Historical Library and Archives in Boise. When I told one of the employees there what I was looking for, she went into a back room and came out with a big box containing papers. One of the items in that box was the letter above, and another was the following letter from Milton Kelly, written at Indian Valley about the situation there, and sent to Boise with George Riebold. Holding those letters in my hands was really moving. I don’t think I could have been more emotionally affected if I had been holding an original copy of the Declaration of Independence. Kelly used a pencil to scribble the letter on four sheets of plain paper- - pretty much like a newspaper trimming, in that it was a light brown in color and course in texture- - measuring six inches wide by almost nineteen inches long. His penmanship was so poor that parts of the letter were unreadable. I later found the same letter in the Statesman newspaper. It was apparently deciphered by Statesman correspondent, Joe Perrault who is mentioned in the letter. It appeared in the Idaho Tri- weekly Statesman’s, Jun 23, 1877 issue. Either Perrault had even more difficulty reading Kelly's handwriting than I did, or he had another copy, as his version varies from the original that was sent to the Governor. The letter as printed here takes from both the original and Perrault's version. Words within brackets [ ] are generally from Perrault's version. "Curtis" referred to in the letter was E.J. Curtis, Idaho's Adjutant General.]
“Indian Valley
Governor Brayman
June 20th 7'oclock PM
George Riebolt has just arrived from Warrens with a letter which I enclose. He has one to you + He has much later [news] from the messenger from Slate [Creek]. The soldiers had a fight in the White Bird canyon and lost 36 killed. Indians say they lost 13. They have driven all the stock along or near Salmon River on this side of Salmon River, and it is expected they will come this way at any time.
There have been several stray Indians here within the last few days, 3 were coralled and 7 passed by ; 2 from Malheur and 1 from Fort Hall - 7 unknown. The local Indians are all here and peaceable with only two out, said to be out hunting. I send you a list of names who want guns. There are 50 women and children here about one half are at Abernathy's in Middle Valley and the rest here at Wm. Munday's. There are about 90 men, but only 50 guns. I send you a list of names who want guns here and must have them and we must have 100 citizens who can come armed. The people here would feed them. Every kind of business is suspended in all of the valleys. We want help in time, shall we get it? Show this to Curtis + Joe Perrault. [Two unintelligible sentences here] Also send arms and all the ammunition that can be spared for north Idaho and we will send them through from here. Hall's boy will be the carrier of this and Riebolt will be with him. I got here 26 hours from the time I started. Send 25 more guns and 2000 rounds of ammunition by stage. Let the men get a team at Weiser and come to the Middle Weiser valley, the same way I did. In great haste,
Milton Kelly
On the back of the last page Kelly penciled, "Those Indians are blood thirsty. They are getting all the supplies and liquor they want and will jump on fresh horses and come here in 36 hours after they leave Salmon [River] if they come this way."
Some of the early information that spread about the conflict was untrue or exaggerated. Although it was initially reported in the letter that 36 soldiers had been killed at Whitebird, there were actually 34 killed and four wounded. No Indians were killed until later.
Among the 27 men Kelly listed as having guns were Zaddock Loveless, Wm Lovelace [Loveless], George Moser, Robert White, James Harrington, and Wm R [Ryal] Harrington. [Harrington's middle name, "Ryal", by which he was known, has also been spelled "Reil". It is spelled "Ryal" on his headstone.] Most of these were listed as living at "Hornet." Other men were listed who would soon settle in the Council area, or would play a roll in its future: Thomas Price, Rufus Anderson, Calvin White, and Andy Bacon.
Also among those gathered at Monday's house was the family of Alex and Martha Kesler, and Alex's brother, Andrew (listed as Andy Kesler). They had arrived in the Salubria Valley about a year earlier, and would soon move on to the Council Valley. [Martha Kesler was about 3 months pregnant at this time.]
7-27-06
About the same time that George Riebold and Edgar Hall got to Boise with their pleas for help, other letters were arriving at the governor's office. The following are short excerpts:
From Salubria, June 19th: "There are lots of women and children and they are scared to death. . . . "
From Lower Payette, June 19th: "Our citizens in this section are in a bad fix to defend themselves . . . we are liable to be attacked at any time, & we most earnestly request you to forward them [guns] by return stage." "The Weiser Indians are on Hornet Creek, fishing."
No date or exact location: "We the Citizens of Ada County, Weeser [sic] and Hornet Vallies [sic] do request that immediate assistance be furnished us in the way of arms and ammunition. Our last mail brings us the intelligence that the Indians have murdered 14 of the citizens on Salmon R. and have made threats against this portion of our country & we know not what hour they will be upon us."
The reason that citizens so readily asked the Territorial Governor for guns was a policy that had been set in place four years earlier (1873). The Governor had requisitioned "500 breech-loading Springfield rifled muskets, and also 25,000 round of metallic cartridges" from the U.S. Ordinance Department. These guns were to be furnished to citizens of Idaho Territory that were in "exposed localities" and used for "the public defense." Requests to the Governor for arms were required to be signed by "at least five good and responsible citizens."
By June 21st, news of the cavalry's defeat at Whitebird had reached Boise, and the Statesman's headline screamed, "TWO THOUSAND INDIANS IN ARMS! -- Troops defeated with heavy loss." The article that followed said, "The country is wild with alarm. The Indians are massacring men, women and children in Camas prairie, and the settlers are fleeing in all directions for safety." Attempting to justify its sensational headline, the paper stated that the bands of Joseph and White Bird had only about 200 members, but if other bands and tribes joined in there could be as many as 2,000 hostiles.
The fear of various Indian groups banding together in this kind of "general uprising" inspired communities from the Wallowa Valley in Oregon to Boise and beyond to become armed and ready to meet an Indian attack. Volunteer militias formed everywhere. In almost every issue of the Statesman, editor Kelly angrily blasted the army-General Howard specifically-for undermanning forts throughout the Northwest. Kelly said there were only eight men available for duty at Fort Boise.
Milton Kelly went back to Boise on June 23, but sent his right hand man, Joe Perrault (mentioned in Kelly's letter of the 20th) to Indian Valley to act as the paper's correspondent.
Also on the 23rd, Eagle Eye's band began a trek toward the more remote Payette River country. The Statesman reported it had seen,
a letter from Mr. Wilkerson, Cal White and other prominent citizens of Indian valley, saying that Eagle Eye's band was perfectly peaceable and would remain so and were afraid to stay where they were for fear if the Nez Perces came this way they would do violence or some kind of mischief to them for not fighting the whites. They asked to move their camp over to the Payette, 50 miles away, where they would be out of danger. Wilkerson and others have assented to this and wrote the letter so that they might not be molested by the settlers. The Indians started on Saturday and camped on Willow or Crain's creek on Sunday. . . .
In spite of a total lack of hostile native actions anywhere near them, the fortified settlers convinced themselves that every bush and tree concealed a murderous savage. Military units and groups of armed volunteers, including a crew composed of men from the Indian Valley / Salubria area, scoured the countryside.
Ida Hitt told a story of such a "scouting party" in her autobiographical manuscript. It occurred soon after the scare they got from Galloway's volunteers:
After the excitement died down, the older scouts decided to go out scouting. Over on Grey's Creek, 2 miles away, was a trail thru from the eastern part of the State, where one could ride close to the mountain without striking a settlement. It was always used by Indians visiting from one tribe to another. When the men were ready to start we girls, there were 3 of us, told them if they brought in an Indian we would give them strawberries & cream for dinner. Strawberries were a rare treat as very few were grown any place in the state. But one of the girls' fathers was a gardener; he had sent for strawberry plants and replanted from shoots until he had a fine patch. It was only one-half mile from where we were gathered. With the scouts with us we felt there was a little danger, besides two young scouts with guns went with us.
When the scouting party returned, consisting of John Sailing, A.F. Hitt [Ida's fiancé at the time], Tom Brassfield and I forgot the other names. They brought their Indian. Looking thru a spy glass they discovered in the distance a lone horseman. He had a small white flag on the end of a staff in front of him. The men selected Grey's Creek to conceal themselves; there were bushes on each side, so two on each side of the creek crouched in the bushes with their guns drawn. When the Indian was in the creek they stepped out. The Indian threw up his hands but showed no surprise. So proudly the men marched in. The Indian had a small bundle in front of him, which he untied and held when they told him to get off his horse. When Mr. Sailing took it from him and unwrapped it, he held up a most gorgeous headdress. On the front of the head piece it had a pair of goat horns fastened securely; the rest of it was covered with weasel tails. One man six feet tall put it on, and it touched the ground.
Tom Hailey [Healey] (the squaw man) said he [the Indian] was the war chief of the Bannock Indians. When the Bannocks went on the war path the next spring he wore it. The Indian claimed he was going into the mountains to bring in his father who was on a fishing trip with a few others, but why the headdress, a new rifle and a belt of cartridges? This part of the story of the Nez Perce war is not in the histories, but undoubtedly by arrangement with the Nez Perce he was to collect the fishing band and join the war party, and they would have come right thru Indian Valley, been joined by Eagle Eye's band, who were located not much more than 2 miles from us in the canyon. What a slaughter of men, women & children there would have been; all prevented by 4 scouts bringing him in. This is unwritten history, but true. Well the scouts had their strawberries and cream, as did the rest of the crowd.
While Ida's assessment of the situation was inaccurate, her account certainly illustrates the feelings of the time.
8-3-06
Milton Kelly wrote another letter from Indian Valley to the governor on June 23rd:
Gov. Brayman:
On receipt of the news of the outbreak of the non-treaty Nez Perce
Indians in North Idaho, and the probability the Indians would make for Weiser Settlements in southern Idaho . . . [I] proceeded to Indian Valley. [I] Found the people, some ten families gathered in at Wm. Munday's house in great consternation over the news. My first object was to learn the character of the Weiser Indians in this valley; about 75 in number under Eagle Eye, about half bucks. They was scattered some but were soon brought in, and professed peace. They had heard the news from North Idaho but promised to a man to remain in camp and keep peace with the whites. [They] would send some of their squaws out to dig roots, but bucks would remain in camp. Found several scatterings of Indians, some from Fort Hall, two from Malheur Agency with permit from Indian Agent to travel and hunt. One bunch of seven bucks had gone through the valley the day before I arrived. Their destination, North Idaho, they were all well armed with from 40 - 50 rounds of ammunition. Eagle Eye's band is pretty well armed. My opinion is that these Indians will remain peaceable unless the hostiles come over, with a few that may go [to] the fighting ground. . . ."
Two days later (June 25th) Captain Orlando Robbins arrived on the "upper Weiser" and dispatched this letter from Indian Valley:
To His Excellency M. Brayman, Governor of Idaho
Sir;
I respectfully report the following. Arrived here this afternoon with my command: 26 men besides the [illegible] transport wagon. I ascertain from reliable sources that there are hostile Indians this side of the mountains. No hostile act has as yet been committed. I think this section is closely watched by Indians. The friendly Indians have all left the Weiser. The people of this section are much alarmed. Women and children have left this valley - a fort for protection of families is being built on the Upper Weiser.
O. Robbins, Capt. Co. A.
Another letter from Captain Robbins reported that he found the "settlers in [a] fearful state of alarm, constructing [a] stockade & fortifications-all farms deserted & laid waste to loose stock (of which there is a great many)."
During this time, Levi Allen was coming out of the Seven Devils mountains after doing assessment work at his mining claims. He later wrote:
We came out on our trip back to Montana, we stopped at the farm houses along Hornet Creek, but could not find any one to home...cows, horsed, chickens running around. Finally we came into Council Valley. There we met a man on horse back. We asked him where all the people was. He told us that the Indians had gone on the warpath and all the white settlers had fortified themselves at Fort Hall in Council Valley, and he said that the settlers was looking for the Indians at any time. He told us we had better go to the Fort or we would be taken by the Indians.
Allen's mention of the settlers having fled to "Fort Hall" is obviously a misunderstanding on his part.
As Robbins mentioned, many of the women and children started leaving the Salubria and Indian Valley areas. They went to a fort that was built near Weiser, or traveled on to Boise. According to Alex "The Old Timer," some of the settlers holed up at Monday's place became frightened and started for the Weiser area at eleven o'clock one night. He said, "Their going stampeded the valleys on down, and at daylight the next morning they commenced coming, and all day a steady string of vehicles of all descriptions passed along the road and night found them all camped at Woodson Jeffrey's. But there was not sufficient grass and water for their teams, so in a day or two they commenced going back, and each valley built them a fort of their own."
The settlers who gathered at William Monday's farm in Indian Valley stayed there for several days, before deciding to build a fort closer to Salubria. Ida Hitt described how the fort came about:
. . . they decided to go down to the upper part of Salubria Valley and build a fort. The settlers from Council and Hornet Creek were all there. At that time there was no settlers in Meadows Valley. The men selected a dry piece of land belonging to Wilkerson Bro. It was close to a hill where they built a rifle pit. The fort was built of upright posts, with a thickness of 3 ft. with loop holes to shoot from. Then a heavy gate was put up with two strong bars to lock it. The men from Weiser helped with the building.
Alex the "Old Timer" said:
Indian Valley built a stockade around the school house and all summer we stayed there most of the time, and everyone in that time eating their allotted peck of dirt. The crops were harvested after a fashion, most of the men going to the fields by day and returning to the fort at night.
We had a laughable scare one night in the Indian valley fort. Cal White lived close by and the dogs got after an old sow of his and ran her inside the stockade. Nearly everyone was asleep, or trying to, and the way she leaped over beds, grunting like all possessed, was enough to strike terror into us for a few minutes.
8-10-06
Pieces of the story of the upper Weiser valleys in the weeks following the initial scare are found in Statesman articles from that time period:
June 26, 1877:
Report from Milton Kelly: "The fact that several days had passed and no confirmation of the report that the Indians were headed for the Weiser gave a better opportunity to organize and get more guns and ammunition to defend themselves." "Mr. Thomas Galloway left the Lower Weiser the next day after we did. He reports that they have organized two companies, one at Lower Weiser and one at Upper Weiser and Indian valley of about seventy men in both companies and he is asking for arms and ammunition from the Governor to arm seventeen men in his company, he being the captain of the company at Lower Weiser." "Crops of all kinds on the Weiser are remarkably good. Never saw better grain in any country. It is to be hoped that serious troubles will be averted and they will have the opportunity of gathering in a bountiful harvest."
June 28, 1877:
"Three men from Indian Valley were out all night and saw many fresh Indian tracks. Anderson and Riebold started for Warrens with the mail on the evening of the 25th and would travel all night. After they got over the summit of the mountain Riebold would take it on foot as it would be the safest way to travel. Tom Clay and party expected from Warrens to meet Riebold at Indian valley had not arrived or been heard from. Riebold will return with men for the arms sent to Indian valley for Warrens. Andy Bacon, who lives on the main Weiser the farthest up of anybody, came in from Goose creek and Salmon meadows over the summit of the mountain between Little Salmon and the Weiser the 25th, says he saw Indians all over the country between Goose creek and the Weiser valleys, one and two together as scouts, but no large bodies."
"Many of the families who came out to the lower valley [Weiser] have gone back. They have fortified at Wilkerson's place and keep out scouts all the time to give the alarm of danger. The people say they might as well die as lose all they have and they will take chances and defend their property to the last."
"Some suppose that the war will soon be put to an end - that it will be merely local - but my own impression is that it is more likely to prove a general outbreak."
June 30, 1877:
"Capt. Robbins . . . says that the Nez Perce scouts are watching his command on the Weiser and that they evidently have a line of signals and sentinels extending from the Weiser to their camp on the Salmon River. Their main object in this is most probably to guard against the approach of troops from this side. . . ."
Rumors that Indians burned Cuddy's mill are false.
Some immigrants between Boise and Kelton, Utah are turning back because of fear of Indian attack.
A Captain Bendire, who arrived on the Weiser and camped at Mann Creek with 45 men had hurried there because he had heard that 60 men had been killed by Indians on the Weiser. He had been ordered to Boise, but upon hearing this rumor, he came to the Weiser.
July 3, 1877:
Page 3- "Lieut. John S. Gray, of Company 'A' Idaho Volunteers, came into town [Boise] Sunday evening. He reports everything quiet on the Weiser and at Indian Valley. The women and children are carefully guarded at the Stockade Forts, and most of the farmers are busy tending to their crops. Scouts are kept out all the time, so that there is no danger of a surprise."
"The Weiser Indians -- Several of the Indians recently encamped near Indian Valley on the Upper Weiser are now encamped near this city [Boise]. Their professed business is to beg for flour and other provisions to take with them to the Great Camas Prairie. They met with poor success as the citizens here are unwilling to make Boise City a depot for gratuitous supplies to vagabond Indians, whom the Government and humanitarians of the East believe to be upon Reservations under the civilizing and Christianizing teachings of exemplary Agents and devoted Missionaries."
Governor Brayman ordered Robbins' Co. "A" back to Boise on July 2nd because the presence of U.S. troops "makes his stay no longer necessary. He will bring back the arms entrusted to him for delivery, unless in his careful discretion he thinks proper to supply responsible and reliable resident citizens who have pressing need of them-taking receipts." signed, Governor Brayman.
8-17-06
Continuing with Statesman newspaper quotes about the Nez Perce War and the panic at Indian Valley.
July 5, 1877:
Editor Kelly thinks returning the guns from the upper country is a mistake because no one knows where the hostile Indians will go next.
July 7, 1877:
Page one headline: "JOSEPH'S BAND MOVED CAMP - WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN"
"Capt. Robbins, chief of scouts, yesterday sent Oglesby with a message to Bendire to have Tom Price, one of the scouts, report at this place as soon as possible."
July 10, 1877:
Fighting on the Clearwater River near Mount Idaho. Soldiers are traveling through Boise, up the Weiser River to "Camp Bendire" and on north.
July 21, 1877:
The Nez Perce are fleeing east on the Lolo Trail-General Howard is in pursuit.
July 26, 1877:
Three companies of infantry that have been camped at Indian Valley under the command of Major Egbert were ordered to Mount Idaho.
Major Collins and soldiers from Fort Boise arrived at Indian Valley and "soon made things lively about the residence of Mr. Calvin White." Collins' company of infantry were ordered to stay at Indian Valley. "This will give the settlers confidence and allow them to harvest their grain. The exposed condition in which the departure of the troops would have left them would have prevented any work from being done as all the men would be required to remain on guard to avoid surprise."
July 31, 1877:
Editor says everyone thought the Nez Perce would hole up in the mountains in the Salmon and Snake River area, and if run out, they would come down the Weiser River. No one dreamed they would retrace to the Camas Prairie.
Major Collins sent two men to guard Cuddy's Mill.
Letter from Statesman correspondent, Joe Perrault:
Indian Valley, July 29
Fort Collins in this valley is now completed. It is made of logs, with bastions, etc., against which earthen breastworks have been thrown up. Major Collins has also had a good well dug inside the fort. Two large arbors have been erected in front of the fort; one for Major Collins and Lieut. Riley, the other for the soldiers of the company. Under these arbors they have pitched their tents. . . .
We stopped a moment to examine Fort Growler in the Upper Weiser valley, and called at the residence of Mr. Wilkinson [sic], on whose farm Fort Growler stands.
Aug 4, 1877:
"Besides Fort Collins in Indian Valley there were constructed during the Indian excitement Fort Growler in Upper Weiser valley, Fort Jefferies in Lower Weiser valley and Fort Devens in Payette valley. These posts should be allowed to stand as historical souvenirs of the present Indian War."
Aug 7, 1877:
"Hornet Valley" residents who left for Indian Valley fort would be safe to go home and harvest crops. "Hornet valley is about twelve miles in the mountains, nearly north of Indian Valley and is one of the most beautiful places in Idaho."
Aftermath--
By this time, it was known that the Nez Perce were being hounded by Federal troops in Montana, and it sank in that Weiser River settlers were not in danger from local natives. After things calmed down, the Council settlers went back home. The Moser family was concerned about their garden, but it had apparently done well in their absence. The little cabbage plants that George had shaded with boards had not only survived unattended, but had grown big enough to push over the boards.
In October of 1877, the Alex Kesler family moved from Indian Valley to the Council Valley. They settled on land that was just northeast of the Loveless homestead and the Council trees. The Kesler Cemetery is on what was the original homestead.
The stories of how panicked the settlers in this area were during the summer of 1877 illustrates the incredible fear that those people lived with. According to Indian Valley lore, for Solon Hall's wife, Margaret, the stress was too much. She was left home alone at Indian Valley a great deal of the time because her husband and sons (Edgar and Abner) were often gone carrying mail. She was hysterically afraid that Indians would attack her at these times. It seems ironic that it wasn't until August, after the tension in the region had eased, that her fear overcame her, and she took her own life. [This approximate date of her death is from the Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman, Aug 30, 1877. Indian Valley Cemetery records say the date of her death was August 18.] Such stories are not altogether uncommon in the history of the West. More than a few pioneer women felt overwhelmed by feelings of being trapped and alone in the middle of nowhere.
The War Winds Down
The Nez Perce War lasted all that summer [1877], but never came close to the Weiser River. The war mostly consisted of a deadly two-thousand-mile cat-and-mouse chase across several states, which ended in the Bear Paw Mountains of northern Montana. Although this band of Nez Perce was most often referred to as "Chief Joseph's" band, he was not their principal leader. He was not a war chief, but was in charge of the women, children, the elderly, and livestock. Joseph was just about the only chief left to do the surrendering at the end of the chase in northern Montana. Many of the surviving warriors fled across the nearby Canadian border, leaving Joseph to make his famous statement in which he swore to "fight no more forever."
[There is a fascinating book in the Council library for anyone who is interested in the story of the Nez Perce War or that tribe in general. It’s Yellow Wolf—His Story by L.V. McWhorter. Yellow Wolf was one of the Wallowa band who crossed the Canadian border. This book has incredible insights into the life and thinking of the Nez Perce.]
Even though most of the Wallowa band of the Nez Perce was bloodied and frozen into surrender in early October, for the Weiser Indians the ordeal was not over. Wanting no part of the conflict, they had retreated to remote areas. Because they had become virtual fugitives, many of them were unable to gather food for the coming winter. In August, Eagle Eye and most of the Weisers gave up their independence and surrendered to life on the Malheur Reservation in eastern Oregon.
The Malheur Reservation was located on the North Fork of the Malheur River, about 60 miles west of present-day Ontario, Oregon. Life on the Malheur Reservation turned out to be the same as on most other reservations of that day. The Indians were told that they had to start living like white people, but were given no chance to do so. Food and other supplies were scarce or nonexistent. After one winter under these absurd conditions almost all of the Weisers went back to their home territory in March of 1878. After most of the other Indians also left the reservation, it was permanently closed.
The Bannock War
By May of 1878, tension between whites and Indians all over the southern Idaho had deteriorated the breaking point. The final insult came when settlers allowed their hogs to ransack the camas fields near present day Fairfield. The camas there was a major food source for many Indians. Members of various tribes poured off the reservations in Oregon, Nevada and Idaho, and united under Bannock leaders in an all-out war against the whites. Groups of hostile Indians raided ranches, and even small settlements, in southwest Idaho and eastern Oregon. This conflict became known as the "Bannock War."
By this time there were enough people living in the Council Valley that the settlers here decided to build their own fort. They built it about 3/4 mile northwest of Moser's cabin, on Zadock Loveless's land, about 100 feet east of the river. This location was sadly ironic. The fort--a symbol of animosity, violence, and everything that had gone wrong between two races--was erected only a few hundred feet from living symbols of peace and prosperity: the five council trees.
The families didn't live in the fort continuously that summer, but when Indians were seen or rumored to be anywhere in the area, the settlers quickly moved in. They stayed there for as long as two or three months at a time. The men often left the fort during the day to work their land. A bell was hung at the fort as an alarm signal to be rung if Indians were sighted. Robert White organized the first school classes ever held in the Valley while the children were confined in the fort.
The Weisers, and other Indian groups who voiced opposition to the war, received threats of reprisal from the Bannocks if they did not join in the fighting. At least some members of the Weiser band went to war.
During the Weiser's stay on the reservation, a younger Chief named Egan had overshadowed Eagle Eye as their dominant leader. Egan was born a Shoshoni, but had been raised by Paiutes. After the band left the reservation, Egan was still very influential. Even though Egan knew the Indians could not win and he was reluctant to join in the Bannock War, he thought that they might at least win concessions from the government when the fighting ended. Egan soon became a principal war chief, helping to plan the strategy of a group of about 2,000 Bannock, Paiute and Shoshoni warriors.
It is not clear just what Eagle Eye's role was during the war. Accounts of the conflict generally refer to "Eagle Eye's Weisers" as being involved in various battles even though they were being led by Egan. It isn't clear whether Eagle Eye was even directly involved in the fighting.
In spite of being seriously wounded during a battle early in the conflict, Egan led the hostiles in a series of raids through eastern Oregon. Military troops and local militias tried to stop them, but the Indians rolled north through the John Day area like a whirlwind--killing settlers, slaughtering and mutilating livestock, and destroying ranches. The warriors hoped to join forces with sympathetic Umatilla Indians near the Columbia River, but were finally stopped from continuing in that direction by a concentration of army troops in the Blue Mountains and gunboats on the Columbia River.
Caption for Baseball photo:
Jill Thorne of Pendleton, Oregon, donated this picture to the museum recently, along with several other wonderful photos. It was taken at an unspecified location. It seems like I vaguely remember the remains of an old grandstand southeast of the grade school, pretty close to the highway in the late 1950s. Does anybody know about it, or if it wasn’t a grandstand, what it was? The photo apparently dates from between 1912 and 1917. The Johnny Jorgans is the closest man in the stands. Back row, left to right: unidentified, Eddie Burtenshaw (son of L.L. Burtenshaw, first Council High School graduate in 1912, died in WWI), Slim Cooper, Harold Eddy, Billy Brown (team manager and Council businessman). Front row, left to right: John Piper, Charlie Winkler, Oliver Anderson (Aaron Anderson’s brother), Paul Pfann (George Pfann the blacksmith’s brother), George Winkler (Charlie’s brother), Carl Straight. Batboy, Lincoln Mitchell (George Mitchell’s brother), is sitting on the ground.
The April 25, 1919 Adams County Leader said that W.R. (Billie) Brown, manager of the proposed local baseball team announced the formation of a PIN league that includes Huntington, Payette, Weiser, Midvale, Cambridge and Council.
8-31-06
The Bannock War comes to a bloody end.
In mid-July the hostile Indians, under the leadership of Egan, met with a large force of Umatillas in the Blue Mountains, just a few miles southeast of Meacham Station. (Interstate 84 now runs right beside the community of Meacham.) Egan's group expected great victories now that they had been joined by the Umatillas. Instead, disaster resulted. Unknown to the hostiles, the Umatillas had made a deal with the Army to kill or capture Egan. The Umatillas tricked Egan and several other warriors into following them a short distance from camp where they killed and scalped Egan and 13 of his men.
Not satisfied with the validity of the reports of Egan's demise, the army sent Captain Orlando Robbins to the massacre site to find proof. Robbins returned with grizzly evidence: Egan's severed head, and the arm that Robbins had wounded in a battle just a few weeks earlier. With the loss of their leader, and facing the prospect of facing both the army and the Umatilla nation, the hostiles disagreed as to what to do next. They split up, each tribe and band going its own way.
At this point it was widely believed that since the Weisers were on their own they would turn east and raid into their home territory. On July 11, General Howard ordered Captain Harry Egbert and a battalion of soldiers to the Weiser River to protect the settlers.
Panic at Council
In describing the settler's reaction when they were told hostile Indians were headed for the Weiser River, Ida Hitt said, "To describe the terror of the people would be impossible." The state of mind at the Council Valley fort was illustrated by an incident that occurred that summer. One day, probably in late June or early July, most of the settlers had left the fort to tend to their gardens. Those remaining at the fort became alarmed when they saw a cloud of dust rising to the south-the direction from which they expected any hostile Indians to come. In the dust, they could see riders. They immediately panicked, and instead of going inside the fort, they gathered up all the guns and ran to the thick brush along the river. Mammy White carried all the ammunition in her apron. The children were crying and screaming. All the dogs were barking. They later reflected that anyone--including Indians--could have heard the commotion from a mile away. George Moser was not far from the fort when he heard all the noise and came running. When he reached the terror-stricken group they told him the Indians were coming. Moser looked down the valley at the cloud of dust, and seeing at least one wagon, realized that it was not a group of Indians. Soon a column of soldiers came into clear view. Everyone came out of the brush, feeling very relieved-and probably a little embarrassed.
It may well have been that this troop of soldiers was a unit of territorial militia under Captain A.J. Borland who came through the Valley at about that time. He reported that when he arrived in the upper Weiser he found the residents there in a state of near panic and reported, "I have seen considerable excitement caused by Indian troubles, but never have seen anything that equals this."
The Indian threat to the Council Valley proved to be minimal. Before the Weisers could get far after separating from the main hostile force in the Blue Mountains, they were overtaken and attacked by the Umatilla Indians on July 17. Seventeen Shoshoni men were killed; 25 women and children were captured. Like all conflicts with the whites, the end result of the Bannock War was a forgone conclusion. The defeated Weisers broke up into many small groups and went into hiding.
More Settlers Arrive in the Council Valley
During the Bannock War, a wagon train of significance to the Council Valley reached Boise. This group of immigrants contained more people who would become well-known pioneers of the Council Valley than any single wagon train before or since. It also must have been one of the most complexly interrelated groups. Among the crew were:
Hardy and Rena Harp, and their two small sons.
William and Jane Harp, and two sons.
Sam Harp (single).
Sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Harp.
George and Martha Robertson. (Martha was the sister of Hardy, William, Sam and Elizabeth Harp.)
James Copeland and his very pregnant wife, Ida.
George A. and Letitia Winkler, and their children:
George M.(1856-1920), Mark (1858-1921), William F. (1866-1939), Lewis (1867-1952), James (1869-1956)
The group was bound for the Council Valley, enticed there by the presence of the Keslers. Martha Kesler (Alex's wife) was Letitia Winkler's sister and Ida Copeland's mother. When the group had reached Missouri, George M. Winkler (George and Letitia's son) and Elizabeth Harp had eloped and married before returning to the caravan. Now the Robertsons, Harps, Copelands, Keslers, and Winklers were all "shoe-string" relatives through one marriage or another.
The Harps and Robertsons decided to stay near Boise until they could decide where they wanted to settle. They later came to Council and Fruitvale. The Winklers and Copelands rolled into the Council Valley on August 6, 1878. The worst of the Bannock War was over, but the settlers here were still spending some time in the fort.
In September, Ida Copeland gave birth to a baby boy, in a small log cabin near the fort. William Copeland became the first white child born in the Council Valley. Edgar Moser was sometimes been credited with this distinction, but he was not born until about four months later, in January of 1879. The first non-native girl born here was Matilda Moser, in 1881.
Elva Kesler (Alex and Martha's daughter) was born in December of 1877, almost a year earlier than Will Copeland, and would have been the first non-native child born here, but she was born in Salubria. [Some of Elva’s descendants have been under the impression that she was the first white baby born in the Council Valley. And in actuality, she was the first newborn to live here. The Keslers came to Council a couple months before Elva’s birth (October 1877), but Martha evidently went to a more populated (Salubria) area to give birth. This understandable, since only a few people lived in the Council Valley at the time. Elva later married RobertYoung. Her obituary can be found in the Adams County Leader, Aug 20, 1954.]
Lucy McMahan said, "In 1877 the settlers met to name the valley. The majority wanted to call it 'Moser Valley', but Mr. Moser objected to the name. So they decided to call it Council Valley. . . ." George Moser's nickname was "Buckshot," and some early residents referred to the community by that name, even long after it was officially named Council in 1896.
THE LONG VALLEY MASSACRE
The Bannock War would prove to be the only time when the interracial violence struck close to home on the upper Weiser River. Even though the War had reached its climax and the Idaho countryside was relatively calm, the August 22, 1878 issue of the Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman, was filled with accounts of various military units in pursuit of hostile Indians all over the West. Almost as a side note, there was a brief remark among the news items from outlying areas. It said mail carrier, Solan Hall, had reported that Indians had stolen three horses at Indian Valley.
It was almost midnight as 19 year old Edgar Hall approached the outskirts of Boise City. His horse stumbled and almost fell as the exhausted animal struggled to keep going through the blackness. The bottoms of Edgar's pant legs were stiff with dried, lathered, horse sweat. He had been in the saddle for 16 hours without rest. The bones in his backside felt like they had cut completely through the muscles to rub relentlessly against the hard leather seat of the saddle, and his legs ached for relief.
His mind flashed back to just a little over a year earlier when he had made a similar ride to Boise City beside George Riebold after the Nez Perce War had broken out. This time he was alone. He had left Indian Valley at 8:00 AM that morning, and the only thing that had kept him going for the past 100 miles was the hope that Sylvester Smith was still alive and that Edgar could send a doctor to him in time.
About a day and a half after the routine news of William Monday's stolen horses was printed, the quiet slumber of the troops at the Boise Barracks was disrupted about midnight by Edgar Hall, who was exhausted from an all night ride. He said that a doctor was badly needed. Three Indian Valley men had been killed by Indians, and a fourth victim was lying seriously wounded at Calvin White's cabin at Salmon Meadows.
The story of the Long Valley Massacre has been retold and expounded until the truth about some parts of the tragedy may never be known. There was only one eye witness who survived the massacre, and he left no first hand account. It is known that on Saturday, August 17, 1878, Indians stole some horses from farmers in Indian Valley. Stories of the number of animals that were taken range wildly from three horses to sixty. Whatever the number, William Monday seems to have been the principal victim of the crime.
One account of a possible contributing factor in the thievery concerns an incident that reportedly occurred earlier that summer. About 70 Indians under Eagle Eye's leadership were said to have been camped at Indian Valley. Tom Healey (also spelled Healy or Hailey) had an Indian wife, and the Indians were "holding pow-wows" in the evenings on a hill near the Healey house. Healey told them, "If you don't stop that, the whites will kill every last one of you." So they stopped, but "kept plotting against the whites." Because of this, a grudge was supposedly initiated against Healey and/or whites in general.
Another story says that Monday had often cut down trees on land that Eagle Eye's band claimed. When the Indians complained, Monday is said to have sworn at them.
More than one account says that Monday was working for Solon Hall at the time the horses were stolen, harvesting hay or grain. Monday reportedly left his team tied to a wagon for the night, and they were gone the next morning. Ellis Snow's version sounds the most plausible: Monday owned a reaper drawn by four horses, and was cutting Hall's grain; the horses were stolen after they had been turned loose to graze for the night.
Monday was said to have been friends with certain Indians, and had hired them to help on his farm. [From an interview with Irene McMahan, 1991. Irene, whose maiden name was McDowell, was raised at Indian Valley.] It's doubtful that the horses were stolen because of some personal grudge against Monday. The Indians were probably among the many wandering fragments of hostile bands, and they simply took advantage of an opportunity to engage in a time-honored Native American sport: stealing horses from an enemy.
On the next day after the horses were stolen, Solon and Edgar Hall, and Jake Groseclose followed the tracks left by the Indians for about ten miles into the mountains to the east, then turned back. On Monday the 19th, Jake Groseclose again took up the trail accompanied by William Monday, Sylvester "Three Fingered" Smith, and Tom Healey.
Caption for photo:
This is another of the photos left at the museum by Jill Thorne. It shows “Dead Shot” Reed’s family on the South Fork of the Salmon River in 1916.
9-14-06
Three-Fingered Smith
Of the four men who set out after the Indians who stole William Monday’s horses, probably the most colorful character was Sylvester "Three-Fingered" Smith. He was a tall, slender man who received his nickname after an accident. Visiting with a friend, Smith had one foot on the bottom rail of a fence; his hands were folded together, resting over the business end of his muzzle-loading shotgun. His foot slipped off the rail, his knee hit the hammer of the gun, and it went off. When the smoke cleared, one finger on each of Smith's hands was gone, leaving only three to a hand. One imaginative myth of how he lost his fingers says that they were shot off in a gunfight in Silver City.
Born in Virginia in 1829, Sylvester S. Smith had come to Idaho at the dawn of the gold rush in 1861. He staked a placer claim at Florence that turned out to be one of the richest in the area. Depending on which source one believes, the claim was said to have yielded either three hundred or three thousand dollars per day at its peak.[ Aaron Parker, Historian Sheila Reddy and the Adams County Leader (Jan 16, 1926) mentioned gold values for Smith’s claim. Reddy said $3,000/ day -- Parker said $300/ day. The lower figure would seem more realistic, considering a dollar in 1861 would buy what about $20 would today.] His claim was located near what is now named "Smith Gulch." Along with two partners, Smith also ran a store at Florence. When gold was discovered at Warrens, Smith and his mercantile partners were some of the first to set up camp there.
Smith had married a girl from Oregon named Juanita while living in that state. The Smith's first child, Sam, was born in Oregon in 1866. Their second boy, Warren, was born in 1868 in the town after which he was named. Warren Smith was said to be the first white child born at Warren.
By 1872 the Smith family had settled on a homestead along the South Fork of the Salmon River at the mouth of Elk Creek. Their third son, Henry, was born here. A fourth son, Robert, was born to the couple about 1876. During the Nez Perce War of 1877, Three Fingered Smith was involved in bringing guns to the Warren area so that the citizens there could be better armed. The next year found him living at Indian Valley. By this time, he was 49 years old.
In Hot Pursuit
As the four Indian Valley men set out after the horse thieves, they asked their neighbor, John Anderson, to go along with them. Anderson had some experience with Indians, having been a military scout in his younger days. He felt could not go with the expedition because his wife was over eight months pregnant, but he offered the men some words of advice. He warned that the Indians had a two-day head start on them and could not be overtaken if they really wanted to get away. He cautioned that if the Indians left an obvious trail it meant that they were a large enough war party to overpower any pursuers, and would probably ambush them. Mrs. Anderson recalled Smith making some sarcastic remark about her husband's advice as they rode away, implying he didn't respect it. [I’ve always questioned the validity of this story. If Smith was experienced in dealing with Indians, or in military matters in general, it seems that he would have respected Anderson’s advice.]
The four men apparently made camp somewhere along the route, and continued the next day, Tuesday the 20th. They followed what indeed was an obvious trail made by shod horses over the divide into Long Valley, about 30 miles south of Payette Lake. This was just north of the present town of Cascade and a very short distance northeast of the present dam. At the time, the vicinity was referred to as the "Falls of the Payette River."
About noon they followed the tracks up a small, boulder-studded ridge that ran through the valley. Suddenly a lead slug slammed into Monday's chest. The Indians had waited in ambush, just as Anderson had said they might.
(Continued next week)
I would very much like to hear from the person who left some great old photographs at the door of the museum. Please contact me: 253-4583 or dafisk@ctcweb.net
Bob Davis was kind enough to take me on an adventure a couple weeks ago. Although I had been to the old townsite at Iron Springs, I hadn’t been able to find the mines. Bob knew right where they were and gave me the guided tour. One of the highlights of the trip was learning why the place was called Iron Springs. At the uppermost of the three main mines, where the tunnel once went into the mountain, there is a spring pouring water down the mountainside. Whether the spring was there before the tunnel was started or flowed out of it after it was excavated may be lost to history, but the water contains high concentrations of iron and sulfur. The bottom of the steam and pools are lined with both yellow and rust-colored deposits. The air around the spring has a sulfur smell reminiscent of a hot spring, but the water is cold.
An added bonus to the trip was seeing a young bull moose just below the mines and a black bear with her cub at the spring. There was also a nice three-point buck with a high rack hanging around the spring, and we could see where he had been licking at the minerals.
Caption for Photo 95467.jpg:
This photo of Three-Fingered Smith with one of his sons has seen better days. But if you look closely (in the original photo at least) you can see which fingers are missing. As near as I can tell, the ring finger is missing on his left hand and the index finger of his right hand are gone—both at the middle joint.
There are several versions of the ambush. One account of the attack says that an Indian called Monday by name just before the first shot was fired, and that this shot killed Monday instantly.
The following is Edgar Hall's account, as printed in the Statesman, of what happened after Monday was shot. The story Hall heard was second-hand, as he had not been in contact with Smith before he rode to Boise for help. The printed story was fourth hand, and undoubtedly flawed:
At this moment Healy and Groseclose dismounted, when the latter was shot in the breast, and turning to Smith said, "they have got me." Healy then got behind a rock and asked Smith to stay with him.
Smith however, being a man of experience in such matters, saw that they were completely outnumbered and at the mercy of the Indians, and not having dismounted from his mule, turned to flee, when he was fired upon by the Indians and shot through the thigh. The next shot took his mule from under him, and being on foot and running for his life, he was again hit by a shot, which broke his arm.
Smith says that after leaving Healy, who was completely surrounded by the Indians, he heard about a dozen shots, and after a short interval, another shot was fired, which makes it certain that poor Healy met his sad fate at the hand of the red fiends.
Aaron F. Parker wrote the only known version of the ambush told by anyone who spoke directly with Three Fingered Smith. Parker was one of the first people to interview Smith, speaking to him the day after the massacre.
[Much of the information here is gathered from an article by Aaron F. Parker, printed in the Adams County Leader, Jan 16, 1926. Aaron Foster Parker was born in England in 1856. He began a career as a sailor in 1869. When a voyage took him to San Francisco in 1877, he left the ship and went on a prospecting expedition to the "Brownlee Country" of Idaho. During the next four years, Parker was a miner, then Indian fighter, and then an amateur journalist. In 1881 he took over the Nez Perce News newspaper. At some point he lost his hearing, but the setback didn't keep him from becoming one of the most respected newspaper men in the State. (The preceding is from History of Idaho Territory, written in 1884, page 274. I believe the Council Library has a copy.) Parker later ran the Idaho County Free Press newspaper at Grangeville, and was the Treasurer of Idaho County in the 1920s.]
According to Parker, Monday and his companions approached the ambush site riding single file. Monday, being in the lead, was the first to be shot, his horse being killed under him. He was wounded, but started firing after reaching the ground. With the exception of Smith, the others rode quickly forward and dismounted. Parker said that Three Fingers knew from experience that it was better to stay mounted under Indian attack.
As Healey led his horse toward Monday, the animal was struck by a bullet. While distracted by the now panicked horse Healey was hit and fell mortally wounded, not far from Monday who was still firing wildly. (Evidence found at the scene later actually seemed to indicate that Monday was shot in the heart and died instantly.)
Parker said that no Indians were ever visible during this melee. Groseclose was the next to fall, screaming as he fell, "They have got me, Smith!"
Up until this point only single shots had been fired, as if the Indians were calmly and coldly executing their enemy. But as Smith rode forward, a fusillade erupted that severely wounded both Smith and his mule. He was hit twice through the right groin, and his left shoulder was crippled by two more shots. Smith then exhausted every cartridge he had in aimless fire. Running from the Indians, Smith hid in a grove of pine and willows about a half-mile above the ambush site until he saw the Indians round up their horses and leave.
Other versions, of uncertain origin, make slight alterations to the tale:
1. Smith was hit in the side, thigh, and right arm as he fled. Being left handed, he kept shooting, and the Indians didn't know he was wounded. He dove into an eddy in the river and got under some drift timber, sticking his nose up between to breathe; he stayed there until after dark.
2. Smith hid in a hollowed out place under a big rock until dark.
3. Smith was shot thru the thigh, neck, and right arm. He hid on an island in the middle of a river until the Indians left.
4. Smith was shot twice though the thigh and then his left arm, and hid in a grove of pine and underbrush.
Regardless of the exact nature of his injuries or how he evaded the Indians, Smith found himself seriously wounded and miles from anywhere. The nearest possibility of help, and the easiest route to travel, lay to the north. He decided to try to reach the Warren pack trail near Payette Lake on the chance he might encounter someone.
He found his wounded mule, and rode it north until the mule died. After that he walked, then finally crawled on his hands and knees. Over the course of many agonizing hours Smith struggled almost 30 miles.
Anyone who is interested in local history, and especially in our logging history should make special note of the oral history program coming up on September 28 at New Meadows. I will be moderating a panel discussion of loggers who will be telling many interesting stories. Audience input will be welcome too, so if you are an old logger, or just want to hear some great stories, come on up. It will be at the old PIN Railroad depot, starting at 7:00 PM.
Caption for 72027.jpg------
William Monday (also spelled "Munday")-- killed by Indians in Long Valley on Aug 20, 1878. He was a farmer and former Indian Valley postmaster.
9-28-06
The Aftermath of the Attack
On the second or third day after the Indian attack, Calvin White was on the trail near Payette Lake, carrying the mail to Warren. At a point near Payette Lake he heard a cry for help. Going to investigate, he found his former Indian Valley neighbor lying exhausted on the ground--no doubt covered with blood. White immediately took the injured man to his cabin in the Meadows Valley. [Ellis Snow said that White personally told him how he found Smith and took him to his cabin.]
A man known as "Dr. Walker," who apparently was not a medical doctor, was at White's cabin and went for help. He found a military unit under the command of Captain William F. Drum camped about 13 miles away near the head of the Weiser River. [It is not clear whether Drum was a Captain or a Major. The Statesman consistently referred to him as a Major, while Corless and Parker call him “Captain.”] Captain Drum had been stationed in the upper Weiser and Payette river valleys since earlier that summer. His presence there had made the settlers feel secure enough to return to their homes and farming. Dr. Walker continued on to Indian Valley with the news of the massacre. Captain Drum had no doctor with his unit, and evidently asked Walker to see that one was sent from Boise.
At 8:00 AM on Friday, August 23rd, Edgar Hall started his ride to Boise for a doctor. When he reached the present site of Weiser, he encountered Company E, First regiment of Idaho volunteers under the command of Thomas Galloway. Four members of the volunteer militia, Aaron F. Parker, John ("Jack") Smith (Monday's brother-in-law), Steve Durbin, and Ike McKinney set out to try to "recapture the stolen stock for the benefit of the widows, and with the further hopes in mind of capturing or otherwise deposing of the murderers." [This quote is from Parker, who should have the most accurate version since he was one of the men involved. Aitken (pp. 18 &19) said that George Hoffstetter and James Linder accompanied Smith, Durbin and McKinney, and that Parker was in a separate volunteer group. Barry and Woods (pp. 57-58) say that Linder helped bury the murdered men and mark their graves. Parker did not help bury the men, so there is some mix-up here.]
Parker related the experiences of the four volunteers from this point. The account is in the third person, even though he wrote it himself:
Their equipment consisted of horse and saddle; a .50 caliber Springfield rifle; a very limited supply of cartridges; extra saddle blanket; one-half sack of "self-rising" flour; and a few coffee berries and a pinch of tea to chew on and prevent headaches for those who were accustomed to the use of these beverages in peace time.
In those primitive days all civilian volunteers furnished their own other equipment for light marching order at their own cost. Under such conditions most of the Indian wars of the Pacific northwest have been fought; the volunteer companies being always in the field before troops arrived.
The four men traveled throughout the night without stopping, and covered the 90 miles to Calvin White's in 22 hours. Here they rested and interviewed Three Fingered Smith as to the location and details of the ambush. This would have been August 24, four days since Smith was wounded, and he must have been suffering terribly.
Early the next morning the four set out for the ambush site. None of the men were familiar with that part of the country, but finally reached what they thought was the approximate place just before dark. Parker continues:
Here they built a camp fire, mixed a batch of "self-rising," toasted on willow twigs, and after a smoke and going through the motions of spreading their blankets, they silently stole away and back-tracked to another camp two miles up the trail they had followed, in the hope of deceiving the Indians if any were around in search of victims. Here they camped for the night, each taking turns of vigilant watchful waiting until daylight when they returned to the scene of the killings, and reconnoitered the topography of the region and inspected the bodies, which lay in positions as outlined by "Three Fingers."
The scene of the massacre and the details connected therewith will remain forever as clear-cut picture never to be effaced from the mind and memory.
Imagine for yourself a trail lying at the base of a timber-clad mountain, with huge slabs of bare granite standing perpendicularly from which twisted scrub pines and mountain mahogany had grown from the fissures. Beneath the trail the land sloped gently to the broad open valley through which the river sang, with no protection save a few wash boulders protruding a few inches above the soil....
Caption for 98260.jpg:
The ambush site as it looked about 1929. Notice the U.S. flag flying just at the right side of the small pine tree. The flagpole is still there. The hillside is now covered with trees and looks quite different. The location of the graves in unmarked and the area is trashed- -a disgrace to the memory of these men and one of the most dramatic events in local history.
10-5-06
A New Twist to the Tale
I got a call from Larry Boehm with some missing pieces of the puzzle concerning William Monday’s stolen horses. Jake Groseclose, who was killed in the attack at Long Valley, had a sister named Rose Ann Groseclose. She later married Arthur Robertson and had a daughter, Mary Vivian (married Bill Boyles), who had a daughter, Jeanne, who married Larry Boehm. Larry said the story that passed down through the Groseclose/Robertson/Boyles families was that the massacre occurred because William Monday was not honest about the circumstances surrounding the theft of his horses.
Irene McMahan told me that Monday had been friends with certain Indians, and had hired them to help on his farm. Evidently Monday had kept an Indian man working for him all that summer of 1878 by promising him a certain horse at the end of the season. At the end of the grain harvest, Monday backed out on the deal. This was so typical of the interaction between whites and Indians in those days. Just exactly the details of their agreement, and whether any part of it was a misunderstanding instead of deception may never be known. At any rate, the Indian figured the horse was his and simply took it. He and or his buddies probably figured while they were at it they would punish Monday for his dirty dealing and took a couple extra horses.
When Monday asked his neighbors to help him retrieve the horses, he neglected to tell them about his deal with his Indian employee. When Jacob and Elizabeth Grosclose learned about this after their son was killed, it was, of course, a bitter pill to swallow. The story, the sorrow and resentment of Monday’s deceitfulness passed down through the generations.
There is no way to know exactly how factual this story is, but it certainly has a ring of truth to me. It fits with the way whites and Indians related back then, with human nature, and with other parts of the overall story. Bill Monday certainly paid with his life for rationalizing his behavior, and it’s a shame that he got others involved without telling them the whole story.
For reasons unknown, Captain Drum had not yet arrived at the site, even though his unit was much closer and knew about the attack at least a day earlier than the volunteers. Parker's group found 14 empty cartridges scattered around the bodies of the victims; their cartridge belts lay empty beside them. The rifles contained only empty shells. This evidently was all the ammunition the men had with them, as it seemed to Parker and the others that the Indians had not disturbed the bodies at all to steal anything. It appeared that the Indians had left in a hurry immediately after being unable to find Smith.
Parker continues:
They scouted around and soon discovered and followed the broad trail up the mountain in the soil of the hillside.
Anticipating that troops would soon be here and bury the dead, they maintained the pursuit for two days and nights, selecting well protected spots for camps and keeping vigilant lookouts for possible attacks. Approaching the summit, the soil of the hillsides gave way to bare granite; the tracks became less recognizable, and a summer thunder storm accompanied by hail and torrential rain wiped out the last vestige of the trail, eliminating all hope of again picking up the hoof prints. The pursuers concluded to abandon the chase and return from whence they came.
On the evening of the fifth day, they again reached the battlefield and found that the bodies had been buried where they fell, and as a landmark to perpetuate their memory, the troop had inscribed upon one of the slabs behind which the enemy had laid concealed, the names of the victims and the date of the event under crossed rifles. Here they camped for the night in peace, and after raking the still warm ashes of the troopers' camp fires, they found bacon rinds which, after washing, [were] chewed to satisfy their hunger.
The carving that the soldiers inscribed on the rock read, "MONDAY, HEALY AND GROSECLOSE - KILLED AUG 20, 1878"
The next morning the four volunteers met two soldiers from Captain Drum's company who were scouting the area south of the troop's main encampment at Payette Lake. Parker and his companions camped that night with the main military group on the lake, then went on to Calvin White's cabin at Meadows. There they found that Dr. McKay had left to return to Boise the day before, leaving the assurance that his patient was recovering so well that he "could not be killed with an axe." [Bill Winkler said the doctor’s name was McKay, and that he had traveled some 260 miles from Boise to the Meadows Valley.] The four volunteers returned to Weiser.
It was Drum's unit who had buried Monday, Healey and Groseclose, and inscribed the memorial on the rock. Captain Drum reported that the bodies of the slain men were about sixty yards from the spot where they had been killed. He said:
The bodies had been thrown together in a pile by the Indians, but had not been scalped or mutilated. At the moment of attack Monday had been shot dead by a bullet through the heart and had fallen from his horse, leaving his gun hanging to the horn of the saddle. The gun was found where it had been dropped by Monday's horse when he ran from the scene.
Groseclose was fatally shot soon after dismounting and his horse fell into the hands of the Indians, but being a vicious and refractory animal the horse escaped from them and was afterwards found running in the hills some distance from the scene of the murder and was with difficulty caught and brought in. Tom Healy made a fight with the Indians, from behind the rocks where he first took up a position, as three empty cartridges were found at that spot.
[Drum's details of Monday being killed instantly and his rifle remaining on his saddle does not match Parker's account of Monday continuing to fire after being hit.]
Parker reported that at least some of the horses had been killed, saying, "The carcasses of the horses were far apart in the valley."
Caption for 72029.jpg:
The inscription chiseled into the rock at the massacre site in 1878 is visible in this photo because someone has traced it with chalk. It still there today, but is hard to see. The bronze plaque commemorating the murders was placed here below the carved inscription in 1929.
Caption for 99557.jpg:
Jacob and Elizabeth Groseclose, parents of Jake Groseclose who was killed at Long Valley. Another son, Austin, stands behind them.
10-12-06
More Killing After the Ambush
Three-Fingered Smith is reported to have said that there were at least 75 Indians that ambushed his group, but Drum found sign of only fifteen at the most, and maybe as few as only five.
Drum's unit followed the Indians' trail at least eight miles past the ambush site. At "Pearsall's Diggins," they found the bodies of two prospectors who had evidently been killed by the same Indians on the day after the ambush. One man was a Mr. Wilheim from Idaho City. No description was given as to how or where his body was found, but the Statesman printed a grizzly description of the second victim, Daniel Crooks of Mount Idaho:
Crooks was found some distance from the spot where the two were first attacked, lying in the grass on his back. The grass was beaten down all around him, as if a violent struggle had taken place. He had been shot through the body, and the last shot, which seemed to have been given where he was found, was in the head at close range, tearing completely off the frontal part of the skull and brain. He still held a rope in his hand and was probably running to get his horse. . . .
On the same day that Monday's party had started in pursuit of the Indians (Aug 19th), another group of men had left Indian Valley to return to their mining site at "Copeland's Diggings," which was somewhere in the general direction the Indians had gone. The four men were, James Crews, S.F. Smith, Perry Clark (the man who named Council Valley) and Hornet Creek pioneer Henry Childs. Drum became concerned that the Indians may also have killed these men, so he went to Copeland's Diggings to check on them. There is no indication that these miners had any trouble.
Many years later, Bill Winkler said that Three Fingered Smith knew the identities at least four of the Indians involved in the Long Valley Massacre. They were supposed to have been Eagle Eye, War Jack (Shoshoni), Chuck (Lemhi Shoshoni), and Booyer (Blackfoot). Winkler said that after spending "some years" in Wyoming, Smith traveled about the country, locating and killing Chuck and Booyer. Apparently he couldn't locate War Jack or Eagle Eye.
This is a good story, but there is no evidence to back it up. All during the investigation there was no indication that anyone involved had a clue as to the identities of the Indians. The only recorded guess was made by General Howard at Walla Walla. He believed they were hostile Nez Perce from White Bird's band who had returned from Canada. One would think that if Smith knew who had murdered three of his neighbors he would have immediately informed Captain Drum and anyone else who could bring them to justice. Aaron Parker met with Smith again only five years after the massacre (1883) and interviewed him a second time. Again, Smith evidently said nothing about the identities of the Indians or about his having wreaked revenge on them. If he had, Parker would certainly have included this in his account.
It is no surprise that Eagle Eye was a prime suspect. He was usually blamed for every real or imagined native depredation that occurred within a week's ride. Ironically, there were eyewitness reports (which turned out to be false) that Eagle Eye had been killed in the battle with the Umatillas a month before this massacre.
Old time Indian fighter, Ewing Craig "Pinky" Baird, who was an independent Indian scout during this time and was later a Council resident, boasted that he had personally shot and killed Eagle Eye sometime after the massacre. Indians had killed a member of Baird’s family, and he held a life-long grudge against all members of that race. He is said to have assassinated a number of Indians in the Council area. Baird claimed that he had shot Eagle Eye in the back while the chief was getting a drink from a stream. Either Baird coldly executed an Indian that he thought was Eagle Eye, or he was a bald-faced liar. Eagle Eye died of natural causes years later. Regardless of whether or not Baird actually believed he had killed Eagle Eye, he went so far as to give Bill or Charley Winkler a pair of moccasins that he claimed Eagle Eye was wearing at the time he killed the chief. These moccasins are now in the Council Valley Museum.
Caption for photo 72018: Craig “Pinky” Baird—Indian killer.
10-19-06
After the massacre, Three Fingered Smith eventually recovered from his wounds, but his health was never the same. He continued to live at Indian Valley for a year or two. In 1879, he ran for election to the position of constable, but lost by one vote.
By 1883 Smith was back living on the Salmon River where Aaron Parker met with him and reviewed the events of the massacre. Smith never lost the gold fever that had lured him to Idaho. In 1889 he made a significant gold discovery in a remote area somewhere near the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.
In the winter of 1889 - 1890, the Smith's youngest son, fourteen-year-old Bobby, volunteered for the hazardous job of carrying mail into a remote location for a man who couldn't make the trip. Bobby was not seen again until his body was found the following May.
Three Fingered Smith died April 28, 1892 at his Elk Creek ranch at the age of 63. His coffin was made from sluice boxes, as the ailing miner had requested the day before he died. He was wrapped in a buffalo robe, placed in the coffin, and buried on his ranch. [Juanita and Bob Smith were also buried on the family's Elk Creek ranch.] In spite of the wealth he had gained at Florence, Smith died very poor. This, his friends said, was mostly a result of his generosity, "which he did not practice alone when he made lots of money, but to the last days of his life." Several geographic features in the Salmon River area are named after this pioneer: Smith Mt., Smith Knob, Smith Gulch, and Smith Saddle.
On August 21, 1929, fifty-one years after the Long Valley Massacre, a memorial service was held at the gravesite near Cascade by an organization called "The Sons of Idaho." A number of relatives of Jake Groseclose who were living during the time of the massacre attended the service. A bronze plaque honoring the dead men was mounted on a rock at the site.
The Sheepeater War
The next year after the Long Valley Massacre, Sheepeater Indians were accused of committing several murders along the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, and soldiers were sent into the area to capture them. Ironically, on August 20, 1879--exactly one year to the day after the Long Valley Massacre--one of the cavalry units sent after the Sheepeaters rode into a very similar ambush. One soldier, Private H. Eagan, was killed. The four-month-long campaign that became known as the "Sheepeater War" managed to round up a total of 15 warriors and about 36 women, children, and old people. The Army lost over sixty mules and horses in the rugged mountains; a number of these were killed by falling off the trail, down precipitous mountainsides.
It's interesting to note that among the captured Indians were two men that Bill Winkler said were involved in the Long Valley Massacre: "Tamanmo" (also known as War Jack), and a Weiser Indian named "Buoyer" (Booyer). A journal kept by a Lieutenant Brown listed War Jack as being part Bannock and part Nez Perce; it also said he claimed to be the successor to Chief Eagle Eye. Brown mentioned that Buoyer had only been in the area for about a year, and did not know the country well.
Washington County
This part of Idaho was originally part of a big county named "Ada." On February 20, 1879 the ninth territorial legislature drew a line through Ada County just south of Weiser. The portion of the county north of this line became Washington County; it basically comprised what is now Adams and Washington counties. There was a big controversy as to where the county seat of Washington County would be. Probably because it had the biggest population, Weiser won the honor, even though it was at the extreme southern end of the county.
I goofed a couple weeks ago (10-5 column), and left out one step in the generations leading up to Jeanne Boehm. I should have said Mary Vivian and Bill Boyles’ daughter, Velma, married Jack Aldrich, and Velma and Jack’s daughter was Jeanne who married Larry Boehm.
10-26-06
The End of Freedom
In the early 1880's, a few Indians still roamed Idaho's mountains. Most eventually surrendered or were captured, and they were sent to the Fort Hall Reservation. Small groups of Weiser Indians were occasionally allowed to leave the reservation to hunt, fish, and gather berries in their old territory. This practice continued into the early 1900s.
In 1881 settlers were still very afraid of Indian attack. A panic was set off in the Meadows Valley area when a trapper named Wilson sighted two Indian boys 25 miles southeast from the there. Families rushed to a central location for defense, and a party of armed men was sent out to investigate. They found only a deserted camp where the Indians had apparently been surviving by eating the peeled inner bark of pine trees.
Shortly after the panic, Aaron Parker, who was now editor of The Nez Perce News in Lewiston, remarked in his newspaper:
“Nothing has been heard of the Indians seen lately in Long Valley. There is a large section of unoccupied hills and mountains between Long Valley, Indian Creek, Crane's Creek, and Willow Creek where they could range all summer. No on can say what farm or house they will burn or what farmer or stock herder they will first pounce upon and massacre."
Parker's guess about a possible native hideout was dead on. Two small groups under Eagle Eye and Indian Charley had quietly established permanent homes at Dry Buck Valley, a very secluded valley south of Long Valley and west of present-day Banks, Idaho. These families built cabins, raised gardens, and planted fruit trees. By combining both white and native life-styles, they were quite self-sufficient. Eagle Eye and Indian Charley were each able to die here, as they had lived--in peace. [The Emmett Index reported the death of Eagle Eye in its May 30, 1896 issue, on page 1. The Salubria Citizen, June 19,1896 quoted the Index article.]
It seems that this type of settlement by Indians would have been an ideal solution to any conflict between the cultures. For many years whites didn't even know they were there. But when they did find out about them, the dark side of human nature raised its ugly head. Even though the Indians filed for rights to their land under the Homestead laws, they were eventually coerced into giving up even this last fragment of their homeland. About 1900, the last remaining members of this group of free native people were incarcerated at the Fort Hall and Lemhi Reservations.
For Native Americans, the concentration camp existence they were forced to endure on reservations must have been almost impossible to bear. In their culture, everything sacred--everything that gave purpose and meaning to their lives--was based on their relationship with mother earth, from whose arms they had been ruthlessly torn. What cultural values could they pass on to their children when almost every value they understood had been made irrelevant? It seems bitterly ironic that European culture--outwardly professing spirituality, but in reality based on materialism--brutally crushed a culture so totally immersed in spiritual values.
All but the last couple centuries of Native American history is mostly a mystery. The stories of their lives are nearly unknown, but their former presence here underlies everything that has followed them. The places where we now live, work, and play were a precious legacy handed down from native fathers and mothers to sons and daughters for more than 100 centuries longer than the blink-of-an-eye that our European culture has been here.
Imagine a time line with each foot representing 1,000 years. [There is just such a time line painted on the wall at the museum.] Going backwards from the present to a point 14,000 years ago--about when the first Americans arrived here--the line would be fourteen feet long. On that line, Columbus arrived on this continent only six inches ago. The Mosers arrived to settle the Council Valley less than 1 1/2 inches ago. The stories in this book are only one sentence compared to the volumes of forgotten sagas played out in this land before an alien culture conquered it.
Caption for Indians 1914.jpg:
Indians returned to the Council and Meadows Valleys for years after they were put on reservations. This photo was taken of a group of Indians traveling north on Cemetery Lane in Meadows Valley in 1914. Part of their means of support was the sale of items they made, such as leather gloves. One of their principal activities on these excursions seems to have been harvesting berries.
11-2-06
The 1880s
On November 19, 1878, the first post office was established at what now became officially known as "Council Valley." Robert White was the postmaster; the "post office" was nothing more than a small box that he kept under his bed in his home just north of the present town.
By 1879 Jacob Groseclose had moved his family from Indian Valley to Cottonwood Creek, just a couple miles south of the Council Valley post office. Ryal Harrington and Rufus Anderson also moved up from Indian Valley about that same year and established homes on Hornet Creek.
A traveling Methodist minister named Sylvester Shrieve held the first religious service in the Council area in 1879. The first regular services were conducted by a Reverend Hopper who came up from Midvale once a month in the late 1880s.
By 1880 the Meadows Valley had a few settlers. Like the Council Valley, there were a few bachelors living there before Calvin and Lydia White and their children became the first family to arrive in the fall of 1877. [Lately, I was told that the patriarch of the Wilson family spent the winter of 1875 trapping with a partner in Meadows Valley and living in Packer John’s cabin.] By 1883 Cal White had established a post office at Meadows and generally become the founding father of the community.
For more than a decade after settlement began, there was no doctor in the Council area. Letitia Winkler was called on to attend births and make a number of home remedies. The nearest doctor was five hours away at Mann Creek until 1892 when Dr. William Brown came to live at Salubria. This shortened the distance from a doctor to a little over three hours.
In spite of the often-heard claim from those of "pioneer stock" that they had never been sick a day in their lives, health was a constant concern in the days of settlement. Illnesses that today are thought of as being relatively mild took the lives of thousands a century ago. In a day before antibiotics, a simple scratch could quickly lead to blood poisoning and death. Deaths from typhoid were very common. Anyone who has ever walked through an old cemetery has noted the high rate of infant mortality. In 1900, ten percent of babies in the U.S. died at birth; sixteen percent died in the first year. Life expectancy was forty-seven years. Rheumatism and arthritis were no easier to bear in an era when homes were seldom insulated and often drafty. After the railroad reached this area, many Council Valley sufferers of these afflictions journeyed to the Hot Lake Sanitarium near La Grande, Oregon for "treatment."
Before Weiser became established enough to have well-stocked stores, Council Valley residents often went to Boise or Baker City, Oregon for supplies. A trip to Boise and back took from ten days to two weeks. Even after a wider range of supplies was available in Weiser, the journey there took two days each way with a wagon.
Council area settlers spent an enormous amount of energy clearing dense jungles of thorn brush, willows, and cottonwood trees to uncover the deep, fertile soil underneath. Many more acres have been cleared since the advent of the crawler tractor. Even today any ground in the river valleys that is not actively farmed or grazed begins to revert to its original overgrown state. One can still see thickets of brush and trees standing at the edges of any cleared land. Crowded shoulder to shoulder with their toes poised at the edges of the fields, they watch eagerly for any chance to creep back into their ancestral homes.
Early Growth in Council Valley
In 1884 the Oregon Shortline Railroad reached Weiser. [The Oregon Short Line through Weiser was being built by the Union Pacific Railroad Company as a link from its transcontinental line at Granger, Wyoming to Huntington, Oregon, where it connected with a line coming east from Portland, Oregon.] Having a railroad as close as Weiser was a boon to the people of the Council Valley. It meant that they were that much closer to a real shipping point--that much closer to being connected to the outside world.
Partly because it was now closer to a railroad, the population of the Council Valley area grew steadily throughout the 1880s. At this time there was nothing to suggest a town where Council is today--only the Moser cabin and outbuildings. In fact a community center was forming north of the present-day town. In 1879 the first real school (after the impromptu one in the fort) was built about a mile north of the present town. The first post office, run by Robert White, and the second one, conducted by Alexander Kesler, were in their respective homes near the school. All of these locations were along what is now North Galena Street--then part of the old north-south trail through the Valley.
The first business in the Valley was in the Moser home; they often housed and fed travelers in their cabin. The next business was probably a blacksmith shop established in 1884 or '85 by Frank Mathias. Mathias's homestead encompassed much of what is now the east side of Council. His home was at about the present location of 303 North Galena Street, and the blacksmith shop was just south of it on the same (east) side of the road.
By 1885 there were about 300 settlers living in the Council Valley. Mining activity in the Seven Devils had picked up with arrival of Albert Kleinschmidt. There were enough settlers living in the Cottonwood Creek area south of Council that a post office, called "Rose," was established there that year. It was named after Rose Groseclose who later married Arthur Robertson. The Rose post office only lasted two years, closing in 1887.
In the spring of 1885, this "news" item from the Council Valley appeared in the Weiser City Leader: "There is a new town in this valley, which already has two saloons and a blacksmith shop; they will probably call it Snortville, or Spitfire. There is a young lady in Council who loans twenty dollar pieces to all parties who can give good security." One of the hallmarks of 19th century newspaper writers was heavy doses of inside jokes and good-humored leg pulling. Part of this item in the paper, especially the part about the young lady, may have been in this vein. Nevertheless, it does indicate the beginnings of a town as opposed to a scattered community. The speculated names for the town were probably based on local nicknames. Robert White's nickname was "Uncle Snort" because he was such a storyteller. The identity of the two saloons is a mystery, unless someone dispensed liquor out of his home, as there were no actual saloons here at that time.
Captions:
72024--"Robert and Elenor "Mammy" White. Robert was Council's first postmaster, from November 19, 1878 to January 29, 1887.
72017—The Winkler family, not long after they arrived in the Council Valley. Bill Winkler (top center) was 12 years old when the family arrived in 1878. I think the boys standing are (L-R) Jim, Bill and Lewis—and the boys in the front are George M. (left) and Mark. The parents, George A. and Letitia, are seated on either end. If I have the order wrong, I’m hoping someone will let me know.
11-9-06
Insights From a Reader
I received a very interesting letter from George Winkler recently. He wrote:
“In one of your pieces you listed Matilda Moser as the first white girl born in Council Valley in 1881. My eldest aunt, Alice Winkler, was born in Council Valley September 29, 1879, and her sister, Agnes Winkler, was born there April 6, 1881. If your dates are correct, both Winkler girls may have been born before Matilda Moser.”
“The other information that may be of interest pertains to the William Mundy ‘Massacre.’ My great uncle, William Winkler, knew ‘Three Fingered’ Smith personally. Mr. Smith gave Uncle Bill the rifle he used in that gun battle. It was stolen when the museum was broken into some years ago and as far as I know it has never been recovered.”
“The story Mr. Smith told Wm Winkler was pretty much as you have reported it in the Adams County Record. His version was that after his friends were killed Mr. Smith made his way to the river where he found a pile of brush over the river where he stayed until the Indians gave up the search and left. He then made his way to Meadows where he was found by a mail carrier. This is the story I remember hearing Uncle Bill tell. I used to play with the rifle as a kid, in his house. I was most impressed by this story and the rifle. It was a .45-.70 Cardin—the type used by the army cavalry at that time.”
Now back to “Landmarks:”
As previously noted, the first school building in the Council Valley was built north of the present town in 1879. It was a log building measuring about sixteen feet square, with a shake roof. George M. Winkler was the first teacher there. The first professional teacher was David Richardson. Some students traveled five miles to attend.
By 1884 there were 40 children attending this school. There were complaints that one school was not enough in a district that now covered an area fifteen miles long. By the next year there was evidently another school somewhere in the area, as it was noted that the Council Valley had "good schools." By 1888 they were referred to as the "lower" and "upper" schools. The lower school was the one was just north of the present town.
It is confusing as to when the second, "upper," school was built and where. There is some evidence that it was the "White" school, three miles north of town. This school stood on the east side of what is now highway 95, just north of Lappin Lane. In 1890 the Council section of the Weiser Leader contained an item that seems to refer to the upper school:
Our citizens are trying to replace the old school house with a good substantial frame building, in the upper part of the valley, . . . To a stranger stepping into the old log structure, the first impression would be, "A hog house, by Jove!"
Matilda Moser said that a new school was built in 1887 to replace the old, lower school, after the old log building burned down. The new frame structure was near the old school site, on the east side of present-day North Galena Street.
John Peters came up from Weiser to establish the first store in the Council Valley in 1888. Contributing to the community center forming north of the present town, Peters located his store there near the lower school.
By this time (1888) so many new families had moved into the Valley that the Weiser paper said the Council Valley was "cultivated clear up to the timbered foothills."
Be Careful What You Wish For
The winter of 1888 - '89 was very mild with little snow. By the following summer a severe drought had set in. The Weiser River was lower than anyone could remember, and the water was warm. The Snake River was so low that a man at Weiser drove a wagon across it, and the water barely came up past the axles.
[Settlement was just getting into full swing in Long Valley at this time, and the mild winter led newcomers to think this was typical winter weather. It prompted a new surge of settlement. The only problem the dry climate presented was that were not able to put up much hay for the coming winter, but if winters were as short and mild as the one before, they weren’t worried.]
[From my book in progress about the Idaho Northern Railroad through Long Valley: Fires erupted in the tinder-dry forests that fall. A traveler out of Long Valley wrote to the Idaho World newspaper, “Following an old Indian trail up Big Creek from Long Valley, we struck the South Salmon….The forest fires have been almost everywhere, and I have seen thousands of millions of trees killed by the fires of this summer.” A week later, the same paper said that it had rained around Long Valley and hopefully put out some of the fires. But it also said that 200 tons of hay had been destroyed by fires there. Both the rain and the lack of hay was an ominous sign of things to come.]
By the fall of 1889 people were literally praying for rain or snow. That winter their prayers were answered . . . and answered . . . and answered again. Snow fell early and kept coming. By January snow was four feet deep in Middle Valley. Mail carriers had trouble getting through the canyon between Council and Meadows, and thirty feet of snow was reported at Warren. For some reason the precipitation was not consistent throughout the region. In some places, especially Bear and Cuprum, the snow level was at, or even below, normal.
[In Long Valley, the snowfall was a disaster. Ill-prepared settlers lost large numbers of livestock even though desperate measures were taken.
On the first day of February the snow had settled to three or four feet deep in the Council Valley. That was the day it started raining.
Up and down the Snake and Weiser Rivers, thick layers of ice broke up and formed huge jams. All over Washington County, angry chocolate torrents hurled headlong over riverbanks, destroying everything in their paths. Horses, cattle, sheep, and buildings were swept away like specks of dust in a windstorm. On Hornet Creek alone, 88 head of cattle and horses were drowned. Mud and rockslides wiped out wagon roads and railroads. Every bridge over the Weiser River between Council and Meadows was utterly obliterated. Transportation all over the region was at a complete standstill. It would be over 100 years before flood damage of this magnitude would hit this area again. [New Year’s Day 1997]
During the month of February, the Council Valley went from having three or four feet of snow to the appearance of so much bare ground that some ranchers turned their cattle out to graze.
[Again from my upcoming book: “In Long Valley, some horses had died, not from starvation but exhaustion from pulling loads through insufferable snow depths. Cattle, however, hadstarted to starve. Some people cut willows along the creeks and fed them to cattle. Others reportedly resorted to emptying straw mattresses for feed.” George Gould arrived in the area about this time, and had considered settling in Long Valley, but the severity of this winter changed his mind. In 1890 he found a place on Cottonwood Creek south of Council, then later moved to the present Gould ranch three miles north of town.]
The 1890s
In 1891, what is now the town of Council began to take form at its present location. The establishment of a town at the present site--instead of where it started, a mile to the north--may have been instigated by a gift of land by George Moser. It is said that Moser donated a piece of ground just east of his house for a town square because he didn't want just a narrow street in front of his home. Such squares were a popular feature in small towns all over the U.S. at this time. Moser evidently sold portions of his homestead around the edges of the proposed town square, as businesses soon started sprouting up there.
The first, real, commercial building at the present-day site of Council was the "Council Valley Hotel" (for a brief time called the "Council Hotel"), built by John Hancock and Milt Wilkerson in the summer of 1891. It was just on the east side of the town square. By August, Wilkerson was running the hotel, along with a feed stable that consisted of a corral (and maybe a small barn) just north of his two-story inn. The hotel also contained a bar where customers could find "everything that is nice to drink or smoke."
As the Council Valley Hotel opened for business, George Moser had his own construction project well underway. He had found his cabins inadequate to serve both as home and boarding house. In the fall of 1891 he finished a larger, frame structure to serve the same home / hotel purpose. This two-story building, known as the "Moser Hotel," was erected just east of their old cabins, and across the street west of the town square.
Just exactly when John Peters built a new store inside what would be the town of Council is not clear. The April 21, 1893 issue of the Idaho Citizen paper mentioned a new store at Council. It is most likely that this refers to Peters's store, as a popular jingle of the time was, "Moser's Hotel and Peters' store, Milt's Saloon and nothing more." Peters's store was located northeast of the Moser Hotel, just across the wagon road leading to Hornet Creek. On the other side of a vacant lot south of the Moser Hotel he built a large barn and feed corral. [This location seems evident from photos and descriptions in newspapers, but I could be wrong.]
The Council Valley Hotel's name and appearance changed several times over the next few years. At first it was a narrow two-story structure. Some time in the 1890s John Hancock built a general merchandise store just north of the hotel. This must have been about 1893. More construction followed, and eventually all the buildings were connected into one, large complex that included several stores and offices. At one point in its evolution it was called the "Hancock House." Eventually it became the "Overland Hotel."
The summer of 1894 was unlucky for two upper country merchants. In May, John Peters' store at Council burned to the ground. Right after the store burned, a strong wind blew the roof off his barn. He immediately rebuilt both, although the store was erected at a new location, on a lot just south of the Moser Hotel.
Meanwhile, Peters' fellow merchant at Alpine, Isaac McMahan, suffered a similar loss. While Isaac and his wife, Lucy, were at an all night Independence Day celebration at Salubria, their store burned. Before long the two unfortunate men joined forces; McMahan moved to Council and ran Peters' store. It was known as the "Cash Store," and was the only store in the Valley for a few years.
By this time (1894) Moses Addington and Charlie Whiteley had set up a blacksmith shop in Council. It was just south of the square, on the east side of the wagon road entering town. That year George Moser died while on a trip to visit his old stomping grounds in Arkansas.
In 1895 Council acquired what may have been its first resident doctor, J.C. Lee. He established his office in a building just south of the Council Hotel.
It seems ironic that during this period of growth for Council, the U.S. was going through the worst economic depression the nation had ever seen. It began in 1892 and lasted through 1897. Things were booming so much in the valleys along the Weiser River that the editor of the Salubria Citizen whimsically stated, "The inhabitants of Washington county are getting rich faster than anybody in the world. There will be more millionaires right here in this county within the next two hundred years than anywhere else on earth. . . ."
To illustrate that wealth, the paper listed the assessment rolls for Washington County:
8 sawmills
7,747 common cattle + 637 beef cattle + 1274 cows
3718 hogs
1621 work horses
3915 stock horses
15 musical instruments (valued at $2398 total)
3 water crafts
537 vehicles [wagons, buggies, sleighs, etc.]
5 bicycles
Sheep were not mentioned, but not because they were few in number. In the fall of 1896 over 20,000 head of sheep passed through the Salubria Valley in one week as they were herded down from higher grazing areas. Most of the upper Weiser River country was still virgin territory ripe for exploitation, and exploited it was. There were no grazing regulations, so it was every man for himself on the millions of acres of public land. This kind of abuse continued for almost another decade before the Forest Reserves were created.
Photo captions:
84033.jpg—The Council Valley Hotel, built in 1891. This is the first known photo taken in what is now Council. The hotel was the first real business establishment in Council, built in 1891 by Milt Wilkerson and John Hancock. It sat where the Ace building is today.
84014.jpg—The Council Valley Hotel with an addition and a new name.
72042.jpg—Looking south at the infant town of Council in 1896. The town square is in the center. Hancock’s General Merchandise store (2) sports circus posters on the side facing the camera. Just beyond it is the Council Valley Hotel (1). To the left of these buildings was a corral where horses were boarded. 3—Isaac McMahan & John Peters’s new store, built just that year to replace their “Cash Store.” The McMahans lived in the wing on the right side of the store. 4—The former Addington and Whiteley blacksmith shop. It now belonged to Bill Clark and was run by Jim Hill. Clark’s house is behind the shop. The road leading south followed about the same route as the present highway. 5—Robert and Mammy White’s house. Barn and corrals that probably belonged originally to John Peters, but were owned by the Whiteley Brothers about the time this picture was taken. 7—The “Cash Store” built by Peters and McMahan in 1894. 8—The Moser Hotel. 9—Moser’s barn. The Moser orchard is in the background. 10—One of these cabins was the first Moser home, and was the first structure built at the present site of Council. The fence in the foreground is where John Peters built his second store in the Valley. It burned in 1894. Between this fence and the Moser Hotel, the old road to Hornet Creek can be seen angling to the right around the foot of the hill.
11-22-06
Council Booms
On April 29, 1896 the name of the "Council Valley" post office was shortened to "Council." That year the Salubria Citizen reported what several other newspapers had announced years earlier: "Eagle Eye, chief of the Dry Buck Indians is dead, and the tribes are making a powerful lamentation over his remains." "Dry Buck" referred to the area where Eagle Eye and his family had been living. His tribesmen reportedly put his body in a pit for 10 days, then took it out and cremated his remains. Not wanting to let a good myth die, the paper reminded its readers that Eagle Eye "was a leader of the band that killed Monday, Haley and Groseclose in Long Valley about 16 years ago."
In 1896 Idaho passed a constitutional amendment making it the fourth state in the nation to allow women to vote.
In addition to the stores around the town square in what would become Council, two traveling merchants named Abe Cohen and Sam Criss served the area. They began coming to the Council Valley at least as early as 1894, selling clothing and dry goods. Their weekly ads in the newspapers declared:
COHEN & CRISS
The traveling merchants will sell you goods, and strange to relate they
DON'T WANT ANY CASH!
But prefer to take chickens, eggs, butter, hogs and such things, allowing the highest market price for everything, and they come right to your door and get the produce and deliver the goods.
By 1898 Cohen and Criss had a store in Council. The two men were devout Jews and would close their store on Jewish holidays. They were known as the "Jew peddlers" in their traveling days, and their store became known as the "Jew Store." For most people there was no animosity behind these titles.
By the spring of 1898, things were starting to boom in Council. Houses were in short supply. The Council Valley correspondent for the Salubria Citizen reported, "The town of Council is the metropolis of this valley. The town has a population of about 75 people; supports three general merchandise stores, and a hotel, saloon, blacksmith shop, etc." And in a June issue of the paper: "The government lands in this valley are being settled very rapidly this spring, and if it continues thus it will be but a very short time when vacant land in this section will be a thing of the past."
The P&IN
Ever since the railroad had reached Weiser in 1884, many people had endorsed the dream of a rail line running north to the Seven Devils mining district. Late in the summer of 1898 it was announced that definite plans were being made for just such a project. The announcement that the Pacific & Idaho Northern line was to follow the Weiser River kicked the towns along this route into high gear. Every place between Weiser, Council, and the Seven Devils resembled a big ant colony, with swarms of people urgently coming and going. This was it! All the sacrifices, all the work, and all the blood, sweat and tears of pioneer life were finally going to be rewarded with a connection to the rest of the world. Council would no longer be a struggling orphan off in some isolated corner of a vast wilderness.
On May 18, 1899 a spike forged from Seven Devils copper was driven to celebrate the start of the tracks from Weiser toward the mines. By the summer of 1899 there were as many as 800 men laying tracks at the rate of a mile per day.
During this time (1898-99) there was a building boom in Council. A new school was built on the hill just north of downtown. A new post office, a drug store, and several other commercial buildings were built north of the town square. A new dance hall and a number of new homes also appeared. By the end of 1899 there was a telephone in Council, located in Henderlite's Drug Store.
As the ribbon of rails worked its way up the Weiser River, the towns along the route experienced what many other towns had as they were approached by a railroad. Saloons always sprang up in the towns along the construction route to cater to the men. These establishments usually included gambling and billiard tables, and all the tobacco and alcohol a man could want. It's hard to pin down just exactly how many saloons Council had at the peak of this wild period. Some say seven; others as few as five. A certain percentage of the men working on the tracks were always troublemakers or even criminals.
Prostitutes followed the construction crews from place to place, and set up business wherever they could. The Salubria paper started making disparaging remarks about a "little brown house" by the Weiser river bridge at Cambridge. It was obvious, if one read between the lines, that it was a brothel. The paper also made reference to "soiled doves" camped in tents at Council. Various buildings in Council housed prostitutes on their upper floors. [The old house that stood where Burgers & More is today, was said to be one of these. I've also heard that one of the old houses still standing on the west side of Main Street (north of Moser Ave.) was one. It's really hard to gauge the accuracy any information regarding buildings that housed prostitutes because people often choose a good story over the truth.]
Caption for 72064.jpg:
A horse-powered threshing machine and crew in front of the Cox & Winkler Blacksmith Shop about 1900. This shop was located on the present-day northeast corner of Moser and Main Streets. This would be the view in 1900 if you were looking northeast from where the Senior Center parking lot is today. Bill and Lewis Winkler ran the shop. The new school can be seen on the hill in the background.
11-30-06
Prejudice
All during this general period [1880-1910], racism was the norm. Anyone who didn't fit the classic white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant mold was openly denigrated. When hundreds of Japanese laborers were hired for construction of the P&IN Railroad at a wage of $1.25 per day, the Salubria Citizen editor remarked, "Of course one white man could do as much work as two of these dwarfs. Consequently the former should, and we presume do, receive higher wages."
Chinese were despised as filthy and immoral. They were called "Chinamen" or "Celestials" if one wanted to be polite, and "Chinks" or "Pigtails" when more acidity was desired. In 1888 a Chinese man tried to start a laundry business in Salubria. A town meeting was called, and it was decided the "Chinese must go." In 1900 someone planted a bomb in the Chinese laundry in Council and blew it up. Fortunately the proprietors escaped serious injury. The incident was apparently regarded by most local people as little more than a practical joke. When Benjamin Day ran the Inland Hotel in Salubria, his advertisements emphasized that the neat and clean establishment employed no Chinese or Japanese.
When a troop of black entertainers was scheduled to appear in Cambridge in 1901, the local paper advertised the event as, "A whole stage full of niggers at Yowell's hall on Friday evening, March 8." Later issues referred to "the coon show" that had been in town. African Americans were frequently depicted as being a happy, simple-minded subclass of beings.
But another group engendered hatred that was even more blatant. The biggest complaint against this group was that they believed a man should be able to have more than one wife. Mormons were the targets of incredible political and social heat, both locally and nationally, around the turn of the twentieth century. Many people were afraid that the LDS church would gain control of the government of Utah, Idaho and surrounding states. At one point, it was openly advocated that Mormons should be run out of Idaho.
Gunplay
The first half of 1900 saw the two most notorious incidents of Council's wilder days. Both were fatal shootings.
The first death occurred on January 5th. John Routson was a deputy sheriff in Council at the time, and he encountered a man named Sam Harphan on the street that Friday afternoon. Routson knew of Harphan's tendency to become violent after having a few drinks. Two years before, Harphan had been in a drunken brawl in a saloon at Warren. He and another man slashed each other with broken beer bottles until the saloon was said to have "looked like a slaughter house." For reasons that may have had something to do with his character, Harphan acquired the sound-alike nickname "Hard Pan."
Harphan was already starting on a drinking spree when Routson came across him. A new hotel was having a big dance to celebrate its opening that night, and Routson advised Harphan to avoid the dance if Harphan was going to be drunk. Harphan came to the dance in spite of these words of wisdom. A freighter named Daniel Moore was calling the dances that night, and had just called a round dance when Harphan sauntered up to him. Harphan demanded that Moore call a square dance because he didn't like round dances. Moore tried to stay calm, explaining that there would be a variety of dances during the evening.
A heated argument followed in which Harphan was heard calling Moore a liar. At that point, Harphan pulled a pistol and clubbed Moore over the head with it. The blow knocked Moore to his knees. Before Harphan could do any more damage, Moore quickly pulled his own pistol and shot Harphan in the chest. Harphan then fired a wild shot that slammed into the group of people on the dance floor. Moore quickly fired again, hitting Harphan in the chest a second time.
One can only imagine the stunned silence that must have followed the deafening booms of the pistols. Harphan's wild shot had injured one person; the bullet had struck the knee of a Mrs. Fisher, but she was not seriously hurt. Harphan died about thirty minutes later. Within a week, Sam Moore was exonerated of any crime when the shooting was ruled a justifiable homicide. A violin said to be the one played at the dance that night is now in the Council Valley Museum.
Harphan left behind a wife and at least one child-a boy named Bert. Bert reclaimed his family's honor in 1917 when he became one of the first casualties from Council in World War One. Council American Legion Post #72 was named after him. The spelling of the name, as used by the Legion Post, is "Harpham."
Caption for “grade school finishing const—bert harpham& carpenter2.jpg”—Bert Harphan (on right) appears to be in his teens when this 1907 photo was taken of the new grade school in Council. The carpenter (on left) is holding a handsaw. For those of us used to power tools, it would be a very different process constructing a building with only hand tools.
12-7-06
Another Shoot-out
The next killing in Council, only five months later, was even more dramatic. Charles Bowman came off of a two-day drunk to discover he was flat broke. He had evidently been indulging at the Headquarters Saloon, and blamed his lack of funds on that establishment. This Council saloon, and another by the same name in the Seven Devils mining town of Decorah, was owned by George Bassett. The Headquarters Saloon in Council was said to have contained a brothel and a restaurant in addition to the saloon.
Bowman went to the saloon, where George Bassett himself was tending bar, and demanded to get his money back. When he was refused, he left angrily. A few minutes later Bowman stormed back into the saloon carrying a rifle. The Cambridge Citizen said, "Just at that juncture the bar-tender had business behind the bar in the region of the floor. . . ." Actually, Bassett had suspected that Bowman might pull something of this nature. Just before Bowman came in the front, Bassett had gone out the back, and entered the front door behind Bowman. Apparently Bassett wasted no time on formalities; he shot at least twice, hitting Bowman in the stomach and in the arm, shattering his elbow. A Doctor Loder was called, and he amputated Bowman's arm in an effort to save his life. The doctor's efforts failed; Bowman died on June 20th. As in the first shooting, this homicide was ruled justifiable.
When writer Earl Wayland Bowman (no relation to Charles) first came to Council two years later, he said he saw George Bassett "with his chair against the casing of the hotel office door--he never gave anyone a chance to get behind him. They that live by the gun must watch--always watch!" It was this kind of melodramatic nonsense that perpetuated the myth of the western gun fighter. [Many people remember Gladys Bowman Knight, Earl Wayland Bowman’s daughter, who lived out her last years in Council. She was renowned as an eccentric who wrote a number of letters to the Council newspaper.]
Another illustration of how wild Council was at this time, is the case of a gang of ne'er-do-wells who lived at Middle Fork. They were in a habit of riding at a gallop down Council's main street, shooting their pistols. The leader of this gang was arrested for this kind of behavior, and put into the jail that was located in the middle of the town square. The jail was made of two-by-fours, which the prisoner proceeded to set on fire. The act didn't get him much except lungs full of smoke, as the fire was quickly extinguished. This had to have occurred before 1908, when Council had a jail with brick walls. However, a prisoner once escaped from it by digging out some bricks.
Later this gang robbed a sheep camp on Cuddy Mountain. One of the gang was killed by the sheriff’s posse, and his body was brought back to Council for burial. The rest of the gang got away.
(Clyde Woods told me this gang may have been led by two brother's named Marksbury (or Marksberry) who were known as horse thieves. Glenn Gallant said some horse thieves named Marksbury were tracked to Cuddy Mountain. There was a shoot out in which Frank Marksbury was killed by deputy George Woods. Lester Thomason told Glenn that the fight happened in a grassy meadow at the very head of Orchid Canyon, at a spring that is about 50 feet below the present road. This is before Skunk Cabbage Flat. There was a cabin about 100 yards above the meadow that was built and used by the grazing association there. The cabin is long gone, and the road goes right where it used to sit.)
[Glen Gallant phone call, Sept 12, 1996
In Cambridge paper (last issue), 100 years ago (1896) - horse thieves tracked (?) to Cuddy mountain. Shootout - Frank Marksberry killed by deputy Geo Woods (I think he said he was a relative of present-day Woods). Marksberry may have been a distant relative of the McDowell family in Indian Valley. This was not in the Cambridge paper, but Glen said Lester Thomason told him the fight happened in a grassy meadow at the very head of Orchid Canyon at a spring that is about 50 feet below the present road. This is before Skunk Cabbage Flat. There was a cabin about 100 yards above the meadow that was built by Glen's dad, Earl Gallant and other grazing association men and used as a cow camp. The cabin is long gone, and the road goes right where it used to sit.
This may be one of the horse thieves from Gray's Creek near Indian Valley.]
On the way back to Weiser, the posse stopped in Council to have a drink at a saloon. They left their horses tied to the hitching rack at the town square with the dead outlaw still tied on one of them. After they had finished their refreshments, the posse went on its way.
It was in the midst of this tumultuous time that the first newspaper in Council was born. Levi S. Cool started the "Council Journal" in October of 1900. The Journal was printed at least through 1904. Another paper, the "Advance," went into competition with the Journal in 1902. The last mention of the Advance is found in 1905. Very few copies of either paper have been preserved.
1902
The year 1902 started badly for Council; on January 20 the town had its first major fire. A clerk who worked in the Haas Brothers store (#1 in last week’s photo) was sleeping in the back of that building on the night of the fire. At about 2:00 AM he awoke, surrounded by smoke and flame. Making a desperate break for the door, he barely escaped with this life. The fire was thought to have originated in the Cohen & Criss warehouse in the alley about an hour before it awakened the clerk.
The store was located just north of the town square. Fire spread rapidly in both directions, destroying almost all the buildings north of Illinois Avenue. They were soon replaced by a set of new businesses.
The Thunder Mountain
Gold Rush
In the spring of 1902 the already frenzied pace in Council picked up even more when a gold rush began to Thunder Mountain in the remote area east of present-day McCall. The story of how the gold rush started involves a Cuprum rancher and his investment of fifty dollars that returned him thousands.
Arthur Huntley was a bachelor rancher who lived just south of Cuprum. He was friends with two brothers, Ben and Lou Caswell, who prospected near their ranch along Big Creek, northeast of McCall. The brothers often spent their winters at Huntley's ranch.
In 1895 the Caswells found what seemed to be a paying gold deposit near Thunder Mountain. Before they could pan enough gold to get them through the winter, the weather got too bad to continue. That winter they made a bargain with Huntley that if he would give them a grubstake of $50 they would split with him whatever their new gold claim yielded.
The claim turned out to be more profitable than any of them had dreamed. The claim soon yielded thousands of dollars worth of gold dust.
[The following is from the book that Don Dopf and I are writing about the Idaho Northern Railway—the line that ran from Nampa to McCall. The link from the Thunder Mountain story to the Idaho Northern is that “Colonel” William Dewey was largely responsible for building the line and became involved with the Caswells and Thunder Mountain.]
During the 1896 season, the Caswells used a rocker to extract modest amounts of gold from quartz deposits on Monumental Creek. In preparing to move camp one day, they discovered that one of their mules was missing. While looking for the mule, Lou came upon a ledge containing an odd-looking white rock. He put a sample of it in his shirt pocket and returned to camp after finding the mule. The brothers crushed and panned the white rock (probably quartz) and were astonished at the amount of gold it contained. They named the nearby stream “Mule Creek” and quickly staked a claim at the ledge, calling it the “Golden Reef.”
Over the next few years, the Caswells used sluice boxes to wash out gold, eventually whipsawing enough lumber to build 1200 linear feet of sluice boxes. In 1897 they were joined by their brother, Dan, and his partner, Wesley Richie. These men and Arthur Huntley shared the rewards of the mining operation, which steadily increased in yield.
Captions for photos:
72056.jpg—Looking south across the town square after the January 1902 fire. A—The Overland Hotel. B—Peters & McMahan Store 1—The Tank Saloon. 2—The old Peters & McMahan “Cash Store” 4—J.B.L. Carroll store. 5—The Plaza Hotel, which until recently was the Moser Hotel.
1902 composite--
This is a composite of two pictures from 1902. The view is looking west across the town square. The one on the right came from the attic of a house back East. The people didn’t know anything about it. It was taken by someone who was evidently sent from back there to evaluate the Golden Rule mine north of McCall. Since Council was the closest railroad terminus to the mines, everybody came through here. The 1—Tank Saloon. 2—Old Cash Store, which will become the Whiteley Brothers store by the end of the year. 3—Unknown 4-- J.B.L. Carroll store. 5—The Plaza Hotel. Notice that is this photo there is a sign across the front of the building. It wasn’t there earlier in the year in the other picture. 6—Winkler blacksmith shop. 7—I’m not sure if it is there yet, but Mrs. Arrington ran a boarding house about here around this time or maybe slightly later. Old pictures show that this area changed fairly quickly between 1900 and 1910. The Home Table Restaurant was about here as well. 8—The Lowe & Jones Store. 9—The Fifer building. Because the two photos were taken from slightly different angles, the horses are gathered around the well in the left photo, and it is at the left edge of the right one. It must have been soon after this that a frame was built over the well, probably to put a hoist of some kind on.
12-28-06
Thunder Mountain
[I’m continuing a section taken from my upcoming book on the Idaho Northern Railroad about the Thunder Mountain gold rush.]
By 1900, a few other prospectors had started taking gold out of the Thunder Mountain district. That year, Edward Dewey [William Dewey’s son] encountered the Caswell brothers at the Overland Hotel in Boise (later the site of the Eastman building), which was a common rendezvous for influential businessmen. Dewey was intrigued by a 70-pound chunk of rich gold ore the Caswells had with them, and bought it for the princely sum of $500. Colonel Dewey was in Pittsburgh at the time, and Edward shipped the ore sample to him, along with an inquiry as to whether his father was interested in investing in the Caswell’s claims. Upon receiving the ore, Colonel Dewey wired back, “Go ahead. Take the option.”
It was September of 1900 when William E. Borah drafted the legal agreement for Dewey to purchase five of the Caswell’s Thunder Mountain claims. The deal was to go through on January 1, 1903, at which time Colonel Dewey was to sign it and give the Caswells a check for $100,000 ($2 million in today’s dollars).
The Caswells were free to extract ore for themselves until Dewey took the option, paid them and signed the contract. And extract they did. During the 1900 season, the Caswells took out $5,000 in gold. In 1901, Dan Caswell uncovered a fabulous vein containing gold nuggets like grains of wheat. He quickly covered it up and the partners decided they would try to cancel their agreement with Dewey; it looked like $100,000 might be peanuts compared to what lay under the ground at their claims. In August they had legal papers drawn up to void the contract, and Arthur Huntley and Lu Caswell went to Nampa to deliver them to Ed Dewey. Dewey was not agreeable to the cancellation. Caswells and company had their attorney’s look for a loophole, but there was nothing they could do unless the Deweys failed to start a road to Thunder Mountain and make other improvements by November 1, 1901.
The Deweys had not been idle. During the summer of 1901, friends and advisors of the Deweys urged them to look into the Thunder Mountain claims before spending such a large amount of money. The Colonel sent two geologists to inspect the Thunder Mountain claims. They dug a few holes at random, expecting to find low-grad ore. But the famous Dewey luck came through once again; the geologists hit rich ore immediately. The report that came to Colonel Dewey in October exclaimed that the claims contained ore worth and estimated $10 million, and that with enough stamp mills they could produce one and a half times Dewey’s purchase price in one month! After that, there was no chance the partners could talk the Deweys out of signing on the dotted line.
The Deweys quickly did enough work to satisfy the legal requirements by November 1. On the 16th, the deposit of the $100,000 check into the Caswell’s account at the First National Bank in Boise became a ceremonious public event performed by Colonel Dewey and William Borah. It was said to be the largest check ever written in the state up to that time. A photograph of the check was featured in the Statesman newspaper, and may have done more than anything else to trigger the excitement of fortune seekers. The snow had hardly started to melt the following spring before thousands of men stampeded into the Thunder Mountain Mining District. It became known as the Thunder Mountain gold rush.
During this time, a Boise newspaper wrote the following:
Colonel W. H. Dewey of Idaho believes he is the richest man in the world or that he soon will be. There will be trumpet tidings from Idaho within two or three months, he says, tidings that will proclaim Idaho an American Transvaal or a United States Klondike, that will pale the fame of Cripple Creek or any other old diggings. The colonel carries in his pocket a little vaseline bottle filled with pure gold, all extracted from just three pounds of quartz. He knows a man who made a bet that a pound of rock from the new Idaho field would result in from $60 to $80 worth of gold.
The Caswells and their partners sold other claims (the Sunnyside claims) to the Belle of Thunder Mountain Company from Pittsburgh in 1902 for $125,000. All together, they raked in a total of $225,000 plus all the gold they had extracted over the years—enough to last them the rest of their lives.
[End of book excerpt]
It isn’t clear just how much money Arthur Huntley of Cuprum got from the deal he made with the Caswell brothers, but the $225,000 total would be worth 4 ½ million dollars in today’s money. With his share, Huntley was able to build a huge barn and a house that, by local standards at least, was a mansion. The mansion burned in 1934, but the remains of the elaborate barn still stand.
Photo captions:
95266.jpg—An idyllic view of the Huntley mansion. This is the east side of the house; the barn stood to the left (south). Today, the Council-Cuprum Road tees just to the right (north) of where the house stood. A left turn takes you to the Kleinschmidt Grade down to the Snake River. A right turn takes you to Cuprum and points north. Actually the road through Cuprum was part of the original Kleinschmidt Grade—the road Albert Kleinschmidt built from his mines to the Snake River. A house owned by the Speropulos family now stands where the Huntley house was.
98229.jpg—The Huntley barn in better days. The wing on the left (west) side has been gone for years, and now the roof has a large portion missing.
1-4-07
A Hungry Rush
When the Thunder Mountain gold rush erupted, there was no railroad in Long Valley, and Council was at the end of the nearest railroad to Thunder Mountain. Consequently, hundreds of fortune seekers poured off the train at the depot, looking for supplies, entertainment, or a place to spend the night. One commodity that was in high demand was a means of transportation from Council to the mines. The stage to and from the north was always full to capacity.
Charles Luck was sent to investigate the Thunder Mountain area on behalf of Eastern investors. He described the transportation situation at Council in May of 1902:
As pack horses were an essential part of every outfit, every available horse was bought, and then the boys scoured the hills for cayuses. They drove them into corrals, wild eyed and with kinks in their tails. They roped and threw them, put on a breaking bridle, slipped the blinder over their eyes, cinched on a pack saddle and sacks of sand and let them buck. After two or three days of this they sold them to the Argonauts from the East for trustworthy pack horses. And the Easterners bought greedily. They knew a horse when they saw one. It was an animal with four legs, one on each corner.
In the midst of this scramble, wagon loads of building supplies were making their way to Huntley's ranch where he was constructing an extravagant, three-story mansion.
According to Carl Weed, there were about 10,000 people living in and around Council that summer. Many of them lived in tents. Earl Wayland Bowman described Council when he first arrived here during this frenetic time:
Dirty? My gracious! There were pigs wallowing along the streets, beer kegs piled out by the half dozen saloons, trash and litter everywhere and dogs-dogs! Suffering saints, I never dreamed there could be so many in a place so small!
Don't you remember the ricks of manure that lined the main street--the accumulation of God knows how many years from the old barn where the stage horses were kept?
The Thunder Mountain rush was on, and everything was hurry and hustle and rustle. Pack trains stood in front of Lowe & Peter's. . . .
Freight wagons and mountain outfits lined the streets and Haworth's, Weed & Criss', McMahan's were busy - busy loading them for the hungry rush to the Devils, the Big Creek country, Thunder Mountain, Warrens.
There was money everywhere. Things were moving and Lew Shaw's, Denny Ryan's, the Old Overland Bar -- where Bob Braden mixed any sort you wanted -- and all the other irrigation emporiums saved the populace from perishing on the arid desert of unquenched thirst!
Bowman described downtown Council as "a street of shacks," and said, "The school house was a rickety, squatty, frame building on top of Council Hill. . . . "
In spite of Bowman's mention of freight wagons, etc. loading "for the hungry rush to the Devils," the Seven Devils mining district was actually having a dismal year. After the Thunder Mountain gold rush subsided somewhat, the nearness of the railroad helped revive the boom in the Devils. As many as eighty wagons were eventually employed by the mines to haul ore. They turned the road along Hornet Creek, and the streets of Council, into a river of dust as they rolled through town to unload heavy sacks of ore onto train cars at the east end of town.
In 1902 the first automobile that had ever passed through Council stopped for a few minutes in the town square. At this time cars were little more than a rich man's toy. Most local people had never seen a car, and it drew quite a crowd. Lucy McMahan said the car created as much excitement in Council as when Lindbergh later flew nonstop across the Atlantic.
After the 1894 death of her husband, Elizabeth Moser started selling off more pieces of her homestead. The part of Council that the Mosers owned is now the "Moser Division." About 1900, a lawyer named William Perrill laid out "Perrill's Division," which was formed northeast of downtown from a part of the Frank Mathias homestead. Council was incorporated as a town on Jan. 20, 1903.
"Judge" Perrill was apparently an alcoholic. Only five years after establishing the section of the town named after him, he was arrested for writing a bad check in Provo, Utah. The newspaper there listed him as a "transient" and a "habitual drinker." Earl W. Bowman wrote melodramatically of how Perrill suffered "through black, lonely, horror-filled nights, that noble intellect--that really great soul fought the losing battle with the slimy beast of intemperance."
Caption, photo 84023.jpg—
These are the buildings that were erected to replace those burned in the 1902 fire that wiped out all of the buildings on the north side of downtown Council. This is looking northeast across Illinois Avenue. The building at the left edge of the picture is a millinery shop, soon to become the telephone office. B—Post Office and “Council Drug Company” store, run by H. M. Jorgens. Jorgens became Council’s postmaster in July 1902. C—Bud Addington’s Meat Market. E—Use unknown, later known as the “Kay” building. F—At least for a short time, this was a second hand shop, run by Mink Skin Neal. H—Leo Rainwater’s Grocery (at least at a later date). I—Dr. Frank Brown’s building. The sign on the front reads, “Council Townsite Ltd.—W. M. Perrill.” K—“Haas Bros. & Co.—General Merchandise—Miners Supplies.” This store sat on the corner where the Council Valley Market parking lot is today. Carlos Weed was fond of saying the “& Co.” in the title was his father, Carl Weed, who was a partner and eventually took over the store. X—Carruthers & O’Toole warehouse beside the railroad. This business was advertised as providing the service of "forwarding" goods to local merchants. O'Toole had been in business at Weiser for a number of years. The company there went out of business not long before this was photo taken.
1-11-07
J.H. Mohler came to Council in 1904 and opened a barbershop. Barbers in those days were often referred to as "tonsorialists," and barbershops as "tonsorial parlors." Barbershops sometimes featured bathtubs for customers to use. Taking a full bath was a rare luxury in those days, as water usually had to be heated in a pan on top of a stove. Mohler's establishment was the first in Council to have the opulence of hot and cold running water. He had his own water system, with a water heater, and pipes running to rooms containing porcelain bathtubs. Next door, in the same building as her husband's business, Mrs. Mohler had a millinery and dress making shop. Millinery, a popular art of that day, consisted of creating or decorating women's hats; using ribbons, feathers, and other trimmings.
A fire in 1904 burned several businesses south of the town square in Council. The former Peters & McMahan store was one of the buildings lost. Another was the "Tank Saloon," run by Bob Braden. When the alarm was sounded, townspeople came running and helped carry out what they could. The piano was saved, and as the flames raged out of control, Braden sat down at the piano and played a rousing rendition of "There'll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight."
The December 1905 issue of "Idaho Magazine" gives a priceless glimpse into Council's state of affairs in that year:
Its present population is about 1,000 hardy, self-reliant, intelligent people, grown thus from a population of about a quarter of a hundred ten years back. It is now a youth of only seventeen, but it is conservatively estimated that five years hence when it shall have reached the age of manhood it will be the home of at least 5,000 prosperous inhabitants.
On Council's commercial, industrial and professional calendar we find six general stores, one drug store, one planing mill, three saw mills, one harness shop, one hotel, three livery stables, three blacksmith shops, three restaurants, one bakery, one jeweler, two millinery stores, one newspaper, one physician, two attorneys, one meat market, two barber shops, four saloons, two stage lines, one lodging house, four contractors builders and carpenters.
There are four comparatively large canals, one taken from Hornet creek, one from Cottonwood creek, one from the East Fork of the Weiser, and besides these it has McMahon's [sic] canal, all aggregating 35 miles of irrigation waterways. Supplementing the irrigation capabilities above mentioned is a newly completed reservoir at the head of Hornet creek, which covers an area of 26 acres and is 10 feet deep. Another reservoir of the same depth and with an area of 100 acres will soon be built, and the total cost of both of these reservoirs will not exceed $600. The Lost Valley reservoir site, on the West Fork of the Weiser river, is available for all the Weiser valley below it.
Staple Products
The soil of Council valley insures on an average, per acre, of wheat, 30 to 60 bu., barley 60 to 80 bu., oats 50 to 75 bu. (and oats run from 40 to 45 lbs. to the bushel) while alfalfa hay in its two cuttings per season averages from 5 to 7 tons per acre, and this is one of three of the most prolific potato producing areas in the Union, yielding from 300 to 500 bushels an acre. Most gratifying are the results in dry farming in this section.
Melons, squashes, pumpkins and all varieties of vegetables luxuriate, and they, like all produce grown in the valley, are marketed at handsome profit at home and in the neighboring mining communities.
Live Stock Industries
Not less than around 200,000 head of sheep graze for at least six of the summer months in territory tributary to Council, and the revenue flowing from this industry enriches the town's coffers at least $40,000 annually. Of cattle and horses owned in the valley they will aggregate at least 10,000 head.
Shipments
The importance of Council as a shipping point is strikingly indicated by the figures following. There are shipped annually about 50,000 head of sheep, 2,000 head of cattle, and 10 car loads of wool,...
Prices of Realty
Business lots in Council, 50x140 feet, range in value from $50 to $1,000, but average $250 per lot. Resident lots, same dimensions, are quoted at from $25 up, while outside land, improved, averages $10 to $30 per acre, and raw land is on the market at from $5 to $10 per acre. Town property has in the last five years enhanced in value 500 per cent and outside property in the meantime 500 per cent.
Transportation Facilities
The P.& I.N. Railroad has daily passenger service, Sunday excepted, runs a sumptuous observation car on all passenger trains, and it is commonly admitted that this is the matchless scenic line of Idaho. Pertinent here and now to state that this railroad has abandoned a mile and a half of its old track and has relaid a new route to the heart of the town. A handsome new depot will soon beautify the town's western hem.
A daily stage coach plies between Council, Price Valley and the Meadows, and another stage line brings Council, Landore, Iron Springs and Seven Devils district into daily touch.
I would like to thank Shirley Wing for a very generous donation to the Council Valley Museum. Shirley is a former Council gal, and has been a supporter of the museum for years. Speaking of which, the museum needs volunteers to be hosts during the three months that it’s open during the summer. Several people who were volunteering are no longer able to do so, and we need replacements.
Caption for 75057-77.jpg---
This is a combination of two photos that shows the aftermath of the 1904 fire in Council. The view is looking north across the town square. The Overland Hotel is on the right. The school on the hill was built in 1898 and abandoned in 1907. The big space with no buildings at the foot of the hill (where Ronnie’s is now) was cleared by the fire of 1902.
1-18-07
More From Idaho Magazine--1905
Council enjoys Bell telephonic service, both local and long distance. Its good people live 2,600 feet nearer heaven than those at the sea's level.
A new wagon road is in process from Council to Long Valley, which, when completed, will vouchsafe this town the coveted trade from that fruitful region, and in all probability, will mean the establishment of a daily mail service between these points. Furthermore when this road is fully repaired, it will mean that the swarms of pleasure seekers and summer visitors to the Payette Lakes will, while enroute to their destination, come by rail as far as Council, . . .
Many thousands of acres of land, between Hornet creek and the Weiser river, are still subject to entry.
A large vein of bituminous coal was recently discovered within ten miles of Council [on Middle Fork], and it is hoped of course that its quality and quantity will make it practical to work the mine.
The Council - Meadows stage line was run by Frank Hahn. It made daily runs, except on Sundays. The four-seated coach could carry eleven passengers, and was pulled by a four-horse team. The journey to or from Council and Meadows took four or five hours one way, in good weather. Hahn also owned one of the livery stables in Council where he kept half a dozen driving teams, about ten saddle horses, and a number of vehicles. All of these were for rent as well as for his own business use. He also owned a 265-acre ranch about four miles north of town.
The "Council and Seven Devils Stage Lines" had been operated by Pete Kramer since 1899. One of his wagons held up to 12 people. His wheeled vehicles were generally pulled by four horses. In the winter, sleds pulled by two-horse teams were used. In 1904 a stage left Council at 1:00 PM, and reached Kramer's headquarters at "Summit" (about half way to the mining district) at 6:00 PM. After spending the night at Summit, passengers went on to Bear, arriving at about 9:00 AM. From there, connections could be made with the Bear - Landore stage, owned and operated by F. S. Knight. By this means, one could arrive at Landore about 12:30 in the afternoon. Later, stages made the trip in the course of a single day.
What was to be a Council landmark for many years was built in 1905. The meeting hall for the International Order of Odd Fellows (IOOF) was located just across Illinois Avenue, north of the town square. The Odd Fellows held their meetings on the upper floor, and the first floor was used for a number of functions. Over the building's lifetime, the rooms in the lower section served as a store, library, meeting hall, theater, church, bank, telephone office, schoolroom, and barbershop. The I.O.O.F. was one of at least a half dozen fraternal organizations that flourished in Council in the early days. It is the only one still functioning here today. The old Odd Fellows hall was torn down in the early 1970s to expand the Shaver's grocery store next door. It was replaced with a new Odd Fellows building in the south part of town.
The Forest Service & Grazing Issues
The United States Forest Service was brand new in 1905, having been created only that year. Land had begun to be set aside for the Department of Agriculture Forest reserves in 1902. In 1904 the Seven Devils Forest Reserve was established. It included the Seven Devils and Cuprum areas, and from there north to Camp Howard and the west side of Rapid River.
On May 25, 1905 the Seven Devils and Little Salmon Reserves were combined to form the Weiser National Forest. The forest headquarters were in Weiser. J. B. "Jake" Lafferty was the first Supervisor of the Weiser National Forest, appointed in 1906. Lafferty Park along the Council - Cuprum Road is named after him. When Lafferty first started, he was almost single-handedly in charge of thousands of square miles of Forest.
Lyle J. Watts, who succeeded Lafferty as Supervisor of the Weiser Forest, later became chief of the Forest Service in Washington, D.C. The Weiser Forest and Idaho National Forest to the east of it were consolidated in 1944, and the name was changed to the Payette National Forest.
During the winter of 1904-'05 there was little snow. As a result, the following summer was very dry. By September there were fires all over central Idaho. A fire that burned several whole sections near Council was rumored to have been intentionally started by someone with a grudge against the new Forest Reserve policies.
These policies were, at least in part, a reaction to the abuse of public grazing land. Sheep raising was big business in Idaho; the State was fourth in the nation in wool production. The overgrazing by sheep got so bad in the Council Valley that there was nothing left for the estimated 10,000 cattle and horses here. Luther Burtenshaw was instrumental in getting most of the Valley set aside for horses and cattle. With the cooperation of the Forest Service, sheep were restricted to the surrounding hills, except for a couple of trails that could be used to bring sheep to the railroad for shipment.
In the spring of 1906 the Forest Service implemented a policy that probably garnered more animosity around Council than any other. Instead of allowing unlimited grazing, permits were issued for a certain number of animals per stockman. That fall, another less controversial program was announced: a plan to plant new trees on Forest land.
Captions--
95154L.jpg:
Pete Kramer’s stage in front of the Pomona Hotel, about 1914. Left to right: driver Pete Kramer, Robert Bell (State Mine inspector) Stewart Rugg, Wm Brown, Della Shaw, Mildred Brown, Jesse S. Sherman (Mrs. Brown's father - age 88), Carl Twitchell (mining engineer), Inez Shaw.
98077.jpg
One of Kramer’s less glamorous vehicles (a sled), probably at Landore. Kramer is right of center in white shirt, tie and jacket.
1-25-07
The years of 1905 and 1906 saw another growth spurt in the Council Valley. Jobs were so abundant all over Idaho that workers were hard to find. Farmers were so desperate for hay crews that they offered as much as $2.50 per day plus board. [This was a high wage at the time. Council as only one of hundred of communities exploding with growth during the first decade of the 20th Century.]
The Weiser Signal contained this report on the Council Valley in January of 1906:
Almost 3,000 acres of land that one year ago was open to entry as homesteads have been apportioned and now every cove and canyon in the surrounding hills is occupied by some one who is busily building a home.
The population of the valley has increased nearly 60 per cent, while land which 12 months ago was on the market at $20 an acre now would find ready sale at $50. A company ditch carrying 2,000 inches of water has been completed during the year, into the valley from the east fork of the Weiser river, and 4,000 acres of land has been reclaimed hereby.
A month later the Signal said, "The way population is increasing in Council, we think it would be a good idea to build an eight room school house instead of six." However, it said Council's population was 600, which was considerably less than the 1,000 that Idaho Magazine had reported in 1905. The newspaper was probably more accurate.
In 1905 a half mile of Pacific and Idaho Northern Railroad track was abandoned south and east of town, and a new line was built to a new depot on the west side of town. From there the company started building tracks north toward Meadows. By February of 1906 they had built about 14 miles of track along the Weiser River, reaching the mouth of the river's East Fork.
That same month this headline appeared in the Signal: "P&IN ROBS COUNCIL." Editor Edwin Lockwood claimed the railroad refused to place its depot inside the town of Council unless a huge amount of money was paid as virtual blackmail. In the next issue Lot Feltham, Secretary of the P&IN, had a letter in the paper stating that Lockwood's claims were untrue. Even though Feltham explained the matter was a misunderstanding, some people were not convinced that the company was being honest.
By the end of 1906 the railroad was extended toward Meadows as far as Evergreen. The actual spot where the tracks ended was in the large flat just down river from the present Evergreen Park. To reach Meadows, passengers had to continue by stage. By this time, the P&IN was under suspicion again, this time from the Idaho Statesman:
Weiser, Dec. 16. - The Pacific & Idaho Northern railroad company has purchased 900 acres of land two miles west of the town of Meadows. It is stated the railroad company has purchased the ground for the purpose of locating a townsite, and when the extension of the road, work on which is now in progress, reaches that point a station will be located there and work on the new town begun. It will be a bad proposition for the present town.
Inquiry at the offices of the Pacific & Idaho Northern develops the fact that this dispatch is altogether erroneous, as the company has purchased no land at Meadows whatever, and has no intention of going into the town building business.
Time would put the validity of this last claim in serious doubt, to say the least.
Caption for 95107.jpg--
Looking east at Dr. Frank Brown’s house, about 1901 to 1905. Dr. Brown is in the buggy at left. He probably covered many miles in this rig, making house calls. The Carruthers & O'toole warehouse is in background (just above the left side of the house roof) along the railroad tracks. As nearly as I can tell from matching up the hills in the background, this house seems to have been about 1/2 block north of Illinois Avenue on at Exeter St.
95301.jpg--
Looking east up Illinois Avenue about 1905, from what today would be in front of Ronnie’s Market. There is still a gap from the 1902 fire. The excavation may be preparation for the Odd Fellows building that was constructed on this spot in 1905. The first buildings after the gap are the Post Office, telephone office and drug store. Notice the telephone poles on the right side of Illinois Avenue. The big building in the center in the distance is a livery barn on the southeast corner of Illinois and Galena. The Overland Hotel is on right, and you can see the fence behind it that may still have formed a corral for boarding horses.
2-1-07
Telephone Service
There was a public telephone in a Council drug store in 1899, but the first residential telephone in Council was installed in Minnie Zink's house sometime after Dr. Frank Brown arrived in 1901. The Zink home, often referred to as the "Zink Hospital," was Minnie Zink's large house. It was built in 1899 on the northeast corner of the intersection of Railroad Street and Central Avenue. [Where Dennis and Bea Maggard live now.] Mrs. Zink regularly cared for invalids or injured people in her home. This was Council's first hospital and nursing home. The phone at the Zink Hospital was connected to Dr. Brown's office on the northwest corner of Galena Street and Illinois Avenue. [The location of today’s One-Eyed Jack’s, but in a small frame building until the present brick structure was built in 1913.]
The earliest telephone systems in small communities such as Council may have been single line systems in which everyone was on the same "party line." A crank on each phone turned a small electric generator that caused all the telephones on the line to ring. Each individual telephone was assigned a certain number of rings. If a telephone was assigned two rings, a caller wanting to call that phone would turn the crank on their telephone two times. Every telephone on that line would also ring, but because it rang twice, other people on the line would not answer. At least that's how it worked in theory. Other people on the party line often secretly (or even openly) listened in on conversations that were not meant for them.
When there were more than a few telephones on one line, this system became too cumbersome. The next step was to connect several lines at a "switchboard" controlled by an "operator." By 1904 it was reported, "The telephone business at Council has grown to such an extent as to warrant the employment of a telephone girl, and Miss Morrison . . . has accepted the position." To make a call through one of these early switchboard systems a caller would turn the crank on their telephone, which rang a bell or buzzer at the switchboard to get the attention of the operator. When the operator answered, the caller told her (operators were always women) the number or name of the person to whom the caller wanted to be connected. The operator then inserted plugs to connect the caller's line to the line receiving the call. Then the operator rang the receiving line the appropriate number of times.
For a number of years, Council, like most similar communities, had only a local telephone system with no long distance connections. As early as the 1890s, many communities in Idaho were pressing for long distance service. The Salubria Citizen reported in 1895 that there was a connecting line from Payette to Emmett, and from Emmett to Caldwell, which connected with the Bell Telephone Company's lines to the Boise area. In 1898 Boise was connected for long distance calling to several western states. Salubria had long distance service in 1899. In early 1900, towns in the Seven Devils mining district had only local exchanges, but lines were laid from Council to Cuprum by that fall. The lines were continued to Landore about the next year. In 1906 the Bell telephone company connected many local telephone systems in rural Idaho, including Council, to each other. In 1915, transcontinental connections were completed that gave Idaho nationwide service.
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Photo captions:
95462.jpg--Sheriff Bill Winkler and telephone operator Grace Taylor in the Council telephone office, 1908.
84015.jpg—The north side of Illinois Avenue in downtown Council in the early 1900s. This is pretty much a close-up from a little different angle from the big photo last week. The buildings are, left to right: Telephone office, drug store operated by J. H. Jorgen, meat market operated by Bud Addington (Addington is the man in a butcher’s apron), next two unknown. The first building in the next photo is partially visible at the right edge.
84018.jpg—On down the street from the previous street scene. "Mink Skin" Neal, a fur and junk dealer, is kneeling beside a badger. Neal was a colorful wanderer who didn’t seem to stay long in one place. A relative of his wrote a book featuring his exploits, which is in the Council library. Two of the other men are Soren Hanson (butcher) and Chester Stevens (bartender). The signs on the buildings (left to right) read: “OK Barbershop,” “Shamrock Saloon,” and “A.L. Freehafer - Notary Public.” Freehafer’s grandson is former U.S. Senator, Jim McClure. The next building is Dr. Frank Brown’s.
2-8-07
This week I’m going to stray from Landmarks to delve into the year 1906. Someone emailed an article about 1906 to me, and I’m including the information here. I can’t vouch for the accuracy of all these claims, but I have no real reason to doubt them either.
The average life expectancy was 47 years. Only 14 percent of the homes had a bathtub. Only 8 percent of the homes had a telephone. There were only 8,000 cars and only 144 miles of paved roads. (Idaho didn’t even start experimenting with paving until 1927, when it put blacktop on 90 miles of road in the State that summer.) The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 mph. (Council almost certainly had no speed limit, since only a couple cars had ever even been here.) The tallest structure in the world was the Eiffel Tower.
The average wage in was 22 cents per hour. The average worker made between $200 and $400 per year. ($4,000 to $8,000 in today’s dollars.) A competent accountant could expect to earn $2000 per year ($40,000 today), a dentist $2,500 per year, a veterinarian between $1,500 and $4,000 per year ($30,00 - $80,000 today), and a mechanical engineer about $5,000 per year ($100,000 today). (A dollar in 1900 to 1910 bought about what $20 would buy in 2000.)
More than 95 percent of all births took place at home. Ninety percent of all doctors had no college education. Instead, they attended so-called medical schools, many of which were condemned in the press and the government as "substandard."
Sugar cost four cents a pound. Eggs were fourteen cents a dozen. Coffee was fifteen cents a pound. Most women only washed their hair once a month, and used borax or egg yolks for shampoo.
Canada passed a law that prohibited poor people from entering into their country for any reason. Five leading causes of death were: 1--Pneumonia and influenza 2--Tuberculosis 3--Diarrhea 4--Heart disease 5—Stroke.
The American flag had 45 stars. The population of Las Vegas, Nevada, was only 30. Crossword puzzles, canned beer, and ice tea hadn't been invented yet. There was no Mother's Day or Father's Day. Two out of every 10 adults couldn't read or write. Only 6 percent of all Americans had graduated from high school.
Marijuana, heroin, and morphine were all available over the counter at the local corner drugstores. Back then pharmacists said, "Heroin clears the complexion, gives buoyancy to the mind, regulates the stomach and bowels, and is, in fact, a perfect guardian of health."
Eighteen percent of households had at least one full-time servant or domestic help. There were about 230 reported murders in the entire U.S.
Here are some newspaper notes from 1906. The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal reported these items in the first quarter of the year: Harry Orchard was linked to the murder of former Idaho Governor Frank Steunenberg. Two other suspects, Campbell and Harold, were arrested in Weiser, then released, then rearrested in Council. There was an anti-Mormon article on the front page of almost every issue. A power plant was being built on the Oxbow of the Snake River to supply Baker and the Seven Devils with electricity. J. J. Jones bought the [Bill] Hartley ranch four miles north of Council [This was later, Lester Gould's ranch, now Steve Shumway's.] Ben Baird appointed city marshal to replace Dick Hinkley. Arrangements are being made in Council to pipe water to the town from the springs above. "The Eagles have bought ground in the Bolan block and will put up a two story brick building. The lower floor will be rented for offices ..." They have over 70 members now. San Francisco was destroyed by an earthquake. "L.L. Burtenshaw is building a porch on the west side of his dwelling." (This is now the Keith Fish home, just across the alley, north of the bank.)
From the Meadows Eagle newspaper, May 17, 1906--Albert and Carrie Campbell graduated from __ school.
Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, May, June and July, 1906: J.B. Lafferty, the newly appointed Forest Ranger, made the 75 mile trip from Pine to Boise between early in the morning and noon on his bicycle.
A new town called "Yoakum Hot Springs" is being platted 8 miles north of Meadows along the line selected by the RR as the most suitable through the valley. [Zim's] At Cuprum flag day festivities, "Albert Tousley gave an interesting talk about the battle of Gettysburg, he being in that great battle, also his experience at the break out of the war in West Virginia and the battle of Antietam." Amos Warner died at Bear Thursday evening. East Fork Ditch Co., Limited formed by John Hancock, Mark E. Krigbaum, Robert Young, C. L. Whitley and J. E. L. Gerking.
Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, August and September 1906: Boy born to the Will Camps. "Jim Winkler and wife will leave for Roseberry in Long valley next week, where he will take charge of a store for J. F. Lowe." (This is the store that is still standing at Roseberry.) "For a number of years there has been known to exist a number of dens of these [rattle] snakes along the rocky bluffs that border Hornet creek valley, and a few years ago an effort was made to exterminate the largest colony, at which time more than three hundred were killed in one day without exhausting the supply. Failing in the effort to kill them the ranchers living adjacent to the den fenced the snakes in with a tight board fence." [Mentioned there were no rattlesnakes close to Council itself.]
Captions—
72016.jpg—Bill Hartley, who once owned the present Steve Shumway ranch at the Highway 95 wye about six miles north of Council.
95535.jpg--Dick Hinkley, Council’s first marshal/constable, who was replaced by Ben Baird in 1906. This photo was the source for one of the paintings on the window-coverings on the old courthouse.
2-15-07
Changes
By 1907 the school on the hill in Council was too small, even though a wing had been added that doubled its size. A new, two-story brick school was built that year on a large, empty lot in the southeast part of town. [About where Economy Roofing is today.] The old school was separated into two sections. One section was added onto the back of the Haas Brothers Store on the northeast corner of Illinois Avenue and Galena Street.
A group called the "Fraternal Order of Eagles" moved the other section of the school to the southwest corner of Illinois Avenue and Fairfield Street in 1908. [Where the theater is today.] The building became known as the "Eagle Opera House," and was Council's primary venue for all kinds of public meetings and events. As early as the turn of the century, traveling troops of entertainers had come through town and presented performances in any available building. Now the Opera House became a regular place for them to perform. The building was also used for every kind of public event: graduations, funerals, political meetings, and dances.
In 1907 the idea of commercial fruit growing caught on the Council Valley. Within the next few years, orchards began to compete with mining as the area's prime industry and claim to fame.
In the fall of 1908 Council finally got its first permanent newspaper. The first issue of the "Council Leader" was published on October 9, 1908 by editor, Ivan M. Durrell. The name of this paper was changed to the Adams County Leader about 1916. The paper continued under this name until it was purchased by the Council Record in 1997 and became the Adams County Record.
Early streets and sidewalks in Council were a problem. The first "sidewalks" were a few planks thrown on the muddy ground. Before long, properly built wooden walkways appeared, but they didn't hold up to the weather and hard use. The streets were a nightmare in springtime, turning into a slimy river of deep mud. Cement "crosswalks" were in place by at least 1905 to allow people to cross the street without sinking in the mud. In the spring of 1909 the editor of the Council Leader lamented that Council's "single file dilapidated [wooden] sidewalks . . . should be removed and new ones put down wide enough so that two ladies can pass without one having to step off in the mud." By that fall the town had new cement sidewalks.
1909
In 1909 the town of Fruitvale was established about 6.5 miles north of Council. [It would be more accurate to say a town “site” was established. Most early towns started with a dream and a drawing of the lots—a plat. That’s all Fruitvale was at this date, aside from the homes of the few people who already lived there.]
The economy of the Council area continued to expand rapidly. The claim was made that within sixty days during the summer of 1909, real estate prices doubled. But the town's wild days were over. By 1908 there was only one saloon left in Council, and even it closed in August. In November of 1909 a measure was on the ballot to determine whether the county would "go dry," meaning liquor sales would no longer be legal. Council voters were in favor of the measure by a margin of two to one. Those in the mining towns of Cuprum and Landore voted, by a similar margin, to keep liquor flowing. The Seven Devils voters were outnumbered, and the measure passed.
Probably the most memorable Independence Day celebration ever held at Council took place in 1909. People came from as far away as Weiser, making it possibly the largest gathering in Washington County since the days of the Indian festivals. About 2,500 to 3,000 people participated in the festivities, which included trap shooting, a baseball game, a "bucking bronco contest," and a dance. There were fruit and grain exhibits, and a circus with a tight wire act. Speeches by local dignitaries were enjoyed at a picnic under the shade of giant cottonwood trees at "the beautiful island park near the river." [The location of this "park" is lost to antiquity. There may have been on an island in the Weiser River that has since disappeared due to channel changes.] One of the most extravagant entertainments was a mock Indian attack on a wagon train east of town. The daring rescue of the wagon train was accomplished by two companies of the Idaho National Guard, assisted by a band of "pioneer scouts" under the command of Captain Miles Chaffee. The newspaper said this event would be "enacted on the same ground that genuine Indian battles were fought on 40 years ago." This was a gross exaggeration, but some of the men in the sham battle, such as Miles Chaffee, did have personal memories of fighting Indians.
98239.jpg—
This is one of my all time favorite pictures of Council. It was taken around 1910-1912, looking east across the town square. This is the only picture anywhere, that I know of, showing Fred Cool’s store (far right) and the street in front of it. The lettering on the front of Cool’s store reads, “Hay, Grain, Seeds—Coal Sacks and Storage—Custom Chopping.” On the hill in the background (arrow) is the Carlos Weed house, which still stands (empty at present) on the corner of School Avenue and Kidwell Lane. The Overland Hotel is prominent in the center, with a "Ransopher Drug Store" sign on the roof peak. Another sign at the northwest corner says, "State Restaurant." Notice the car in front of the hotel. This would have been a rare sight, and may have belonged to the photographer.
The big, dark building at left is the Odd Fellows hall, built in 1905. Next is a new building, built in 1909 as a bank in one half and a store in the other. The most recent use of this building was as Buckshot Mary’s, and before that was the Rexall Drug store for many years. The wagon parked in front of this building has a sign on the side reading,
"OK Express." This may be associated with the OK Livery Barn and dray (delivery wagon) business that passed from one owner to another until it came to Bill Hanson in 1920. The OK name became associated with Hanson, and it was his cattle brand. It continues today, and the stylized “OK” can be seen on the side of the barn at the John Brown ranch on Hornet Creek. This was the old Bill Hanson place, and belonged to Dick and Erma Armacost for many years. Originally it was the Peck place, after which Peck Mountain is named.
2-15-07
In January of 1910 the Opera House roof collapsed under heavy snow. The Eagles replaced it with a new, brick building on the same corner. About this time, the name of the Opera House was changed to the "People's Theater." During the early 1910s, moving pictures began to replace traveling entertainers, and by 1911 movies were shown there twice a week. The films had no sound, but were usually accompaniment by a live pianist.
The 1910 census showed a population in Council of 312 people. What was to be a Council landmark for many decades was built that year. The Pomona Hotel, located on the southeast corner of Moser Avenue and Main Street, was the most elegant building in town. The Mission style structure was two stories high, with a forty-four foot tower at one corner. The ground floor had a lobby with a fireplace, parlor, billiard room, and dining room. On the upper floor were nineteen guest rooms and two bathrooms. This fine old building was lost to fire in 1985.
There has been some confusion because of the location of Main Street. Main Street runs north and south one block west of the town square. It may have been named this because it was thought the main part of town should be built there. It never was. Illinois Avenue, which becomes Moser Avenue west of the town square, is, and always has been, the "main" street in Council.
Moser Avenue was spelled "Mosher" Avenue on the original plat of the town, and this mistake was perpetuated on maps and street signs for almost 100 years. At the time the map was drawn, George Moser was dead and Elizabeth Moser was illiterate. This may be why the mistake was not corrected. "Mosher" is said to be an old Jewish spelling of the name, and the engineer who drew the map may have only known of that spelling. It is obvious that the Avenue was named after the Moser family, and their name has never been spelled "Mosher" in any legal document, newspaper or public record. [Thankfully, the City has changed the street sign to the correct spelling, and a number of businesses on Moser Avenue now use the correct spelling. Now if we could just get the county to correct the spelling to McMahan Lane instead of “McMahon” Lane at Fruitvale.]
Cars started becoming affordable when the first Model T Ford was manufactured in 1908, but the $850 price tag was still expensive for the average person. By 1910 there were almost half a million motor vehicles registered in the United States; one in twenty people owned a car.
In the summer of 1910 the Leader announced, "Whiteley Brothers are the first residents of Council to bring an automobile to this valley. They have four which they recently shipped from St. Louis." At the beginning of the 1910s the only people who owned cars in the Council area were Dr. Frank Brown, and Mesa Orchards manager, Judah Gray. When an automobile came through the valley, it was the leading topic of discussion for weeks.
2-21-07
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3-1-07
1911
Northward construction resumed on the railroad in 1910, and the first train rolled into the Meadows Valley in February of 1911. In spite of the fact that the railroad had denied purchasing land outside of the town of Meadows where the tracks were planned to go, the worst fears of the town were confirmed. Land had indeed been purchased, and a new town site called "New Meadows" had been laid out at the west side of the Meadows Valley where the rails ended. This meant death for the town of Meadows.
By 1911 the upper part of Washington County had grown so much that a plan was proposed to form a new county from the upper half. This idea was a sore subject with many people from the lower part of the county, if for no other reason than that the upper county produced significant tax income. In spite of this opposition, Adams County was created on March 15, 1911.
Council attorney L.L. Burtenshaw is often regarded as being the father of Adams County. He was a tireless advocate of secession from Washington County, and wrote the bill that created Adams County in 1911. It was Burtenshaw who came up with the name "Adams" for the new county. He reasoned that since Washington County was named after the nation's first president, the new county formed from the upper part of it should be named after the second president.
A big celebration was held in Council to commemorate the new county. The fountain pen used by Governor James Hawley to sign the bill creating Adams County was presented to L.L. Burtenshaw. This pen is now in the Council Valley Museum. Senator A.L. Freehafer was also given a great deal of acclaim for pushing the bill through the State legislature.
Because an election would not be held until November of the next year, Governor Hawley took steps to get the new county up and running. First the Governor designated Council as the temporary county seat. Next he appointed the first officials for the new county. Among those appointed was Luther Burtenshaw as prosecuting attorney. Another well-known young man, Bill Winkler, was appointed County Sheriff.
A Methodist church was built in Council in 1911. It was located just south of where Dartmouth St. intersects Illinois Avenue. Until then, the congregation had been holding its services in the I.O.O.F. Hall. The church was organized and pastored by Reverend James Baker. Baker, who homesteaded on Fort Hall Hill around the turn of the century, was primarily the pastor at the Cambridge Methodist Church. He also traveled around the general area holding services.
The Methodist church organized a Boy Scout Troop in Council in 1911. The County Leader editor said it was the first Boy Scout Troop in Idaho.
There were three newspapers in Adams County in 1911: The Meadows Eagle, The New Meadows Tribune, and The Council Leader.
95532.jpg—My mother’s great grandfather, James Lyman Baker (b.1848 - d.1920), about 1880. Baker was a Methodist preacher beginning in 1903 at Cambridge, and started a homesteaded just southwest of the Fort Hall Hill Highway summit the same year. He established a Methodist church at Council in 1910.
96065.jpg—A. L. Freehafer. On the back of the small souvenir card on which this picture was printed was written, “A swell guy and a smart old cookie" and "Sen. McClure’s maternal grandfather.” Freehafer was a teacher at the school up on the hill for the 7th & 8th grades. Later he was an attorney, a realtor and a State Senator.
95436.jpg—When the railroad was built from near Evergreen to New Meadows on 1910, this construction camp was home to some of the workers, mules and horses.
3-1-07
HUGH WHITNEY-OUTLAW
The story of the Council Valley doesn't contain any dramatic outlaw tales like those that have become so much a part of western lore. The area did produce two young men who became outlaws, but their crimes were committed elsewhere.
The Fred Whitney family moved to the Council Valley in 1908 from near Brownlee Creek on the Snake River. Their farm was about two miles south of Council, on the south side of Cottonwood Creek. The house was just north of the siding and loading docks where the Mesa Orchards tramway later met the railroad. [The site of the Whitney house was at present-day 1665 Highway 95.]
Hugh Whitney was the oldest of the seven children. As he and his brother, Charley, grew up they enjoyed shooting guns. They hunted squirrels, rockchucks, and other rodents, and spent hours shooting at various targets. Hugh is said to have been able to ride his horse down a lane at a fast gallop and hit every fence post with a slug from his revolver. The Gould boys, who were neighbors of the Whitneys as children, remembered how Hugh and his brothers could keep a tin can almost continuously bouncing along the ground with gunshots. [My old buddy, Dan Brown, told me this story. His uncle, Clarence Gould, told it to Dan. The Goulds lived at the end of Cottonwood Lane where George had homesteaded in 1890. They moved to the former George Winkler ranch three miles north of Council in the early 1900s.]
It was common knowledge among their neighbors that Fred Whitney was a hard drinker, a wife beater, and was equally stern with his children. On one occasion, Fred came home drunk and beat his wife with a chair, breaking her arm. Hugh happened to be cleaning a 30-caliber pistol when the beating happened, and when things got out of hand, Hugh stuck the pistol in his father’s ribs and said he would kill the old man if he ever beat his mother again.
By most reports, the Whitney boys were hard working and honest. But an old-time Council resident claimed that one of the boys tried to hold up the train with a shotgun when he was only ten years old. The engineer reportedly stopped the train and booted the boy's backside all the way home. As teenagers, the Hugh and Charley were employed on sheep and cattle ranches in the Council area, and later worked on ranches in eastern Idaho and western Wyoming.
In 1910 Hugh and Charley were herding sheep for Pete Olsen near Cokeville, Wyoming. Even though they were good workers, they wound up getting fired from that job. It seems Hugh had made the sheep too nervous and jumpy; to facilitate the prompt movement of the usually placid animals he had developed the science of herding them by means of carefully placed rifle and pistol shots. Perhaps as a result of his dismissal, Hugh had an altercation with the foreman of the outfit that resulted in the foreman being severely beaten. When the man died as a result of his injuries, Hugh was arrested by the Lincoln County sheriff near Green River, Wyoming. The next day, while awaiting transfer to Evanston for trial for manslaughter, Hugh escaped and left the state.
Continued next week.
Caption for Fruitvale school 1903.jpg:
Everett Nichols of Idaho Falls recently sent this wonderful photo of the Fruitvale school, taken about 1903. Everett’s grandmother was Emma Tomlinson (lived at the base of Fort Hall Hill). She lived to be 100 years old. Although it’s hard to make sense of it (there are 19 names and 21 people in the photo), this is what is written on the back of the photo:
Front row: Earl McMahan, Beth Robertson, Willie Nave, Oliver Robertson, Lota Seavy, Hugh Nave, May Sherer (teacher).
Second row: Harry Tomlinson, Dorothy Thompson, Emma Tomlinson, Claud Whiteley (in front of Thompson), Earnest McMahan, Albert Robertson, Myrtle Whiteley, Edna Tomlinson, Pete Robertson, Truser Seavy, Katie Nave. Joe Tomlinson sitting at end of school.
3-15-07
Robbery & Murder
In June of 1911, twenty three-year-old Hugh Whitney was working near Monida, Montana, on the Idaho - Montana border. One Friday night after he and his coworker, Albert Ross, had just been paid, they went into Monida for an evening of recreation with about $300 between them. It's not clear just what happened, but the next morning, June 17, Hugh and Albert awoke without a dime to their names. Hugh liked to play cards, but was never known to be a high stakes gambler. In whatever way the two were separated from their money, they were convinced that the pool hall where they had spent the evening had pulled a fast one on them. Figuring that they had a right to the hard-earned wages that had been "stolen" from them, they came back to the establishment and had a heart-to-heart talk with the gentleman behind the bar. The bartender seemed very sympathetic to the boy's plight and hastily refunded $200. Some might say the man's attitude was influenced by the fact that he found himself staring down the barrel of Hugh's revolver.
Satisfied that accounts had been honorably squared, Hugh and Albert leisurely boarded the train to Pocatello, putting the incident behind them with no hard feelings. The bartender, however, was somewhat malcontent with the boys' manners and promptly notified the authorities.
Deputy Sheriff Sam Milton boarded the train at Spencer, Idaho, and along with conductor William Kidd, entered the car where Hugh and Albert were engaged in a card game with two other men. The deputy put the two ranch hands under arrest, removing their pistols and carelessly placing the weapons on an empty seat across the isle. As he started to handcuff Hugh, the deputy became arrogant, calling Hugh a "dirty yellow cowardly S.O.B." and other obscenities. This brought Hugh's blood to the boiling point. He quickly grabbed his pistol from the seat and shot the deputy twice in the abdomen. Conductor Kidd grabbed Hugh, but while they were wrestling, Albert shot Kidd three times in the upper body at point blank range. Whitney later claimed that he wasn't trying to kill anyone, only trying to keep them from pursuing him. Passengers later reported that at least fifteen shots were fired by the pair.
After the sheriff and conductor were shot, Hugh or Albert pulled the bell rope that was used to signal the engineer. The men evidently knew the signals because they signaled the engineer to "stop quick." Passengers reported that when the engineer gave the usual short whistles in response to the bell rope signal, for some reason the pair shot twice through the compartment window. The Weiser newspaper said, "As the air brakes ground on the wheels of the train, the robbers stood in the corridor at the head of the car and held the passengers at bay at the point of a revolver. 'Throw up your hands,' one of them yelled, flourishing an ugly automatic revolver, 'the first man who moves is dead,' he threatened." The desperadoes then jumped from the train and disappeared.
Deputy Milton survived his two bullet wounds, but was handicapped for the rest of his life. The night after the shooting, conductor William Kidd died. The word went out that Hugh Whitney was wanted for murder, and he became a hunted fugitive. Just what happened to Albert Ross is unclear, but his name was mentioned on wanted posters as Albert Sesler. It was thought that the two men split up right after leaving the train.
72036.jpg—Adams County was created in the spring before Hugh Whitney began his criminal carrier in 191l. This building was the first Adams County Courthouse until the big brick one was completed on the hill in 1916. This building previously sat on the NW corner of Moser and Main and had been the Council Journal newspaper office. In this photo, it has been moved to the east side of Main Street (north of Moser Avenue). The little masonry room visible on the right edge was built as a vault for important documents. This building later became Bill Winkler's house.
84019.jpg—The first county officials, shown in the other picture, have moved around to the south end of the courthouse for a closer shot. L - R: Harlow H. Cossitt (coroner and hardware store owner), George F. Gregg (probate judge who is so gaunt because he is dying of tuberculosis), J.D. Neale (supt. of schools), C.W. Holmes (clerk and auditor), L.L. Burtenshaw (prosecuting attorney), India C. Hess (deputy recorder), William F. Winkler (sheriff) Front L - R: G. L. McCall (surveyor), James J. Jones (assessor and owner of the current Shumway Ranch), Thomas Mackey (commissioner, 2nd dist. - Bear), D. K. Lindsay (commissioner, 1st dist. Indian Valley), George S. Mitchell (commissioner, 3rd dist. and store owner, New Meadows)
3-22-07
Bob Hagar emailed me, asking where the name “Pomona” came from. In Roman mythology, Pomona was the goddess of fruit trees, gardens and orchards. When the Pomona Hotel was built in 1910, the name was probably motivated by the fact that the Council area was entering a fruit industry boom.
Now back to Landmarks and the Hugh Whitney story.
After jumping from the train, Hugh made his way to Dubois, Idaho, twenty-eight miles away, and appropriated a horse. The Weiser paper said, "After shooting and wounding Edgar McGill at Hamer, Whitney stole McGill's horse and rifle and started due west." Although Jackson Hole was not "due west," it was thought that Hugh was headed there. Blood hounds were put on his trail, but they proved to be ineffective.
Over the next few days, Whitney was hunted relentlessly by heavily armed posses. At one point he stopped an over-eager seventeen-year-old posse member who got too close to his hiding place by shooting the teenager in the shoulder and leg.
Later in the chase, Hugh's practice at shooting fence posts on the run served him well. At a ferry crossing on the Snake River, Rube Scott recognized him and tried to apprehend him. Hugh spurred his horse into a run straight at Scott and opened fire. Scott was lucky he wasn't killed, but a bullet hit his right hand, taking off his index finger. Another version of the story said Scott was a bridge watchman, and that he lost three fingers. Scott later traveled around the country dressed like a frontiersman, selling photographs of himself and telling the story of his gunfight with the famous outlaw, Hugh Whitney.
Hugh made his way back to his old haunts near Cokeville, Wyoming where his brother, Charley, was working on a ranch. There he managed to remain incognito until boys’ behavior took a turn for the worse. They sauntered into the Cokeville bank on the afternoon of September 11, 1911 with guns drawn. One account says the Whitneys relieved the bank of $600. Another reports the amount as $700. Yet another says that the time lock on the vault wouldn't open for another hour and forty-five minutes, so they took $100 from the cash drawers and $300 from bank customers.
Nampa Leader-Herald, September 15, 1911:
STILL AFTER WHITNEY—BANDIT AND PARTNER HELD UP COKEVILLE BANK
Posse Following Him Into Section In Which He Escaped Before.
“The Pocatello Tribune of Thursday says that Hugh Whitney and his brother were seen Tuesday crossing the toll bridge at Chubb Springs, 30 miles north of Soda Springs, headed south through the country which Hugh traveled in making his escape from the posse which pursued him following the killing of Conductor Kidd. Joe Jones, chief detective of the Short Line; Deputy Sheriff Jim Francis of this city; Sheriff Fisher of Fremont county and Deputy Clem Booneville formed a posse at Idaho Falls to travel east and south along Whitney’s old trail to intercept him and are now in the field.”
“Elmer Bazzert, a sheepman, says the two Whitneys stopped at his ranch eight miles from Cokeville, the morning after the bank robbery and begged smoking tobacco. The same day they stole a feed and a pack horse from the Kinney ranch.”
To be continued next week.
95326.jpg—Sheriff Bill Winkler received this wanted poster in the mail in the summer of 1911. It said that the railroad was offering a $1,000 reward for the arrest and conviction of Hugh Whitney. Governor Hawley said that the State would give an additional $500 for "the bodies, dead or alive, of the persons who wounded and killed Conductor William Kidd, in Fremont County, Idaho, on the 17th day of June, 1911."
3-29-07
Crime and Rumors of Crime
For a time after the Cokeville bank hold up, the Whitney brothers were blamed for just about every robbery in the West. It was even rumored that they had joined up with a member of the famous "Hole-in-the-Wall Gang." The Whitneys were once blamed for robbing a bank in Idaho Falls and one in California on the same day.
Nampa Herald-Leader newspaper, June 25, 1912:
Dan Hansen, marshal of Cokeville, Wyo., died at that place Friday as a result of wounds received in a fight Thursday night with the Whitney brothers. Bert Dalton, an accomplice of the desperadoes, is in jail and has confessed his connection with the Whitneys. Peter Olson, a local banker, found a note on his gate post Wednesday night, demanding that $1,500 be left deposited Thursday night at a spot near the Bear river bridge. The note was signed ‘Hugh and Charley Whitney’ and contained a threat to kill Olson and his entire family unless the money was forthcoming. Olson turned the note over to Marshal Hansen, who went to the spot indicated and at once became engaged in a battle with the bandits. He received a bullet in the side at the opening of the fight. His horse was killed by a second bullet. The wounded officer was found by the roadside two hours later by an automobile party and was taken to town. Six armed guards are keeping watch over the jail to prevent the Whitneys from attempting to release their confederate.
In its next issue, the Herald-Leader reported that Bert Dalton was thought to be the killer of Marshal Hansen, saying: “He tried to lay the blame on the Whitney brothers, but the Whitney brothers, by reputation fight in the open and Marshal Hansen was killed from ambush. Tracks left by Dalton showed beyond doubt that he is the murderer.” The paper continued:
During our investigation we learned that Charles Manning, who has lived in Cokeville since the Whitney brothers became active in that section of Wyoming, is a friend of the Whitneys. He admitted that the Whitney brothers called on him the night before the murder and told him of their scheme to blackhand a resident of Cokeville out of $1.500. Authorities found that Manning had photographs said to have been taken three weeks ago of himself and the two Whitney brothers in an automobile. It was also learned that, on the night before the murder, Manning left with two big six-shooters and double belts of cartridges. When he returned he was without the weapons. It is the general opinion among citizens of Cokeville that Manning furnishes the Whitney brothers ammunition and other supplies and keeps them in touch with the movements of agents of the law. So convinced are the authorities in Cokeville that Dalton murdered Marshal Hansen that they will file charges against him. He is known to be a close associate of the Whitney brothers, but not of the dashing character of the two principal bandits.
To be continued.
4-5-07
The end of the Whitney story.
At some point between 1911 and 1915, Sheriff Bill Winkler heard that Hugh Whitney was home visiting his parents. Winkler drove a wagon from Council out to the Whitney place to check on this. He had to have been somewhat apprehensive. "Uncle Bill" was not generally the type of man who went looking for trouble. Winkler was well aware of Hugh's proficiency with firearms. And there was the fact that Hugh had little to lose by killing one more person. On the other hand, Winkler was well-liked in the community, and was probably a friend of the Whitney family. He may have hoped this would work in his favor.
As Winkler later told the story, when he approached the Whitney place there was no one in sight. He walked up to the door and knocked. From inside the house, Winkler heard Hugh's voice call out, "Uncle Bill, I know why you come, but you aren't going to get me. I don't want to hurt you. Now you get back in that livery wagon and go back to town." Of his reaction to Hugh's advice to return to town, Winkler later remarked, "Don't you think I didn't!" Apparently Winkler never encountered Whitney again.
After the Cokeville bank robbery, the Whitney brothers went to Wisconsin and worked in a saddle shop for about a year. Then they found transient employment in Minnesota and Texas until they had saved enough money to buy a ranch near Glasgow, Montana under assumed names. [Glasgow is in northeastern Montana.] During World War I the brothers enlisted in the military and used their shooting skills on the battlefields of France.
In 1935 Hugh sold his Montana ranch holdings, got married, and moved to British Columbia. He died in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan in 1951 without ever serving a day in jail for his crimes. On his deathbed he confessed to what he had done and said that Charley had not been involved in any of his crimes except for the Cokeville bank hold up.
During his time in Montana, Charley, under the alias "Frank Taylor," lived the life of a model citizen. He served on the local school board, and was, ironically, on the board of directors of the Glasgow State Bank. He also made friends with the chief executive of Montana, Governor Connor. After Hugh died, Charley went to his friend, the governor, and confessed to the Cokeville, Wyoming bank robbery that he had helped commit over forty years earlier. Governor Connor gave Charley a letter to the governor of Wyoming, urging clemency for the former outlaw. When Charley appeared for his court hearing in Cheyenne he carried a stack of character references attesting to the fact that he had been a law-abiding citizen and a good neighbor since committing his one crime.
While the court considered its decision, Charley was kept in an unlocked jail cell. The bank that the brothers had robbed no longer existed, and only one victim could be located. The Judge granted Charley a full pardon. Charley only lived a few years after this, dying at his Montana ranch in 1955.
Photo captions:
95468.jpg-- Newspaper photos and headlines about the Whitney robbery of the Cokeville, Wyoming bank, presumably from the Denver Post for June 15, 1952.
00118.jpg—Sheriff Bill Winkler.
4-12-07
1912 – 1913
In the fall of 1912 the Leader said that since 1911 "the population has almost, if not quite, doubled in the new county. . . ." The paper reported that Council now had four big general merchandise stores, a bakery, and a dairy. It also bragged that "within a radius of 12 1/2 miles of Council there are at the last calculation 3,000 acres of orchard, worth at least $500 per acre. . . ."
That year the County Seat issue came to a head as the November election approached. Council, New Meadows and Fruitvale were all in the competition. Council won by a large margin.
In 1912 another large orchard company called "The Council Valley Orchards" started on the slopes northeast of Council, mostly east of highway 95 between Orchard Road and Mill Creek Road.
About 1912, the Council school produced its first high school graduate: Edward Burtenshaw. High school classes had evidently begun a few years before that, and were conducted in the same brick building as the grade school.
Runaways
The bustling period of the early 1910s seemed to be the heyday for horse runaways. One notable mishap occurred in May of 1912. Oscar Russell, a Hornet Creek lad of 13, was riding his saddle horse, innocently plodding east up Moser Avenue. At the intersection of Moser and Main there was a cement crosswalk-one of those that were installed so that pedestrians could make it across the street without disappearing in the mud during wet seasons. As Oscar's horse stepped onto and over the crosswalk, it slipped on the smooth surface and fell, spilling its rider. Oscar's right foot was tangled in the stirrup, and before he could get it out, the frightened horse leaped back to its feet and started running up the street. As the horse ran, its powerful back feet hammered Oscar over and over again. Finally, just past the old Moser Hotel, Oscar's body smashed into another cement crosswalk; the impact tore him loose from the stirrup. Ashen-faced onlookers picked up Oscar's mangled form and took him into a nearby house. As fate would have it, both of Council's doctors were out of town at the time. Oscar lay clinging to life for two hours until Dr. Frank Brown returned. The Leader reported the boy's condition:
He was suffering from concussion of the brain, as well as right side crushed in, right lung punctured, liver bruised, skin and tissues of right groin torn to the extent of eight inches by the pull on the limb when he broke loose from the horse, and the horse had also stepped on the inner part of the left knee and slid a great piece of flesh off. Aside from these injuries, the boy was scratched and bruised all over and it is a miracle how he lives. His right side is so drawn and torn that when he breathes, the air from the punctured lung bubbles up under the tissue in the torn place in the groin. At last accounts he was improving and his chances of recovery are better than was at first thought possible. A trained nurse will have charge of the patient at the Zink home, and although semi-conscious, there is yet hope.
A month after the accident, Oscar was on the mend and just recovering his memory. As his mind slowly cleared, the last thing he could remember was looking into the window of the new Gillespie drug store building that was being built on the northeast corner of Moser and Main. By the 4th of July he was feeling much better, and was able to enjoy the local festivities.
4-19-07
More Runaways
Almost exactly one year after Oscar Russell's accident, in May of 1913, two serious runaways occurred within three days. The first took place very near where Oscar was almost killed. A team pulling a dray (small delivery wagon) started running up Moser Avenue near the railroad depot. The Leader reported that at the corner of Moser and Main, "Jack Broomfield, who was visiting in town from Tamarack, made a heroic effort to stop them, but was dragged down and one horse and two wheels of the dray ran over his legs just above the knees. He was pretty badly bruised and his clothes were torn, but fortunately no bones were broken." The horses continued to run wildly, barely missing wagons parked along the hitch rack at the town square. When they dashed down a side street, heading toward home, the wagon smashed into a telephone pole and the team stopped.
Just two days later, John Hancock and Gene Koontz were headed down the street with one of their "OK Livery Co." drays when the team, as the Leader editor euphemistically put it, "took a notion to be stylish and headed down the street on their own account." Hancock was driving, and pulled so hard on the reins that they broke. The Leader said, "Mr. Koontz jumped out of the dray, but failed to remember that while up in the air his head was heavier than his feet, or else forgot to hold his head up when he alighted. Anyway he struck the gravel with his face and had the appearance of having had a hand to hand interview with a grizzly bear."
Other than the excitement caused by horses in 1912, Council was entertained by "Kit Carson's Buffalo Ranch Wild West and Trained Animal Exhibition" that June. Part of the show was billed as having a "real aeroplane--not a model" which was "guaranteed to give flights daily. It will circle the city and alight at the fairgrounds for the public's inspection."
On the night after Christmas in 1912 John Hancock was walking along a dark Council street when a shotgun blast shattered the air almost in his face. At first he didn't seem to be badly hurt, but complained that his left eye hurt. Over a month later, Hancock's eye was still causing him continual pain, and he was losing sight in it. It was decided that the eye should be removed, and upon doing so the doctor found a small piece of brass embedded in the back of the eyeball. It was never discovered who had attempted to kill Hancock. Ike Glenn claimed, years later, that it was Billie Brown because of a remark Hancock had made about Brown's wife.
Aside from building the first place of business in Council in 1891, John Hancock was remembered for serving as Adams County's game warden from 1921 until 1929 when the job was given to another man. If Ike Glenn's claim was true, it is ironic that Hancock's job was given to none other than Billie Brown. The Leader editor testily commented that Brown had been handed the job as a "political plum."
72040.jpg—This 1912 photos shows Soren Hanson and a companion in a Council Transfer Company wagon. The Hanson family later became more closely associated with the “OK” dray service mentioned in the runaway story. This type of light wagon, often called a “dray” was used to make local deliveries, such as transferring goods from the railroad to stores or taking mail to the Post Office. The “new” Whiteley store is in the background to the left and the false front of their old store is visible just over the near horse’s withers. This picture was taken looking southwest at the south end of the town square. The newer Whiteley store is now the sight of the Norm’s Corner building.
98328.jpg—John Hancock with his wife, and probably their daughter, at Bear in the 1920s.
4-26-07
Changes
Until 1913 the town square was used as a place to tie horses and park wagons. That year the hitching racks all around the square were taken out for "sanitary and appearance reasons." The place must have smelled and looked terrible from constant use by dozens of horses. The area was fenced and planted to grass so it could be used as a park. It wasn't too many years after that when locust trees were planted around the perimeter of the square. Some of the trees are still there.
Dr. Frank Brown added a Landmark to Council in 1913 when he built a large brick building on the northwest corner of Illinois Avenue and Galena Street. His old office, which had stood on that corner, was torn down to make way for the new building. "Dr. Brown's brick," as it became known, was one of the nicest buildings in town. It had indoor plumbing for water and sewer, was heated by steam, and wired for electricity. The lower floor was occupied by Lorton's Drug Store and the Council Post Office. The upper floor contained rooms for Dr. Brown's practice and the telephone office.
Local prices from the Council Leader, May 16, 1913:
Apples: 60 cents per box ($12.09 in today’s dollars)
Eggs: 15 cents/doz. ($3.02 today)
Timothy or alfalfa hay, baled: $11.00/ton ($221.65/ton today)
Oats $1.00/cwt Barley $1.00/cwt Wheat $1.30/cwt ($1 = $20.15 today--/cwt means per 100 pounds)
Today’s equivalent prices, in parenthesis after the original price, are derived by multiplying the 1913 value by 20.15. The equivalent value of money fluctuated, as illustrated by the fact that $1 in 1920 had the same value that $11.29 does now, so the modern equivalent prices for 1920 would be almost half of the 1913 value. WWI must have heavily influenced these values. Current values compared to 1917 ($1 = $17.87 today) and 1918 ($1 = 15.22) and 1919 ($1 = 12.97) show the steady drop over those years. An inflation calculator found at <westegg.com/inflation> can used to compare money values between any two years after 1800.
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Captions:
98081.jpg—The north side of Illinois Avenue just before Dr. Brown tore down his old office building (far right in photo) and replaced it with his new brick building. The square seems to be fenced and there is a wood plank sidewalk along it.
98443.jpg— Dr. Frank Brown’s new building.
72069.jpg---This picture must have been taken about 1913 or 1914. The town square has been fenced and the hitching rails are gone. The plank sidewalk is also gone.
5-3-07
A Courthouse
In 1914 the population of Council was about 600. The first Adams County courthouse was on Main Street, about one half block north of Moser Avenue, on the east side of the street. It was moved here from the northwest corner of Moser and Main. The building had originally been the home and Council Journal newspaper belonging to Levi S. Cool. The county rented it from Lewis Winkler, and later became the home of Bill Winkler.
By 1913 it was obvious that a new and bigger courthouse was needed. Rooms in which to hold court were rented in various buildings around town. The sheriff and probate judge had offices in one building, the county superintendent in another, and the remainder of the offices in a third building. The Leader reported that county records were being stored in a "cheap frame building, in danger of loss to fire or theft." For the next couple of years the issue of whether the county could afford a new courthouse was debated. Finally in 1916 a large, brick courthouse and jail building was built on top of the rocky hill south of downtown. The County replaced this courthouse in 1999 with a new courthouse and jail at the north end of Council.
[In case you are confused by the current use of 1916 as the year for construction of the courthouse, fairly recently I ran across documents that make it clear that construction did not start on the building until 1916. The sign on the front of the old courthouse must have been optimistically ordered ahead of time.]
[I just got a letter from a friend of Dr. Roderick Neale, the son of J.D. Neale. J.D. Neale was the Adams County school superintendent who is shown in the photo of the first county officials that was published recently with this column. This month Dr. Neale, who is 95 years young, is coming to Council see the town where he was born. If there are any of you out there who remember the Neale family, he would probably appreciate hearing from you. Please contact me with any information, stories, etc.]
Elk
In 1915 there were no known elk in Idaho west of the Island Park Divide near the Wyoming border. When the fur trappers entered Idaho in the early 1800s there were small, scattered herds of elk in the Payette and Weiser River drainages. There is a record of trappers sighting a large herd of elk in Long Valley in 1831. Large groups of trappers, such as the Hudson's Bay expeditions, often killed as many elk as they could when they had the opportunity. This was made easier by the fact that fur harvesting was done mostly in the winter, when elk were congregated on their wintering grounds. Travelers on the Oregon Trail helped finish off the elk population when they passed though, sometimes roaming miles off the trail in search of meat. As a result, the elk in this part of Idaho were gone by the 1850s. By 1885 some feared that elk would become extinct in the whole State.
Earl Wayland Bowman persuaded the state Game Warden to use $5,000 to buy Yellowstone Park elk from the U.S. Government, and put them in Adams County. One source says the Government donated the elk: 35 cows and 15 bulls. In February of 1915 a train came through Council carrying the elk. They were to be released near New Meadows. When the train stopped in Council, a crowd of fascinated locals gathers to gawk at the strange new animals. [Old time Meadows Valley people have told me that, after the elk were unloaded at New Meadows, local cowboys hazed the elk out into the hills.] So that the small herd could build up its population, no elk hunting was allowed in this part of Idaho until about 1948. [My Dad used to talk about opening day that fall. A large herd of elk was staying in the head of the West Fork of the Weiser River (west of Lost Lake). At daybreak, he said it sounded like a war broke out. A number of monster bulls were taken that day.]
Caption for elk.jpg---
These elk, shown here at the New Meadows P&IN Railroad stockyards after they were unloaded in February 1915, are probably the ancestors of just about every elk in this area.
The Big Fire
In the middle of the night at the end of March, 1915 a fire started in the kitchen of Will Freehafer's restaurant on the north side of Council's downtown. The flames quickly destroyed every building between the cement bank building, which stopped it on the west, and Dr. Brown's big brick building on the corner to the east. The fire was so hot that it easily jumped south across Illinois Avenue and obliterated every fragment of the Overland Hotel complex. Possibly more than half of the businesses in town were destroyed by this fire.
Fortunately most of the buildings on the north side of the street were insured, and the owners built back immediately. Within a week after the fire, an ordinance was passed requiring new downtown buildings to be built with brick or cement. G.H. Dixon of Cambridge and J.W. Faubion of Caldwell put a brick making plant near the Weiser River bridge along the road to Hornet Creek, and made the bricks for the rebuilt businesses. The buildings were wired for electricity because a power line was expected to reach Council soon. All of the brick buildings built back after the fire are still in use at this writing.
The Overland Hotel businesses complex did not build back after the fire. Instead the land was sold to Sylvanus "Bud" Addington. In 1916 he built a large, brick building with a hotel upstairs, and a cafe and a garage / auto dealership on the first floor. The garage was the first one in Council. The structure is still in use as the “Ace” building.
By 1915 there were enough dairy farms and miscellaneous milk cows in the area to warrant building a creamery. It was located just southwest of the railroad crossing on the road to Hornet Creek, approximately at the present location of 309 Brady Street. The best-known manager of the creamery was Albert Hagar who ran the establishment for seventeen years.
In mentioning Evea Harrington Powers’s generous donation to the museum last week in honor of the memory of Nellie Roberts, I inadvertently used the last name “Robertson” instead of Roberts. I apologize for that. Robertson was her name years ago.
72052mod.jpg—The arrow points to Freehafer’s Restaurant where the 1915 fire started. The Bank of Council building (until recently Buckshot Mary’s) is the first one on the left. It is the only building in this picture that did not burn in the fire.
72132mod.jpg—Every building between the lines burned in the 1915 fire. This picture was taken about 1910, before Dr. Brown replaced his office with the current brick building. His old, frame building is shown here just past the right line.
The Miracle of Electricity Arrives
Thomas Edison lighted a section of New York City with electricity in 1882, but widespread use of this technology didn't reach rural Idaho until about the turn of the twentieth century. Electric lights appeared in Weiser in 1903, but no one in the "upper country" had entered the electrical age by that time.
Charles Macey was not far behind Weiser when he had an electric generating plant installed at his mine holdings at Iron Springs in the Seven Devils in 1904.
The present dam on the Oxbow of the Snake River south of Hells Canyon would not be built until 1961, but people were making big plans for that unique convolution of the river at least as early as 1905. A concrete dam planned that year was to be 800 to 1000 feet long. An electric generator was to be built at the bottom of a tunnel that would be blasted through the solid-rock neck of the bow. It was thought that the generator could supply power to an area including the Seven Devils mines and Baker, Oregon. The plan was finally abandoned about 1907 because of a lack of customers. Very few in the region had even a single light bulb in their homes. Such grandiose schemes that put the cart before the horse were not uncommon in those days.
The same year that the Oxbow scheme made the news (1905), Dr. Starkey built a hotel at his hot springs north of Fruitvale. He installed electric lights in each room of the hotel, and provided power by installing his own water-powered generating plant on Warm Springs Creek.
Meadows was the first town in the upper country to have electricity, receiving power in 1910 from a generator on the Falls of the Little Salmon River.
About this time, electricity was becoming the rage in the U.S. At first it was almost exclusively used for lighting, but people soon investigated just about every possible use for the new miracle. Since a railroad line was being contemplated north from Council to link Boise with Lewiston, it was proposed that it be an electric railway powered by generating plants built at intervals along the Salmon River.
In 1911 Isaac McMahan's nineteen-year-old son, Ernest, installed an electric power plant on their ranch at Fruitvale. The generator was driven by water from an irrigation ditch. Clarence Gould built an elaborate power plant on the Gould ranch, three miles north of Council, around this same time. The building that housed the Gould power plant is still standing, just east of the river on the Gould ranch.
Lyle Sall has stepped up to the plate to schedule volunteers for the museum this summer. He is looking for people to be volunteer hosts at the museum, starting on May 26 and ending Labor Day weekend in September. The shifts are three hours long, the job doesn’t require any experience, and basically entails just being there to safeguard the museum. You can volunteer for just one shift, one shift a week, or whatever fits your schedule. Please, if you have any time this summer that you could give to this good cause, give Lyle a call at 253-0095.
Captions for photos:
The cabin.jpg—The Ford Brothers established the mines at Black Lake, and built this cabin—exact location unknown.
The cabin dining room.jpg—This shot of the inside of the cabin is simply labeled, “The cabin dining room.”
The cabins sitting room.jp—Same corner, same bed, same woman, but the furnishings have been rearranged for this shot of “the cabin sitting room.”
Electricity Comes to Stay
General public access to electricity along the upper Weiser River began in 1912 when the Adams County Light and Power Company installed a large, water-powered generator on Rush Creek, eight miles north of Cambridge. The lights were turned on in Cambridge on Christmas day of that year.
Before power lines reached Council, private generators driven by small gasoline engines were used by a few businesses in town. By 1913 the Opera House and Dr. Brown's house had electric lights that were powered by this means. The next year, Charlie Warner (not the one from Bear) installed the first electric fan in Council in his barbershop for the comfort of his patrons.
Right after the big fire in 1915, Council signed a contract with the Adams County Light and Power Company to receive electricity from the Rush Creek plant. The first lights powered by this source were turned on in a number of homes and businesses here on August 28, 1915.
With electricity, a flame was no longer necessary for lighting, and communities were less threatened by the risk of fire. Before electric lighting, fires like Council's, where a whole section of a town would burn down, were common. Of course the primitive science of electrical wiring in the early days was not without its hazards either.
In 1923 a power line was extended north of Council to Orchard Road to supply the fruit packing plants there. A power line didn't reach the Fruitvale store until 1940. About the same time, line extensions gave lower Hornet Creek, and most of Council Valley, access to electricity. The power line reached Evergreen about 1950 or '51.
John Darland provided the first electricity in Cuprum with a small power plant in 1931. A power line finally reached the Bear and Cuprum area about 1979.
OK folks, this is it. The museum opens on the 26th and volunteers are badly needed. If you want to see the museum continue, please consider giving a little of your time to that end. The museum is only open for three months. Lyle Sall is doing the scheduling now; give him a call at 253-0095. If you have any questions, I’ll be glad to talk to you. My number is 253-4582.
Photo captions:
Hauling in the tram cable.jpg—This week I’m featuring more photos from the Ford collection, concerning the mines at Black Lake. This shot shows the tram cable being freighted in. Sections of the over two-mile-long cable were coiled onto one wagon and then looped back to the next until the whole thing was loaded onto a series of wagons in one piece. It looks like one team in the rear is pulling more than one wagon and that the “wagons” may have been more wagon frames that regular wagons. Each team appears to have at least four horses. This must have been quite a tedious job requiring well-trained animals.
4th of July at Cuprum.jpg—There is no year given for this photo of Independence Day at Cuprum, but it had to be between 1900 and 1914.
Rocky comfort – maybe.jpg—This picture appears to have been taken at Rocky Comfort on the way to the mining district.
1916 - 1917
The year 1916 saw the beginning of organized intermural sports in this region. As soon as the P&IN Railroad linked the towns along its route, it became easy for baseball teams to reach other communities for games, and every advantage was taken of this fact. Because the P&IN had become affectionately known as the "Pin railroad" or simply as "the Pin," a baseball league organized at Midvale in 1916 was called the "PIN League." The original PIN league consisted of baseball teams from Council, Cambridge and Midvale. New Meadows was soon added. In the 1930s, this league combined with the Long Valley League, which included Cascade, Donnelly and McCall. The new league was called the "Long Pin League." Riggins joined the Long Pin League in the 1940s.
In 1916 Council lost and gained a Doctor Brown. Dr. Frank Brown moved back to his hometown of Salem, Oregon, and Dr. William Brown came here from Landore. [Rod Neale, who recently visited Council, was delivered by Dr. Brown here in 1912. The Neale family had moved to Salem when Dr. Brown returned there, where Dr. Brown delivered Rod’s younger brother.]
A 1917 newspaper advertisement made the comment, "It is estimated that there are more than three autos in Idaho for every bath tub."
In November of 1917, a Landmark of the Council area met his demise. Levi Allen, the pioneer who had discovered the first copper in the Seven Devils, had been living in Spokane for some time. He had gone to the store to get some milk, and while crossing the street on his way home he was hit by a car and thrown 150 feet. His death seemed symbolic of the death of the mining boom in the Seven Devils which came at about the same time. By 1917 the mining district resembled only a shadow of its former glory, and would never recover.
About 1917 a road project was started through Idaho, called the "North - South Highway." It was the beginning of a modern highway system in the state.
World War One
The First World War broke out in Europe in 1914. In April of 1917 the U.S. reluctantly entered the war. Patriotic fervor was high in the Council Valley, and a number of local young men joined the military. Others were later drafted.
Two of the young Council men who were eager to get into the "War To End All Wars" were two brothers: Joe Hahn and Frank Hahn Jr. The boys' parents, and most of the family, went along when they signed up in Boise. On the way home, their car was struck by a train at a railroad crossing near Payette. Five of the six family members in the car were killed in the horrible wreck. Although she was seriously hurt, thirteen-year-old Alice was the only survivor. In one of life's tragic ironies, years later Alice's husband was killed by a train. [My father knew Alice, and spoke of how she suffered from what would now probably be called “post traumatic stress” from the wreck that killed her family.]
I recently learned that Ryan Hatfield has another book out. This one is about elk in Idaho, and gives more details about how they were imported into Adams County. Among many other stories, Ryan tells how Elmer Bacus (formerly of Hornet Creek) bagged the highest scoring bull ever killed in Idaho. (A full-body mount of this bull in on display at Cabela’s sporting goods store in Boise.) You can buy a copy of Ryan’s book at the Shell station in Council.
Photo captions:
95265L.jpg-- Frank Hahn. A painting of this photo is painted on one of the window covers on the old courthouse.
O5030.jpg—Dr. Frank Brown
The Shadow of Death
When the war ended in November of 1918, the joy was dampened by the awful knowledge that it was not the end of dying. People were still dropping by the millions, and not just in Europe.
The war had been the most horrendous the world had ever known, thanks to new inventions like airplanes, tanks, machine guns, submarines, trench warfare, and poison gas. But another blow followed the war like the second half of a combination punch. A plague spread across the United States that, by 1919, had killed half a million people--almost six times as many as the number of American soldiers that had died in the war. It was Spanish Influenza, and it killed more than twenty million people around the world. [I recently saw a documentary on TV that claimed something like 50 million people around the world died from that epidemic, worldwide.] In the Council area alone it claimed the lives of 16 citizens.
It had started in the fall of 1918, before the war had even ended, when reports came that thousands of flu cases had appeared at Army bases across the U.S. The front page of the November 8, 1918 issue of The Cambridge News proclaimed, "The War Is Over!” But the same issue announced the first flu deaths in that community. A later issue of the Cambridge paper reported that Council was having "the worst outbreak any community in this section has suffered."
Minnie Zink had a son fighting in the war. She and her daughter, Mary, and F.H. Morrison were kept busy nursing flu victims in the Zink hospital until they came down with it themselves.
In January, 1919 Ida Selby (age 40) and her son, Ray (age 20) died from the flu on the same day. Ida's other son, Chester, was in the army in France at the time. [Chet Selby’s daughter, Loraine Selby now lives at Fruitvale.]
Leo Jasper Rainwater, who ran a grocery store at 118 Illinois Avenue, was one of Council's early flu victims. He was known as a tireless worker, but shortly after the armistice of November 11, 1918 he was put in the Zink hospital with a bad case of influenza. By the end of the month he was dead. He was only 34 years old, and left behind a wife, and son who was not quite a year old. Shortly after Leo's death, Mrs. Rainwater sold the store and moved away. Although it never made big news in Council, the son, Leo James Rainwater, went on to study physics in California. He eventually worked on the ultra-secret Manhattan Project, and in doing so, helped invent the atomic bomb. From 1946 to 1952 he was a professor of physics at Columbia University. During that time, his research on the structure of the nucleus of atoms so advanced the knowledge in that field that he was awarded the Nobel Prize for physics in 1975. Rainwater died in 1986.
[In addition to the Nobel Prize, Rainwater received the Ernest Orlando Lawrence Memorial Award for Physics of the United States Atomic Energy Commission (1963). He was a member of the National Academy of Sciences, the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, the New York Academy of Sciences, the American Association for the Advancement of Science, and the American Physical Society. See New York Times, June 3, 1986 (probably Rainwater's obituary).]
Photo captions:
96001.jpg---Leo James Rainwater, Nobel Prize winner, born in Council.
98439.jpg--- Ivan M. Durrell (Leader editor), Leo Jasper Rainwater & Mr. Morrison with salmon caught near Starkeyn Hot Springs in 1914.
98443.jpg—Leo Jasper Rainwater’s store about 1914. This building burned in the 1915 fire. The building Rainwater built in its place is now Sam’s TV & Electric. When you go into that building, notice the old molded tin ceiling panels.
6-14-07
It was not technically the flu itself that killed most people, but the complications that it caused--usually pneumonia. Fred Brooks was a big, barrel-chested blacksmith who was known as one of the most robust men in the Valley. He caught the flu in the winter of 1918 -'19 at the age of 51. He never fully recovered from the damage the virus did to his kidneys, and died in October of 1919. He left behind seven children (the oldest was about age 13) and a partially blind wife.
At the peak of the epidemic, Council area schools were closed, churches stopped holding services, and the People's Theater shut its doors. All public gatherings were banned. A policy statement issued in Weiser summed up the no-nonsense attitude on the part of public officials:
“In the hope of stamping out influenza, the Weiser City Council, in conjunction with the school board, has ordered that all absentees from school shall be reported by teachers and that investigation, looking to quarantine, shall immediately follow such reports. Police officers are authorized to call a physician to investigate any case of suspected influenza that has not been reported. Violators of quarantine will be vigorously prosecuted.”
As waves of the epidemic eased in Council, public gatherings were allowed sporadically. Eventually three quarters or more of Council school kids had already had the flu, and the school was set to reopen. When it did, children who had not had the flu in their household were not required to attend. The Adams County Leader announced, “ . . . the Health Officer shall visit the schools each morning for purpose of inspection and, further, that teachers shall watch closely for any appearance of illness on the part of pupils in order that if any suspicious cases appear they may be immediately cared for."
By February 1919, the Leader printed an official notice by the Board of Health on the front page. It said that the Spanish Influenza epidemic seemed to be on the wane in the Northwestern U.S., but outlined strict precautions:
“All cases of sickness in any way similar to influenza must be reported and a physician called AT ONCE. Failure to do this is a misdemeanor punishable by fine. All cases of Influenza shall consider themselves in rigid quarantine, the quarantine extending not only to the person sick but to ALL MEMBERS OF THE HOUSEHOLD for at least one week following the outbreak of the disease. Rooms occupied by Influenza patients must be thoroughly disinfected with formaldehyde at the time that quarantine is lifted.”
As if Spanish Influenza weren't enough, a less endemic outbreak of smallpox hit Idaho, including the Council area, in 1919. There were 500 cases in the state that year.
Over the next couple of years, even isolated cases of the flu around Council caused scares that closed schools and public meeting places. In 1920 a few cases of the flu appeared across Idaho, but it was not as serious as the year before. In the spring of 1922, however, it was bad enough to be called an epidemic again. Once more the Council school, churches and other public places closed temporarily.
Photo captions:
Council pharmacy.jpg—The Council Pharmacy (in the building now occupied by One-Eyed Jacks) as it looked about the time of the flu epidemic.
Sam Criss store (etc.)—This undated photo of the Sam Criss General Merchandise store shows Pearl Mitchel, Tom Dowdy and Sam Criss standing on the porch. The porch was intentionally built high enough to load and unload wagons more easily. This building later became the Weed store. It sat where the parking lot for the Council Valley Market is today.
The Burtenshaws
The story of the Burtenshaw family is entwined with Council's history in general, but perhaps their most poignant story is linked with the War and the influenza epidemic.
Luther L. Burtenshaw and his wife, Nettie, had one child, Edward, who was seven years old when the family came to Council in 1901. "Burt," as he was known, built a home for his little family at 104 North Fairfield. The house is now the Keith Fish home, just across the alley north of the bank. Burt’s small law office was located only about one block away, on the north side of Illinois Avenue, where the bank parking lot is today. His office filing system was unique. Paperwork concerning active cases were impaled upon a series of nails along one wall. [I got this story from the late Judge Harold Ryan. Ryan's father, Frank, was a Weiser attorney and knew Burtenshaw well.]
When Adams County was formed, Governor James H. Hawley appointed Burtenshaw as the new county's first prosecuting attorney. Burt was reelected to that office a number of times. In the 1930s Burtenshaw became Adams County's State Senator. Because of his robust mannerisms and his deep, booming voice, some of his fellow Senators gave him the nickname "the Bellowing Bull from Council."
Burt was a fixture at high school graduation ceremonies, which were often held at the Opera House (now the People’s Theater). As a long-time member of the school board of trustees, he handed diplomas to many a Council graduate. He could also be counted on to give the oration at these, or many other occasions.
Burtenshaw was renowned for his trap shooting expertise. He reached his peak as a competitor in the sport after he was sixty years old. In 1930, at the age of 68, he shot 100 consecutive clay pigeons without a miss at the State tournament finals in Boise. Out of a total of 200 shots that day he only missed three times. The next year, at the age of 70, Burt placed close to the top in the National Trap Shooting Tournament. Burtenshaw became an honorary life member of the Pacific International Trap Shooting Association--a rare honor that had been bestowed upon fewer than a dozen people at the time.
Nettie Burtenshaw was no stranger to firearms herself, and was quite a deer hunter. After one particularly successful hunting trip in 1914, the editor of the Leader said of Nettie, "We will bank her against any woman huntress in the state."
The Burtenshaws' only child, Edward, had married, become an attorney, and was practicing law with his father when the U.S. became involved in the War in 1917. Edward was drafted and shipped to the battlefields of France. In fall of 1918 the Burtenshaws received crushing news in a telegram from the War Department: Edward had died on October 6. The family was shocked, but thought that it must be a mistake. They had just received a letter from Edward dated Oct 20, saying, "I am still in the land of the living . . . and . . . am well and feel fine." On the other hand, the Burtenshaws thought that he might really be dead, and that the date could have been wrong on the notice. To add to their tenuous grip on hope, just over two months after Edward's death notice came, a letter arrived at the home of Carney Johnson, a Midvale boy serving in France who was officially reported as having been killed in action. The letter was from Carney himself, saying that the report of his death was false.
The story of the Burtenshaw family and Ed Burtenshaw’s fate will continue next week.
6-28-07
The question of Edward Burtenshaw’s fate was eventually clear. Until this point, he had made it through the bloody conflict without a scratch, even having gone through the brutal battle of Argonne Woods. He had been called back from the front to teach a class, and it looked like the worst was over. Then, only ten days before the armistice was signed ending the war, he died from influenza. Three and a half months later, and half a world away, his wife gave birth to a baby boy. He was named Edward after his father.
More than two years passed before the family could get Edward's body shipped back to the U.S. Finally in June of 1921, Edward's wife and parents were able to lay him to rest under Council Valley soil. The community rallied around the grief-stricken family at one of the largest and saddest funeral services ever held in Council. It was conducted at the Opera House, which probably held more people than any other building in town. Even so, people overflowed into the streets.
The Adams County Leader expressed the heartfelt sympathy of the community:
The words of sympathy we would express to his bereaved wife and parents utterly fail us. Stricken as he was--in the early prime of a promising life, after having passed through the dangers and hardships of one of the most trying battles of the war and with a joyous home-coming near, no blow more severe could have been dealt those nearest to him except that as time makes grief less acute they will find consolation in the fact that in memory he will ever be listed in the great roll of honor of his generation.
In 1938 Luther Burtenshaw reached the end of his earthly trail, and was buried beside his son. The Leader commented, "The vacant place he leaves in the town and community cannot be filled because Luther L. Burtenshaw was himself, a character, separate and apart from other men, a man that will be missed by all who knew him." Nettie Burtenshaw moved to San Jose, California the next year. She lived to see two great grandchildren (Edward Junior's children) and one great-great grandchild before she died in 1965.
It would be interesting to know about the descendants of Ed Burtenshaw and whether they know these stories of their family’s past. If any of you genealogy researchers out there run across any information in this regard, please let me know.
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Captions for photos:
95263L.jpg—This picture of Luther Burtenshaw appeared in the Adams County Leader, date unknown.
84001.jpg—The sign, yet to be hung, says it all: “L.L. Burtenshaw--Law Office and Notary Public.” This small building stood where the US Bank parking lot is today, and is now just north of the I.O.O.F. Cemetery. The end of Burtehshaw’s house (now the Keith Fish home) is just visible at the right edge in the background. I assume Burt is the guy next to the door, looking proud.
7-5-07
A New Era--The 1920s
Soldiers who survived the First World War often returned home with changed attitudes. Many of them left home as country boys, but came back feeling like men of the world. Men who had not traveled outside the county where they grew up suddenly found themselves in cultural crossroads such as New York, London or Paris. They came home more aware of world events and of lifestyles that were different than any they had previously imagined. This new worldliness, combined with incredibly rapid technological advances, led to a decade of unprecedented change.
Life had always been hard for men, but the lives of women had been even harder. Now, electrical appliances began to make the homemaker's burden lighter. In the 1920s, two thirds of American homes acquired electricity; and a multitude of conveniences, such as washing machines, radios and vacuum cleaners, were marketed. In that decade, the nation's annual refrigerator production went from less than 5,000 to almost 1 million. As always, rural Idaho lagged behind in these trends, but the trends were felt nonetheless.
The social changes for women were even more pronounced than those brought by technology. It was a decade of liberation. Even though Idaho women had been voting since 1896, they first won that right nation-wide in the 1920s. Women had traditionally worn long, almost formal dresses over painfully restrictive corsets and bustles; now they made a radical shift to a very loose, freewheeling look. Instead of long hair wound tightly into a conservative bun, they cut their hair and let it hang loose, in short "bobbed" styles. The editor of the Adams County Leader said in 1928, "Only two girls in Idaho, so far as the Leader knows, have managed to resist the vogue to have their hair cut. Council has the distinction of one and Boise the other." Meanwhile, men wore their hair slicked straight back and greased down.
The abundance of the "Roaring Twenties" started U.S. culture down the road of materialism. This decade saw the advent of nationwide advertising and mass marketing. Name brands became household words. Big business and buying stocks were in vogue. The standard American lifestyle of simple expectations jumped headlong into "keeping up with the Joneses"--with automobiles, electricity, and all the other luxuries one could acquire.
It didn't take Council long to become dependent on electricity. In 1924--just nine years after the first power line reached town--a wooden pipe froze and burst at the Adams County Light and Power Company generating plant, stopping the generation of power for almost three weeks. The Leader editor said, ". . . everything in the community is hampered or at a standstill for lack of power and lights."
The fly in the ointment of America's post-war prosperity was its rural areas. In 1920, for the first time in history, the population of the U.S. was more urban than rural. While the rest of the nation enjoyed the affluence of the twenties, many farmers were hit by hard times.
During the war, food production had increased dramatically to feed a hungry world. In spite of the fact that farmers expanded their acreages, the war caused a shortage of wheat in the U.S. that prompted the government to ask people to be conservative in its consumption. At the end of the war, the political situation in Europe was so dominated by hate, revenge and greed that people in Germany, Russia, and elsewhere, were literally starving to death. In spite of this obvious market for American farm products, politics intervened. Farm prices fell dramatically. Some Council area homesteaders had settled marginal land in the first place, and when an agricultural depression hit in the 1920s many were forced to sell out. Even for some established ranchers, like Arthur Huntley of Cuprum, it was the final blow that forced them to leave the way of life they loved.
Captions:
95283L.jpg—Boxing matches were a popular pastime in the 1920s. The dark building in the background on teh right is the Lowe & Jones store that sat about where Ronnie’s parking lot is today.
95035.jpg—The date for this photo is unknown, but it must be between 1915 and 1920. It shows some kind of military parade in Council. The Hancock and Bradley livery stable is the nearest building on the right. The sign at the right edge of the photo reads, “O.K. Dray Office.” The building in the center background was a livery barn until it became Hugh Addington's garage in 1925. It burned down in 1931. Left of it is the theater. There is a barrel in the middle of the street (just visible at bottom right) with traffic signs mounted on it that read “Keep to right.”
7-12-07
A Time of Change
By 1920 the boom days of Adams County were over, and life in the Council Valley settled into a less frenetic pace. The elusive mineral riches in the Seven Devils had defeated all but a few diehards, and the fruit industry was the one remaining jewel of hope.
Although Council was not expanding as it had previously, the population of the town had grown enough by 1920 that a large addition was built onto the school. It practically doubled the size of the building.
In 1922 a Parent Teacher Association (P.T.A.) was established in the Council Schools. That same year, comic strips made their first appearance in the Adams County Leader. A football team was also organized at the Council High School in 1922. That November the team played its first game in a contest against a team from Payette. Some of the Council players had never even seen a football game, much less played in one. They lost by 10 points without scoring a single touchdown.
In 1919 a few, local, ex-service men met in Council and organized a post of the American Legion. The post was named in honor of Bert Harpham, who was killed in action in France The next year the post bought the lot on the southwest corner of Moser and Main. Over the next few years they collected local contributions given as memorials to war veterans, and in 1923 built a two-story brick building. By 1928 the Legion Hall had become the regular site of high school basketball games. That same year Council's first library was started in the building by the Worthwhile Club. In the years since then, the Hall has been the scene of many dances, was used on two occasions for school classrooms, and served as a Senior Citizens' Center for several years.
The 18th Amendment was ratified in 1919, making alcoholic beverages illegal in the U.S. Even though Adams County had "gone dry" years earlier, Council still felt side effects of "Prohibition" all through the 1920s and into the 1930s. Because flagrant disregard for this law was so widespread, Prohibition led some to have disrespect for the law in general. Burglaries seemed to become more common here during the '20s and '30s. Stealing spare tires and wheels from parked vehicles was a common crime, maybe due to the fact that early tires were prone to frequent flats and were in high demand.
Although Council didn't have an actual crime wave during this period, the area did have a number of moonshiners. In the mid 1920s almost every Council Leader contained news of arrests for illegal manufacture, possession, or sale of alcohol. Perhaps the most famous of Council's moonshiners was Bob Barbour, who is said to have made some very fine whiskey.
One of the most traumatic events of the 1920s, or in all of Council's history for that matter, was when the First Bank of Council failed and closed in January of 1926. Many local people lost money. The bank's manager, N. H. Rubottom, was arrested and charged with embezzlement, but he was found not guilty. In spite of the verdict, resentment toward Rubottom was strong in Council, and he moved to Portland. Many people who lost money in the bank failure blamed Rubottom until the day they died.
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Captions for photos:
72123.jpg—Sheriff Bill Winkler took this picture of Julius "Smilin' Bill" Parsons (left) posing with his confiscated booze-making equipment and New Meadows deputy Bill Steckman in 1922. During several summers in the 1920s the Council paper had a report of a busted moonshiner in almost every issue.
95244.jpg-- Famous alcohol distiller, Bob Barbour, about 1950.
7-19-07
Probably the biggest agent of change in the Council Valley in the 1920s was the automobile. Until this decade there were very few cars in the Council area. Bud Addington had proven to be a man of exceptional foresight when he built the first auto service and sales garage in Council in 1916.
The May 5, 1922 issue of the Adams County Leader contained interesting signs of the times. An advertisement for Charlie Ham's new service station appeared right next to an ad for the O.K. Livery Stable. Four years earlier, an even more striking contrast had appeared in another ad in the paper: "For Sale-California stake box wagon, also one Harley - Davidson motorcycle."
In the 1920s the automobile and the "auto truck" started to become the ubiquitous replacement for horses and wagons. By 1924 the price of a new Model T Ford had come down from the original price of $850 to a much more affordable $260. Before long, two out of three families in the U.S. had a car. Even though they were becoming more commonplace, automobiles were not taken for granted around Council. Throughout the early 20s when anyone in the Valley bought a car it was news worthy of mention in the local paper.
As people became accustomed to cars, airplanes took their place as a source of awe. The Leader announced that the first airplane to land at Council touched down in a field west of town in 1921. [This would only be the first airplane to land here only if the planes advertised to appear with the Kit Carson show in June of 1912 didn't show up.] In 1925 an airplane that flew over the Valley caused such excitement that it was written about in the newspaper.
Because the widespread use of cars brought an increased demand for better roads, more money was spent on highways in the 1920s than on any U.S. industry. Most of what is now Highway 95 was built during this decade, which helped to accelerate the pace of change around Council.
"Auto tourist parks" became popular in the early 1920s as many families began taking weekend picnics and camping trips with their cars. These parks were basically campgrounds where travelers could stop for the night. In 1922 an auto park was started just south of the present high school at Council. Grass and trees were planted, and a kitchen and "waiting room" were added.
Better roads brought more than tourists to the Council Valley. New plants and animals began to appear, and some were not welcome. Earwigs were an early arrival. Thistles and other noxious weed seeds spread rapidly, carried in the nooks and crannies of autos and trucks. In 1938 Jim Winkler found a new grass growing here that looked like a type of blue grass. He sent a sample to the State University where it was identified as Bulbous Blue Grass. The University said not to worry, but the grass is "not highly recommended." This grass is now common in every corner of the county, and is still not highly recommended.
Please call Lyle Sall at 253-0095 if you can donate a couple hours to watch the museum.
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Photo captions:
96084.jpg---Charlie Ham built this service station in Council in 1925. Charlie's wife, Eunice "Belle" Ham owned the station. An addition was built on about 1933 to '35. The land was purchased from the Odd Fellows. This is looking west, on the southwest corner of Galena and Illinois. The “Ace” building is behind the station. There are people around today who remember those big trees along the street. The people are, left to right: Mr. Wheeler, L.L. Burtenshaw, Hallie Ham, C.L. (Charlie) Ham. C.L. Ham was the father of Charles E. Ham; both were called Charlie.
98466.jpg—This circa 1912 photo came from an album belonging to Judah Gray. Gray was one of the founders of Mesa Orchards and was one of the first people in the Council area to own an automobile, having bought one by 1909. Dr. Frank Brown was the only other auto owner here at that time. The caption with this picture read, "Company auto with a party in mountains," so the car may actually have belonged to the orchard company. Notice the spare tire is only a tire (and probably a tube?). Every auto carried an air pump and tools for repairing inner tubes and changing the tire, as flats were very common.
Rankinshotel…jpg—This is a mystery photo that was emailed to me. The sign on the building reads, “Hotel Rankins.” The info with it identifies the people as John, Nancy, Bea and Joseph. Can anyone identify the location? The sender thought it was at Fruitvale, but the landscape doesn’t quite look right to me to be the old hotel building. I know that old Fruitvale hotel (that Joslins now own) once had an upper story, but the trees and terrain just don’t look right to me. It doesn’t look like the Stevens hotel building at East Fork either. I don’t think there was ever a building this large at Rankin Mill in the Seven Devils. That Rankin was H.D. Rankin, whereas there was a John Rankin who was a miner near the Heath district northwest of Cambridge. I did find a mention in the August 26, 1905 Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal that said the hotel at the Rankin mine burned. There was an A. Rankin who lived on the Ridge; the house had two stories and was on the place now owned by Vernon Thompson, but I don’t think it was ever a hotel. If you think you have a clue about this picture, please contact me.
7-26-07
Centralization
Another effect of better roads and more automobiles in the 1920s was that the area around Council began to centralize. In the predominantly rural society before the war, communication and travel were much slower, and social units were smaller. This area started out as many small, separate communities: Mesa, Goodrich, Middle Fork, Cottonwood (sometimes called Vista), Council, Fruitvale, Tamarack, Dale, Wildhorse, Bear, Helena, Decorah, Cuprum, Landore, etc. [Vista was a railroad siding that was located where the Cottonwood road meets the highway. The facilities here were used to load Mesa fruit before the Mesa siding was built. Later, it was used to load lumber from a sawmill that existed above Cookhouse Gulch. The spur was removed after the mill closed.] Most of these communities had a combination store / post office, and social life was centered around the school. Each would-be town often held its own celebrations and parades on such occasions as the Fourth of July. Travel was slow all of the time, and difficult or even impossible if the weather didn't cooperate. Most people lived out their lives close to home, and it took a special occasion to merit a trip to a neighboring community. On the other hand, if people were hungry enough for entertainment, they would sometimes travel a long way. Bill Winkler said that it was nothing out of the ordinary for people from Weiser and Payette to travel to Council for dances during the early days of settlement. It is hard for those of us in today's culture--constantly exposed to professionally produced entertainment--to understand what a special treat it must have been to even hear good music.
Several early towns in the Council area had grand dreams of becoming important regional centers. They each prided themselves on how "progressive" they were. Those who promoted their community were referred to as "boosters," and those less enthusiastic as "knockers." The philosophy of Manifest Destiny was still very much alive, and the concept of any limit to natural resources was seldom mentioned. Growth was virtually a religion. After announcing the arrival of another new family to Council in 1912 the editor of the Council Leader commented, "The more the merrier." This attitude had not lost its appeal in 1922 when the Leader editor exclaimed, "We need twenty thousand people in Adams County, and we need at least two thousand of these in the town of Council."
Even before cars came into use, it was obvious that it was more economical to build one school than five. As early as 1913 some of the less mountainous areas of the nation had begun to use "school wagons" that served the same function as school buses, transporting children from outlying areas to a school in a central location. This practice doesn't seem to have been used much here, if at all. Although it took several decades to complete the process, with the advent of cars and better roads, one-room schools in this area began to close, and children began to be bussed to Council.
Beginning in the 1920s people traveled to Council to do more and more of their buying, selling, and even their socializing. As it became impossible for the smaller stores to maintain competitive prices and selection compared to the higher-volume stores in Council, they too began to close.
Even the management of the roads themselves eventually became centralized. Up until the 1930s or 40s, each area had a local road overseer who was in charge of maintaining the roads in their vicinity.
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Captions for photos:
95038L.jpg—The Upper Dale school about 1913. This school was the center of a vibrant community for many years, and the school is still used occasionally for social gatherings. This photo was copied from a 1913 Adams County Leader newspaper, so it isn’t very high quality.
00099.jpg—Even after cars became more common, people still often used the P&IN Railroad to get places. This picture was taken at Starkey Hot Springs. The railroad depot is on the right. The dance pavilion is on the left in the background. It has begun to dawn on me, after studying many photos of Starkey, that the dance pavilion was probably converted into the hotel that later became the Lindsay’s home. The location seems to be the same and the roof looks the same. This building burned and a greenhouse now stands on the old foundation. The current pool was built at the right end of the pavilion not long after this photo was taken.
95111.jpg--Wildhorse School about 1922. Right to Left: Zada Stanton, Mrs. Katie Marble (teacher), Carl Marble, Ellis Campbell, Floyd McFadden, Raymond Cole, Bill Haydon, Eleanor Campbell, Mabel McFadden, Mildred Haydon, Mary Haydon, Charley Emery, Harry Ellison, Clarence McFadden.
8-2-07
Entertainment in the Council area had always been "homemade" to a large extent. Singing around a piano was a very popular pastime. "Literaries" at which neighbors would entertain each other with songs, poems, or small dramatic performances were often held at the local schoolhouse. Of course dances held at schoolhouses had been a standard favorite for generations. These diversions continued to be popular into the '20s, but they had new competition.
By 1922, silent movies had completely replaced live entertainment at the old opera house--now called the "People's Theater." [Various issues of the Adams County Leader refer to the building as the "opera house." Beginning in the Oct 20, 1922 issue, and from then on, it is called the People's Theater.] The first "talkie" (movie with sound) was made in 1927, and they started being shown in Council within a few years after that.
The first commercial radio broadcast was made in 1920. By 1930 one in three American families had a radio. The first radio in the Council area was referred to as a "wireless telephone." It was built by hobbyists at Mesa in early 1922, and apparently could broadcast as well as receive signals. A few weeks later Hugh Addington, Mel Missman, and a Mr. Stoneman built a second radio in Council.
Before long, several people in town had radios. Very few stations could be received in Council at first. A brief conversation from that time illustrates how technologies change, but men and women don't. Charlie Roper came into Dale Donnelly's feed store and proudly exclaimed, "I turned on the radio last night and got Denver, Colorado!" Donnelly replied, "I turned on the radio last night and got hell!" [Paul Phillips told me that story.]
The sound from the earliest radios could only be heard by means of headphones, but the Adams County Leader speculated on the possibilities: ". . . it will be scientifically possible, at a cost less than that of a Ford car, to put in equipment in the town square so that our people can, for instance, hear a President deliver an important address thousands of miles away. This seems like a fairy tale; but it is a fact, and again demonstrates that in matters of science the world is progressing so rapidly that the imagination of the average man can scarcely keep up with the procession."
The editor's comment illustrates the overwhelming nature of the changes that started in the 1920s. The generation that was born from about 1890 to 1915 probably saw more technological changes than any other generation in history. In the course of their lives, many of them went from using horses and wagons to traveling through the sky in the company of several hundred other passengers aboard a jet going 600 miles per hour. A few decades after being awestruck by hearing a voice on the radio, they watched a live broadcast of a man walking on the moon.
The editor of the Cambridge Citizen was already in awe of the changes by 1900. He said, "Science has achieved wonderful results within the past half century. The aged man who follows the footsteps of his fathers is lost in the movements of the present. Electricity and steam are making a new world of this old world of ours, and man is demonstrating that he is but a little lower than the angels."
By 1929 Council had a population of about 500. Adams County had 29 school districts, with a total of 913 students enrolled.
95021.jpg—Sometimes events, like the recent loss of Hank Daniels, bring a picture to mind. I’ve often referred to people as Landmarks—people who are so much a part of Council that it’s hard to imagine their not being here. This photo shows some of our Landmarks, several of whom are no longer with us. It was taken in 1963 during the centennial celebration of Idaho’s becoming a territory. Back then Council’s economy was near the peak of the logging boom, and the town was thriving. Back row, L to R -- Hank Daniels, Del Layman, Ralph Finn, Middle row-- Joe Garver, Gary Yantis, Ralph Bass, Kieford Lawrence, Maida Lawrence, Florence Evans, Mrs. Myron Paradis. Kneeling-- Bill Welty, Bob Wininger, Gene Camp, Jess Mundell
95066.jpg—Homegrown entertainment at Bear, July 4, 1917.
72109.jpg—Dale Donnelly and J. L. Johnson inside Donnelly’s feed store, date unknown. (Somebody tell me which one is Donnelly.) This store stood about where the public restrooms are now, south of the town square.
8-9-07
A Witness to History
In the Record’s outlaw column last week about the Whitney brothers, I don’t think the photo was of the Whitney house. I was told this old house near Cottonwood where the trees are practically growing up through the buildings was Edgar Moser’s homestead. The Whitney house was southwest of there, near the old Mesa railroad siding (present 1665 Highway 95).
I got a letter from Quentin Higgins a while back, along with a photocopy of a program listing the students at the Cottonwood School for 1909. This was the year that the Goulds moved from Cottonwood Creek to north of Council. By this time, Hugh and Charlie Whitney were evidently out of school, and two years later would be on the run from the law.
In Quentin’s letter, which follows, he mentions Edgar Moser’s house. The Cottonwood School stood just south of Cottonwood Road, not far east of the present highway and the old Moser house.
“I found this Cottonwood school thing the other day that goes back a few years, thought you might be interested in it.”
“My parents Ben Higgins and Clara Peebles, with her brother Lin Peebles, were in the eighth grade. My Uncle Henry Higgins married Sadie Haines, sister of Lem Haines of the Haines, Oregon fame. Uncle Richard Higgins married Ethel Whitney and Bill Higgins married Helen Whitney, so we were sort of, tied in with the Whitney family. I enjoyed your story of Hugh and Charley Whitney; it was pretty much the way it had been told to me many times over the years.”
“Steve Peebles is Lamar's dad. Both my grandparents were on she school board along with Edgar Moser who lived just west of the. Cottonwood school. Edgar was the brother of Matilda Moser. (We called her Tilda) I went to school with Roy Moser, and had Minnie Moser as my teacher for a couple of years. (Her sister was married to Vern Brewer.)”
“I knew everyone on the school list. I had met Ralph Whitney and his dad one time when they came to visit my parents. I remember the old man Whitney telling my mother that the family were all just fine, and that the other two boys were OK also. Ralph Whitney at the time was working for the Postal Service in San Francisco. At one time in the mid fifties I had a copy of Time Magazine with the article about the death of Hugh, and that Charley had been pardoned by the Gov. of Wyoming. I wish I could have kept the magazine but it somehow disappeared. I got a kick out of the Whitney family’s bank connection. The robbing of banks, and Charlie being on the board of directors of the bank in Glasgow, and one of my cousins who is a grandson of Helen Whitney Higgins is a retired president of a bank in Honolulu and now lives in Battle Ground, WA. in a beautiful home on the golf course. I visited him a couple of years ago. Its a weird world we live in.”
“Last summer I went to Cascade, Ida. to check out the new ski lodge there, and had a nice visit with Owen Mink(also a cousin). I was surprised to see the beautiful lake there. The last time I had been in Long Valley there was no lake. Times and valleys do change, with the help of a little money.”
[The Cascade Reservoir was filled in 1948.]
Captions for photos:
Front of program: Teacher Matilda Moser’s photo is on the front of the 1909 Cottonwood School program.
Back of program: Several children of the Gould, Higgins, Peebles and Whitney families were listed on the program.
72010.jpg—Alice and Palmer W. Higgins and their eight children. No order is given, but he childrens’ names were: Richard, John, William J., Henry, Ben, Lee, Alice, and Ida Rose. Palmer was the first postmaster at Cottonwood. The couple had ten children, two of whom died young and were buried on the ranch. The site where they were buried became the Cottonwood Cemetery, the land being donated by the Higgins family. Alice and Palmer are buried in Cottonwood Cemetery beside their children. The Higgins homestead remained in the family until the 1960s when Palmer's son, John, retired and sold the farm to a Peebles.
8-16-07
The 1930s
When the stock market crashed in October of 1929, many Council people noticed little difference in their lives, at least at first. Many were already living a lean, self-reliant lifestyle. There was little mention of the Great Depression in the local paper all during the 1930s, but there were occasional signs that the economy was not good. As early as the summer of 1930 it was not unusual for transient people to come through Council asking for food.
In 1931 Alva Ingram established a service station and "auto camp" on the northwest corner of Illinois Avenue and Dartmouth Street (Dartmouth is Highway 95 north from town). The business was managed by Billie Brown, and had a lunchroom and several guest cabins. This establishment became known as the "Wayside Inn," or occasionally as the "Wayside Tourist Camp." At the same time, there was another auto camp with very similar facilities called the "Shady Rest" just two blocks north of the Wayside. These forerunners of modern motels featured more comfortable accommodations than the old tourist camps. By 1939 both establishments featured a laundry room, showers, and a grocery store.
The Wayside briefly belonged to Claud Childers before he sold it to a dentist named I.S. Carter. Carter had his office on the upper floor of the service station building. The Wayside changed hands a number of times over the years. The cabins were eventually superseded by a motel just north of the old service station.
1931 saw the arrival of one of the most revered men who ever lived in Council: Doctor Alvin Thurston. Dr. Thurston grew up in Chicago, was wounded in World War One, and then went to medical school at the University of Illinois. After his internship in Chicago and two years practice in Denver, he looked for a small town in which to settle down. He chose Council. The young doctor arrived here with his wife of two years, Mary, and their 5-month-old daughter. Life in Council was quite a change for them. There were few indoor toilets in Council at the time, and the Thurstons were taken aback when their first house had only an outhouse.
During most of Council's history, doctors had taken more serious cases to a hospital in Weiser, especially surgeries. This was also the case with X-rays, since the closest machine was in Weiser. Dr. Frank Brown had acquired a portable X-ray machine as early as 1913, but it was no longer here by the time Dr. Thurston arrived. In 1933 Dr. Thurston installed an X-ray machine in his office upstairs in the drugstore building. [The drugstore building was the brick building that Dr. Frank Brown had built in 1913 on the NW corner of Illinois Ave. and Galena St. Doctor's offices were upstairs in this building until about the early 1960s. Dora Gerber, Council's best-known dentist, had her office here in the 1940s.]
Many medical situations, including all births, were handled at the patient's home. This meant a great deal of travel for the doctor. Dr. Thurston wasted no time racing to and from house calls, and was known as the fastest driver in the region. To facilitate his winter trips, Dr. Thurston bought a kit and converted a Model A Ford into a snowmobile. The machine had a set of tracks on the rear and skis under the front tires. It was one of only two such snowmobiles in the area at the time; mailman Gene Perkins had the other.
Another cutting-edge technology that Dr. Thurston brought to Council was a home movie camera in 1933. His movie footage provides priceless images of life here during the 1930s and '40s. [We have footage of Dr. Thurston’s showing him and Gene Perkins running their snowmobiles up and down snowdrifts at Council.]
Dr. Thurston worked tirelessly to improve the medical facilities in Council. In 1939 he led the community in establishing a small hospital at the east end of town. This hospital served the area until a newer one was built in 1962. The community was deeply saddened when Dr. Thurston died in 1949.
00120.jpg-- Dr. Alvin Thurston in 1944. Born October 21, 1898; came to Council in 1931. Got the first Council hospital built in 1939. Died April 8, 1949. He was cremated and his ashes were scattered over the Council Valley.
95284.jpg-- George and Dora Childers in front of the Wayside Motel in 1935. People stayed in the cabins on left. This motel was at the very east end of Illinois Ave. where highway 95 turns north. The building behind the gas pumps is still there today.
72120.jpg—The first hospital in Council. Remodeled from the former Branson farmhouse at the east edge of town. It was just east of newer hospital built in 1962.
8-23-07
The CCC
In 1933 the Federal Government established a program to put young men to work during the Depression called the "Civilian Conservation Corps." The "CCC," as it was known, was a military-style organization, and the "camps" were even commanded by army officers at first. The main CCC camp in the Council area was located east of Highway 95, just north the Middle Fork of the Weiser River. In contrast to the Middle Fork camp, which had wood-frame buildings, the handful of more temporary camps in the Council area had canvas tent facilities. One of these tent camps was erected in Council, just across the street east of the Wayside Inn. Between 1933 and the beginning of the Second World War, the CCC boys built a number of National Forest roads and lookouts, and did other projects in the Council area.
The Civilian Conservation Corps worked closely with the Forest Service, and the arrival of the CCC in the Council area corresponded to the construction of a number of new Forest Service buildings just north of the Corps' Council camp in 1933. These buildings are still used by the Forest Service at this writing. [What was the main district office is now the visitor’s center.]
The Sporting Life
In the 1920s and 1930s, two "sports" were very popular in the Council area: drinking and fighting. The situation got so bad that The Adams County Leader noted in its Sept 18, 1931 issue: "There is an expressed opinion [by the County Commissioners] that rural dance licenses will be denied generally this year, or until such dances can be conducted in a better way as regards drinking and carousing." Local moonshining was so common that the event shouted in the paper's front-page headline four years later [Mar 22, 1935] probably had little real impact on area social life:
"IDAHO NOW HAS LEGAL LIQUOR FOR THE THIRSTY"
"Prohibition was repealed Tuesday in Idaho."
A New Chapter
By the end of the 1930s the fruit industry in the Council area was clinging to life by its fingernails. The local economy was approaching its lowest point and needed a light at the end of the tunnel. Two factors would provide that light. One would be new life for an existing industry, and the other a worldwide tragedy. Both would eventually bring prosperity.
The industry was logging, which was almost reinvented as a result of new technologies. In 1939 the Boise - Payette Lumber Company swept into Council, melting the economic chill like a warm wind. A new sawmill was built, badly needed employment was provided, and Council found itself in the middle of a boom that was compared to the coming of the railroad. The west side of Council grew significantly when Boise - Payette moved a number of structures to that area as homes for their employees.
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Photo captions:
98408.jpg—This picture was copied from the Sept 29, 1933 issue of the Adams County Leader. It shows the temporary CCC camp [Camp F-68... Company 284] that was established at the east end of Illinois Avenue in Council that year.
05019.jpg—This picture was stitched together from some of Dr. Thurston’s home movies. It shows the CCC camp at Middle Fork. The shot was taken from the entrance on the highway, panning from almost north at the left end, to about east at the right end.
05062.jpg—One of the portable houses that was probably moved to the west side of Council by the Boise-Payette Lumber Company. There are still some of these in Council and New Meadows, although about all of them have been remodeled extensively.
8-30-07
New Schools
The increase in population put a heavy burden on Council's only school. Even though a large addition had been built onto it, the old building just wasn't adequate to continue serving as both a grade school and high school. Because there wasn't enough room in the school, high school students were attending classes in various buildings all over town. In 1941 a new high school was built at 101 East Bleeker Avenue, the site of the present high school.
The old brick school continued to be used as a grade school until it was condemned in 1957. The foundation and much of the mortar was crumbling, and some of the support beams were rotten. The engineer who examined it said that one of the brick walls was so deteriorated that it could literally fall down at any moment. The school was closed, and once again, students attended classes in various buildings around town. Some were even bussed to the Mesa school. Construction of a new grade school started in June, 1958, and classes began in the new building the following January.
By 1964 the high school was getting crowded, but voters turned down a bond to add on to the building. The issue became irrelevant when the high school burned to the ground on the night of October 15. One more time, 138 students trekked across town from one building to another to attend classes. The current high school building was completed in 1966. [I attended the first grade in the brand new grade school when it opened in January 1959. For the first half of the school year, first grade was in the basement of the Legion Hall and Erma Armacost was our teacher. I started my Freshman year when the new high school opened in 1966.]
World War Two
In the middle of all the excitement caused by the revitalized timber industry, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. Many Council residents remembered for the rest of their lives exactly where they were when they heard the stunning news that the U.S. was in a World War for the second time.
Within weeks after Pearl Harbor, Council was making adjustments to war time. Like the rest of the nation, this area became involved in drives to collect scrap iron, rubber, and other vital materials for the war effort. Some basic necessities, such as sugar and gasoline, were rationed.
The Leader announced, "Our own military experts freely admit that surprise attacks by enemy planes this far inland are at least entirely probable and in fact, are expected." Instructions were given as to what to do when blackout alarms sounded. A new siren was installed to signal both air raid warnings and fires.
The names of friends and neighbors began to appear in the local paper--most times in lists of those joining the military or home on leave--but too often as killed, wounded, or missing.
Another local adjustment was noted in the Leader in 1943: ". . . so many people have moved away for the winter to work in the war industries and other centers of industrial work, that volume of business has dropped off in all lines of business endeavor." At least one business in Council closed for lack of customers.
In 1942 Mesa was proposed as a detention camp for Japanese Americans, but was considered too small at first. Later a few Japanese families were detained there. The security was very relaxed; some of the adults worked in the orchards, and the children attended Council schools.
98412.jpg—Council High School, 1941 to 1964. It stood on the same site as the present high school, and was 23 years old when it burned. The current high school is over 40 years old.
84002.jpg—Council Grade/High School as if looked after a major addition was built (the back half of the school).
98373.jpg—How many of you remember Lydia Newman, grade school principal during the 1950s and 60s?
9-6-07
First, a comment on the “Ask the Record” question from the August 23 issue of the Record. Someone asked why salmon don’t make it up the Little Salmon into Meadows Valley. Old timers said that Salmon Meadows (the first name for Meadows Valley) was host to numerous salmon until the North-South Highway (now Highway 95) was built. The part of this highway project between New Meadows and Grangeville began in 1919 and continued into the 1920s. Building down the narrow, rocky canyon along the Little Salmon was extremely challenging. When grading was done for the highway where the river drops into the canyon, it crowded right next to the river. In those days, little thought was given to environmental issues, and they probably didn’t even think about how the new highway grade would influence salmon runs. It seems to be the general consensus among long-time resident of Meadows Valley that after the highway was put in salmon could no longer make it past that point where the river drops. It’s been suggested that the concrete structures there were an attempt to mitigate this—maybe some kind of fish ladder. If anybody knows about this, please let me know.
More on the War
In 1942 Mesa was proposed as a detention camp for Japanese Americans, but was considered too small at first. Later a few Japanese families were detained there. The security was very relaxed; some of the adults worked in the orchards, and the children attended Council schools.
By the end of 1944 Council had lost about a dozen of its young men to the insanity across the sea. In its Christmas / New Year edition the Adams County Leader listed those killed and missing:
Killed in Action: Elwin Craddock, Donald Ham, Walter Shearer, Fred Johnson, Melvin Bacus, Merrill Bethel, James Johnstone, William Kirby, Donald Fuller, Vern Martin.
Missing in Action: Jack Martin, Bob Richardson, Curtis Green, Bob Hancock.
Some of the worst losses came during the last months of the war. During April and May of 1945 the front page of almost every issue of the Leader seemed to have the impact of a blow to the stomach:
Apr 13-President Roosevelt died
Apr 20-Jack Marshall killed in action.
May 4-Rex Wilson killed in Germany
May 11-Walter Schroff killed in Germany
May 25-Lee Garcia killed in Philippines on April 28.
June 15-Curtis Green now listed as "lost in action"
Germany finally surrendered to Allied forces on May 7, 1945. Fighting continued in the Pacific until August 14 when Japan surrendered. The Leader headline for Aug 17, 1945 screamed in huge letters: "IT'S ALL OVER--President Informs Nation of Peace Tuesday." The paper continued:
“Just shortly after 4 o'clock Tuesday afternoon [August 14], the word came. The old fire bell was the first to ring out the big news. It was shortly joined by the fire siren, the church bell, the mill whistle, locomotive whistles, auto horns, guns firing, and such other noises as could be conceived with the instruments at hand.”
“It seems unbelievable that the anxiety and the waiting is over; that our fighting men will return home; that we can again return to good, normal American living, and go about our daily tasks without the haunting fear that we or a neighbor will receive the word that someone dear has been reported missing or lost in action, or taken prisoner.”
Stores closed. People gathered in the streets to celebrate. There was a dance at the Legion Hall until midnight. Some people celebrated all night and into the next day.
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Photo captions:
Martin Brothers.jpg-- Bud and Jack Martin. Both of these sons of Mabel Hoover Perkins were killed in WWII.
95099.jpg—Young men from Adams County at the P&IN Depot at Council, headed for the war. The only one identified is Johnnie Harrington on the far left. If anyone can identify others, please let me know.
9-13-07
The Post-War Boom
As with World War One, the end of the Second World War marked the beginning of a new era for the Council Valley. From the agricultural bust of the 1920s, the Great Depression of the 1930s and the economic, physical and emotional sacrifices of the War, times had been hard. Now there was a post-war boom across the nation, and the local prosperity begun by the new timber industry could be enjoyed.
The 1940s also more or less marked the practical beginning of a new era of mechanization. When the North - South highway had been built in the 1920s to sweep in the modern age of the automobile, it was constructed the same way roads had been built for generations: with horse drawn equipment. Even though cars, trucks, and heavy equipment had been in use during the 1930s, a combination of poor economic conditions and a lack of technological development had kept machines from the universal role that they now began to play. During the 1940s the State and Adams County started using motorized machines to consistently keep main roads open all winter. Bulldozers began to push roads into vast areas of virgin timber.
Whenever there is change, some things are gained and some are lost. The new prosperity was marked by a sense of a disappearing heritage. The romantic days of settlement were definitely over. The list of pioneer Landmarks who died during the 1930s and early '40's is a virtual "Who's Who" of Council's early days:
1930 - James Lakey, Gene Koontz
1931 - Arthur Thorpe, Miles Chaffee, William H. Hoover
1932 - Charles Campbell, Soren Hanson, Minnie Zink, George Robertson
1935 - George Shaw, Jim Ross
1936 - August Kampeter, J.P. Gray, Isaac McMahan, James F. Lowe, Charles Ham, Charles Draper
1937 - Tom Glenn, Harry Criss, Bill Camp, John Kesler, Joseph A. Carr, Bill Glenn, Bud Addington.
1938 - Charley Allen, Luther Burtenshaw, Wm Ernest Baker,
1939 - Wm Copeland, Joe Warner, Seward Piper, Charles Poynor, Bill Winkler
1940 - Nim Duree, John Hancock, Fred Cool, James A. Finn, Palmer W. Higgins, Frank Glenn, A.L. Freehafer
1941 - George Phipps, Wm T. Robertson, Dr. Wm Brown
1942 - Hannah Ketcham, Lewis Harp, James J. Jones, Dunham Wright
1943 - Charles Anderson, Robert Harrington
1944 - Morgan P. Gifford, Bill Marks, Ulysses David Duree, Alva E. Alcorn
1945 - Carrie Lowe, N.X. Hansen, Mrs. Charles Lappin (Catherine)
Out of all of these pioneers, Bill Winkler, who died at the very end of 1939, probably saw more of the history of the Council area than anyone who ever lived. When he arrived in 1878 at the age of twelve, there were less than a dozen people living here. A blacksmith in his younger days, he was elected Washington County Sheriff in 1906, and became Adams County's first sheriff in 1911. He was appointed as Council's postmaster in 1915, but put the sheriff's badge back on in 1926. He continued as sheriff until poor health made him retire in 1935. "Uncle Bill" witnessed the construction of almost every building, road, and fence. He saw the arrival of every new family and every new technology. His collection of pioneer artifacts formed the foundation for the present Council Valley Museum.
72004.jpg—Three of the Council’s pioneers, January 8, 1921. L-R: William Harp, Bill Winkler (d. 1939), George Roberston (d. 1932). This photo was taken during the Harps’ 50th Wedding anniversary celebration at Fruitvale.
95212.jpg--Robert and Lillie Harrington. This photo was taken during their 50th Wedding Anniversary celebration in 1940. They were married on June 29, 1890 at Indian Valley. Robert died three years later. Lillie died in 1957.
9-27-07
I’m going to deviate from quoting Landmarks this week because I received some interesting information about previous columns.
I heard from George Winkler, who now lives in California. I had asked for info from anyone who might be able to identify more young men in the picture of them leaving the Council depot for WWII. George thinks the second guy from the right was his uncle, Henry Winkler.
I also got some information about Jack and Bud Martin who were killed in WWII. By way of Bob Hagar, I learned from June Shaw Wirthlin (CHS class of 1949, currently lives in Yuma, AZ) that their father’s name was Ira and that Bud was a tail gunner in the Air Force. Bud’s airplane went down over Borneo. The plane wasn’t found until some hikers stumbled across it on Valentines Day of l950. The remains of the occupants of the plane were buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Ira flew there for the ceremony.
Jack died on the USS Liscome Bay. Most of the following information comes from Wikapedia. “USS Liscome Bay (CVE-56), a Casablanca-class escort aircraft carrier during World War II named for Liscome Bay in Dall Island off Alaska's southeast coast. She was lost to a submarine attack during Operation Galvanic, the Allied invasion of the Gilbert Islands, with a catastrophic loss of life, on November 24, 1943.“
“After training operations along the West Coast, Liscome Bay departed San Diego, California, on 21 October 1943 and arrived at Pearl Harbor one week later. Having completed additional drills and operational exercises, the escort carrier set forth upon what was to be her first and last battle mission. She departed Pearl Harbor on 10 November, bound for the invasion of the Gilbert Islands.”
“The invasion bombardment announcing the United States's first major thrust into the central Pacific began 20 November at 0500, and 76 hours later, Tarawa and Makin atolls were captured. Liscome Bay's aircraft played their part in the 2278 action sorties provided by carrier-based planes which neutralized enemy airbases, supported landings and ground operations in bombing-strafing missions, and intercepted enemy raids. With the islands secured, the U.S. forces began a retirement.”
On November 24, Liscome Bay was an escort ship, traveling 20 miles southwest of Butaritari Island. The ship went to routine general quarters at 5:05 AM as flight crews prepared their planes for dawn launchings.
Five minutes later lookout shouted: "Here comes a torpedo!" The torpedo, from a Japanese submarine, struck abaft the after engine room and hit the aircraft bomb stockpile, causing a major explosion engulfing the entire vessel and sending shrapnel out 5,000 yards. "It didn't look like a ship at all," wrote Lt. John C. W. Dix, communications officer on the nearby destroyer Hoel, "We thought it was an ammunition dump....She just went whoom — an orange ball of flame."
At 5:33 AM, Liscome Bay sank, carrying 53 officers and 591 enlisted men down with her. Only 272 of her crew of 916 were rescued by nearby destroyers.
June Shaw Wirthlin wrote: “After the Liscome Bay was sunk the oil burned on top of the water. Ira went to see a young man that was from Boise and in the hospital there. He was very badly burned and covered with bandages on his face, arms and body. He knew Jack and knew that he did not get off the ship. Jack had just off duty and was going down to go to bed; the other one was just starting duty. He had wanted Jack to wait and have a cup of coffee, but he was too tired and went on down. Since this young man was on top, he got off, but was badly burned. He knew for sure that Jack did not, as he saw him go down stairs.”
10-4-07
First and apology to Bob Hagar. My typo last week credited Bog Hagar with contributing information. Sorry Bob.
Now back to Landmarks.
The Statesman printed a report on the mail route between Indian Valley and Warren in March of 1876:
The distance between the above named points is 125 miles over which the mail is carried weekly during summer and semi-monthly during winter. There is snow upon the entire route at present of varying depth, being about 22 feet deep on Sesesh mountain. Over this snowy route the mail is carried on snowshoes. The name of the mail carrier is Thomas Clay. There are no houses on the route except the cabins which Mr. Hall has built and provisioned for his own convenience. These have been raided upon and stripped twice during the present winter, once by deserters from Warrens camp, and once by the cougars or panthers. The average weight of mail carried is about 40 pounds.
In the warmer months, carriers packed the mail on horseback, and in the winter they traveled on foot with snowshoes or skis. In those days skiing was very different from the sport we know today. What we now call skis were called "snowshoes," and what we know as snowshoes were called "webs." Almost everyone made their own skis, which consisted of boiled and shaped wooden slats with a loop to hold the skier's foot. Instead of ski poles, a single, long, heavy pole was used, primarily for balance. Skiing was a way to get from one point to another rather than a sport. It was very literally a straight forward activity. When not traveling uphill or on more level snow, a skier simply pointed the skis down the mountain, more or less in a straight line, and let gravity do the rest. Slalom type turns were pretty much unheard of. If speed became excessive the pole was placed between the legs, and the trailing end was pushed into the snow to create drag.
To get the skis to slide properly, they needed constant attention. Every mail cabin was supplied with tallow, sperm oil and beeswax to apply to the bottoms of the skis. These primitive ski waxes left a handy, scent trail for wolves, bears, and wolverines to follow from one cabin to the next. These animals, especially wolverines, sometimes clawed their way into the cabins and ransacked them for food. One winter this happened to three consecutive cabins between Council Valley and Warren. The mail carrier had to endure three days of hard exertion on the trail without food. He finally made it to Moser's, but took several days to recover from his weakened condition.
ROADS
Early roads probably didn't closely trace the path of rivers for the same reason that native trails frequently avoided them. Rivers too often wedged through canyons that were choked with trees and brush, and boxed in by basalt barricades. On the other hand, outside of the narrower creek bottoms, there was less brush to impede travel than there is today. Early settlers were able to take their wagons through the forested areas near the headwaters of Hornet Creek and Crooked River by simply picking their way between the trees. After a trip along this route to the Seven Devils in 1890, a Walla Walla newspaper man said, "Mile after mile the road passes through it, the trees standing like columns out of a carpet of green, and free from obstructing underbrush." Ed Schroff once said, "People used to be able to drive a wagon about anywhere they wanted to on Pole Creek, but now you can't drive a jackrabbit through the brush with a sledge hammer."
There was less brush then because of frequent fires. This also brought about forests with fewer, but larger, trees than today. Many times the fires were the intentional work of man. Indians often set fires on their way out of this area in the fall. On his second expedition into this part of the West in the early 1830's Captain Bonneville encountered this fall tradition, describing a "sea of fire" with vast areas of choking smoke. Early settlers didn't bother trying to stop seemingly unlimited forest land from burning, and didn't have the resources to do so if they had wanted to. After about 1910 the Forest Service began its policy of fighting all forest fires.
[In the past few years the Forest Service has realized that fire has a needed place in forest health. The problem is that there is now a build up of almost 100 years of excess fuel—brush, small trees, etc.—and fires are much more severe than they would have been had they been allowed to burn more frequently. It is going to take decades to get the system back in balance. Controlled burns and allowing some fires to burn upsets some people, but in the view of most who seriously study the issue these, along with well-planned logging, are absolute necessities to avoid even worse consequences.]
95135L.jpg—This turn of the twentieth century photo of the Blue Jacket Mine Camp, on Garnet Creek northeast of Cuprum, shows the type of open forest that once dominated this region. This spot is now densely packed with brush and small trees and hardly recognizable. The walls of the old cookhouse (on right) are still standing. The two-story log office building (far left) recently collapsed.
99547.jpg—Bob Hagar sent this picture of several Council area men with their harvest of deer in the 1930s or 40s. The forest was more open, even this late in the century. Written on back: "Purnell, Prout, Rushton (?), Ingram, Schraff, McBurney, Bast, Denney.
10-11-07
Early Roads
To travel between the lower Payette River and the upper Weiser River, Indians often used a trail that went through the hills south of Indian Valley. Mail carriers and pack trains out of Boise and Emmett used similar routes along Crane Creek or Willow Creek to get to Council, Meadows and Warren for many years. The Crane Creek route became known as the "Emmett Road." It apparently followed a route similar to the present road that runs between Indian Valley and Emmett.
After Boise City was established in 1863, miners started using Indian trails going north from that point along both the Payette and Weiser Rivers. They were followed by packers who carried supplies and mail to Warren and Florence.
By the end of the 1860s, crude wagon roads had been developed up the Weiser River as far as Indian Valley. Even though the purpose was to get farther up the Weiser, these early roads didn't always stay close to it. The first road from Weiser to Council started north by going up Monroe Creek, then over the low divide to Mann Creek, much as Highway 95 presently does. Peter Skene Ogden made the first, recorded, non-native use of this route in 1827. He first tried to follow the Weiser, but was stopped by brush and steep bluffs along its course.
This first road continued north over Midvale Hill, also called the "Middle Valley hill" or "Manns Creek grade" in the early days of settlement. It was said to be "a steep, fearful stretch for any wagon." At the future site of Midvale, the road crossed the river and meandered north and east across the hills to the Salubria Valley. There was no road up the "Jewell Canyon," as there is now, between Midvale and Cambridge until 1917.
Only two years after John Cuddy established his flour and lumber mills west of Salubria in 1869, the 35-mile stretch of road between Salubria and Weiser became so well used that it was declared a county road.
The first wagon road into the Council Valley also followed a non-river route. The road was started by the George Moser family when they arrived in 1876. There were no roads north of Indian Valley at the time. The Mosers probably followed a pack trail which, in turn, was undoubtedly whittled from an old Indian trail by the steel-shod hooves of thousands of pack animals.
Where the trail led off the steep north face of Mesa hill, the Mosers were faced with finding a way to get their two, ox-drawn wagons to the bottom. Ruling out taking the wagons straight down the steep hillside, they were faced with traversing the side of a small canyon. George went back to a farm at Indian Valley and borrowed a plow with which he cut a furrow down the west side of the canyon. By placing the upper wheels of the wagons in this rut, the family was able to get the vehicles down the hill without tipping them over.
In the following years, as more settlers came to the Council Valley, this crude route down Mesa Hill was improved. It became known as "the Moser Grade," and was used for many years. At this writing the old road is still visible on the north side of Mesa Hill, east of highway 95. [As noted elsewhere, this road was replaced by a set of switchbacks about 1920. Today, the road Moser started looks like a straight ditch, angling below the old switchbacks.]
05148.jpg—This road overlooking Little Payette Lake (in the distance) in 1902 was probably typical of most wagon roads in those days—steep and strewn with rocks.
98210.jpg—Freighters negotiated narrow wagon roads like this one in the Seven Devils Mining District near Helena.
10-18-07
The Perils of Early Roads
Early roads followed the easiest path; in order to avoid obstacles or find a place to cross a river, they often wandered far from the direction the traveler wanted to go. Bridges were expensive and usually required an organized community that could invest in such developments. Aside from the bridge at Weiser, the first bridge in Washington County is said to be one built across the Weiser River at Middle Valley [Midvale] in 1883. Another was built near Salubria soon afterward.
Before bridges were built, river fords were used. When rivers were too large to ford, ferries were used to float vehicles across. An early method of crossing the Weiser River to get to Hornet Creek involved using a small boat.
Neither boats nor fords were safe during spring runoff. The Jake Lakey family learned this the hard way in the spring of 1894. At the time, there were no bridges on the road up Hornet Creek, and Jake and his wife and baby had to cross the creek several times before they made it home from Council. At one of the crossings, the team balked right in the middle of the swift, muddy water. Just as Jake got out to urge the team forward, the raging torrent tipped the buckboard over, throwing Mrs. Lakey and their baby out into the raging river. Jake jumped toward them in time to catch the baby, and Mrs. Lakey was able to save herself by grabbing hold of Jake's coat. By making a desperate effort, Jake was able struggle to the shore with his family intact. Their panicked, wild-eyed horses were swept away to their deaths, lunging and kicking frantically to escape the twisted tangle of broken harness and buckboard.
Apparently the Hornet Creek road had been in terrible shape the year before this event. After work on it was done in the summer of 1893 the Salubria newspaper said that now "poor mortals may ride the length of the creek and not fracture a bone, overturn his vehicle or be so sore as to be unfit for exertion for a week afterwards."
The poor condition of early roads was such a serious and constant hindrance that local and national organizations were formed to promote their improvement. Local county government did what it could, but money and technology were often lacking. In the spring, roads sometimes became so muddy that travel was difficult, even by horseback, and was often impossible with a wagon. Heavy hauling jobs such as moving houses, mine equipment, or firewood was often put off until winter when the ground was frozen hard and snow conditions were right to use sturdy sleds or pole skids.
[On Tuesday, October 9, I attended the annual Idaho State Historical Society luncheon where I received an Esto Pertetua award. This award is given by the Historical Society for outstanding achievement in preserving Idaho history, so I feel very honored.]
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Photos and Captions:
95251.jpg-- Frank Ballard's ferry two miles below Homestead, Oregon on the Snake River at the mouth of Antz Gulch.
95299.jpg—The Ballard Bridge replaced Ballard’s ferry in 1926. This picture was taken during the dedication ceremony for the new bridge that year. It was torn down by the Idaho Power Company before Hells Canyon Dam was filled in 1967. A man was accidentally killed during the demolition.
95268.jpg—Another shot of the Ballard Bridge dedication in 1926.
95341.jpg—You might recognize this location. There is another bridge in the same place today. This was the bridge over the Payette River as it flowed out of Payette Lake at Lardo. The photo is looking east and slightly south.
10-25-07
The Good Old Days
In 1919, Morgan Gifford told the following story that illustrates the condition of early roads in the Council area. It occurred about 1894:
In the good old days of long ago, before the advent of the railroad, we were under the necessity of transporting all our goods and machinery from Weiser by wagon, a distance of sixty miles; and such roads! No bridges; no grading; and in the spring no bottom to any of it. Always at about this time of year it became the painful duty of someone to go after a load of freight; and you can imagine about what kind of sport it would be.
The time of which I speak was an exceedingly rainy year, and in March the roads were in such condition as would "mire a saddle blanket." It was while this state of affairs were on that Frank Shelton, now at Bear, Idaho, pulled into the Valley. Frank was a teamster and freighter, and a good one; and although he had no load, he had nevertheless dragged the axle all the way from Weiser. His opinion of the roads registered zero and he so decided to express himself, and also further stated that there was no team of four horses in the Valley that could pull one ton without getting stuck and requiring assistance to get out of the thousand and one mud holes.
This notorious explosion of Frank's was made in the one little store that Council then boasted of, owned by John O. Peters and Isaac McMahan. The official freighter for Peters and McMahan was Olaf Sorenson, who was known as the best teamster in the country, and who owned a four-horse team that would pull anything loose at one end. Peters stated that he was satisfied that Sorenson could bring a ton through; Shelton thought differently, and said he would bet one hundred dollars that no four-horse team could do it. John O. Peter's faith in Sorenson was such that he at once 'plunked down' the $100 and the bet was on.
Next day they started for Weiser--Isaac McMahan, Olaf Sorenson, Frank Shelton and a few others, to see the fun. Shelton insisted that the lines be taken from Sorenson and given to McMahan, although McMahan was unacquainted with the team, but it was finally arranged that he would drive. Now, "Mack" was to pull one ton from Weiser to Council and was not to take more than three pulls in any one place. Well, you should have seen the fun! If ever a team covered itself with glory it was on this occasion; time and again both axles were dragging in mud and it would look like it was all off; but after three days of heart-breaking work "Mack" made it through and won the bet. I doubt if any other team in the county could have done it.
Such were the conditions then. Compare them with those of today. Nevertheless, we all had good times--going to dances and spelling schools--and did not think much of it.
03013.jpg—Council, looking south, about 1894. The Peters & McMahan store (white false-front just left of center) is so new that it doesn’t even have a sign on it yet. The buildings on the left are the Hancock store and the Council Valley Hotel. The large building on the right is the Moser house/hotel. The small, false-front building just to its left is Isaac McMahan’s first “Cash Store,” which he moved out of when he built the new store.
95461.jpg—Isaac McMahan and John Peters’s new store. Jackie Duree is in the buggy. The other people are unidentified.
11-1-07
A Reasonable Degree of Safety
In May of 1886, William P. Glenn, who was the Weiser postmaster and editor of the Weiser City Leader newspaper, accompanied the Washington County Commissioners on a trip to Council to inspect the site for a new bridge across the Weiser River west of Council. He reported that the mud was axle deep most of the way from Cottonwood Creek to Council and almost a constant mud hole from there to George Winkler's place three miles north of Council where they spent the night. (The George Winkler place later became the George Gould ranch.)
That summer a stage started running between Indian Valley and Meadows every other week. The Winkler place, mentioned above, was a regular stopping place for the stage.
By 1899 a stage left Weiser at 7 a.m., and arrived in Meadows 27 hours later. Not only was the trip long, it could be dangerous. That winter, within about one week's time, the stages between Council and Weiser tipped over six times because of muddy roads. The roads became so dangerous that the stage stopped taking passengers. The stage to the Seven Devils was also having a devil of a time. One day the tongue was broken out of the stage. The next day a horse was crippled. The editor of the Seven Devils Standard was moved to remark, "It would certainly seem that a county which possesses such great wealth as Washington county does, might have roads on which a person could travel at any time of the year with a reasonable degree of safety." (The Council area was still part of Washington County at that time.)
W.D. Shaw, Salubria postmaster and mail carrier, once had a horse get bogged down right in the middle of the road where it passed through rich, Salubria Valley farm ground. The watery muck was so deep that the horse drowned before Shaw could get it out.
The Old Routes
The first main road through the Council Valley seems to have followed the same basic route as present-day Highway 95, except in a couple places.
The road south from Council deviated from its present course near Cottonwood Creek. Here it turned off the present route of highway 95 and went west for about 200 yards, passing just north of the George W. Phipps house (the present Renwick place at 1725 Highway 95). From there, it turned south and crossed Cottonwood Creek.
The road entered Council from the south almost exactly as Michigan Avenue does now, except that it wasn't dug into the side of Courthouse Hill as much. At the Moser place, the road forked, probably just where the old trail had. The route to Hornet Creek angled around the west side of the hill, then west to cross the Weiser River. This continued to be the path of the county road until 1900 when laying out town lots took priority over direct lines of travel. At that time the Hornet Creek route (if coming from the south) became a 90-degree left to go west on Moser Avenue, then a right turn onto Railroad Street. (It is interesting that Railroad street would have this name so early since the railroad was on the east end of town until five years later.) About the time that Council was incorporated in 1903, the streets were arranged something like they are now between downtown and the river.
As it came into Council from the south, the other fork of the main road made a 90 degree right turn (east) onto Illinois Avenue, then made a 90 degree left turn (north) on Galena Street and continued north. When the North-South Highway was built, about 1921, it left town by turning north on Dartmouth Avenue at the east end of town as the highway does now.
The old road followed a path similar to present day North Galena Street past the Kesler homestead and Cemetery. From here the original path of the road is hard to trace. The 90 degree turn east to the present highway was made in 1899. The only clue as to the roads previous route is in the petition to the county commissioners for this 90-degree right turn. It asked for "a road from Council to Copper canyon" starting from where this corner is today, and running to "the present [1899] road." Just where Copper canyon was is a mystery. Grossen canyon may have been known by that name, as the new road was to go in that direction.
Readers who are familiar with the Gould Ranch may be interested to know that the old stage road is still in use there. It is the road going south from in front of the houses (on the east side of the creek).
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Photo captions:
03007.jpg—The George A. Winkler place, which later became the George Gould ranch. This picture is looking west across the creek at the Winkler house, which was in about the same location as the main house. The old stage road came in from the south on the east side of the creek.
72088.jpg—This stage ran between Council and Meadows about 1900, before the railroad was built. It was a treacherous route in winter. This photo appears to have been taken at Meadows. Although this is a classic Concord type coach, open wagons and sleds were also used as stages in this area.
Stagecoaches
One of the photos featured last week showed a Concord-style stagecoach. The first coach of this type was built in 1827 by the Abbot Downing Company. I’m assuming they came up with the name, and that it was applied to all stagecoaches of this general design after that. The design employed leather strap braces under the passenger compartment, which gave a swinging motion instead of the jolting up and down of a spring suspension. Mark Twain said in his 1861 book Roughing Itthat the Concord Stagecoach was like "a cradle on wheels."
Concord stagecoaches were built so well that they earned a reputation for not breaking down, but just wore out. The were sold throughout South America, Australia, and Africa. Over 700 Concord stagecoaches were built by the original Abbot Downing Company before it closed in 1847.
The term "stage" originally referred to the distance between stations on a route, the coach traveling the entire route in "stages," but through constant misuse of the word it came to apply to the coach. “Stagecoach” came to mean any four-wheeled vehicle pulled by horses or mules--the primary requirement being that it was used as a public conveyance, running on an established route and schedule. Vehicles included buckboards and dead axel wagons, surplus Army ambulances, celerity [mud] coaches, and the deLuxe Concord.
In the end, it was the motor bus, not the train, that caused the final disuse of these horse-drawn vehicles. Many "automobile stage companies" were established in the early 1900s in more populated areas. After the main railroad lines were established, it was frequently not practical to go to a place of higher elevation by rail lines if the distance was short. A town 10 to 25 miles off the mail rail trunk, if it were 1000 or more feet higher, would be very difficult and expensive to serve by rail due to the steep grade. This final portion of the trip, during that 25-year period, was usually served by local stage lines, with a ride of less than a half day being typical.
Once the mainline rail service was established, the railroads actually stimulated stage line operations well into the 20th century. These were eventually replaced by motorbuses, and in the early days many local bus lines were called “motor stage” lines. By 1918 stagecoaches were only operating in a few mountain resorts or western National Parks as part of the "old west" romance for tourists.
Motor vehicles brought hard times for a number of small railroads by the late 1920s as well. A classic example was the P&IN that ran between Weiser and New Meadows.
An Idaho musician named Gary Eller is looking for songs about Idaho. He has received a grant to collect songs written about real people, places or things in our state, and I volunteered to help spread the word. Gary says:
“My bibliography now contains over 800 songs that are at least peripherally related to Idaho. About 150 are historically rooted and of primary interest, and about 80 predate 1910 and are of great interest. For songs predating about 1960, musicians rarely have anything for me. The best stuff comes from obscure, one of a kind publications and manuscripts (some handwritten) squirreled away in small libraries and museums. I'm betting there are some in shoeboxes in attics too, but without some solicitation of the type your column can provide, these are extremely difficult to find.”
So if any of you out there know of a song that fits in this category, please contact Gary at PGaryEller@aol.com or phone 208-442-8844. Gary is also looking for anyone who plays a hurdy gurdy--someone who plays the type that needs to be manually noted, not just cranked.
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Photo captions:
72092.jpg—An open-top stage between Council and News Meadows. If this is a road, is sure doesn’t look like much of one. All of the pictures here were probably taken between 1901 when the railroad reached Council, and 1911 when the line reached New Meadows.
95498.jpg—Another open-top Council - News Meadows stage in 1901.
98181.jpg—Another Council - News Meadows stage. This one looks like a larger than average Concord style. If anyone has information about the location shown here, please contact me. The box in the left foreground might be a well (just a guess). My guess as to the location would be Price Valley since there was a stage stop, sawmills and houses there over a wide time period.
11-15-07
More on the Old Roads
Two weeks ago, I ended this column writing about the road that came into Council from the south. The road forked, with one fork going up Hornet Creek.
As it came into Council from the south, the other fork of the main road made a 90 degree right turn (east) onto Illinois Avenue (at the same place it does today), then made a 90 degree left turn (north) on Galena Street and continued north. When the North-South Highway was built, about 1921, it left town by turning north on Dartmouth Avenue at the east end of town as the highway does now.
The old road followed a path similar to present day North Galena Street past the Kesler homestead and Cemetery. From here the original path of the road is hard to trace. The 90-degree turn east to the present highway was made in 1899. The only clue as to the roads previous route is in the petition to the county commissioners for this 90-degree right turn. It asked for "a road from Council to Copper canyon" starting from where this corner is today, and running to "the present [1899] road." Just where Copper canyon was is a mystery. Grossen canyon may have been known by that name, as the new road was to go in that direction.
Four miles north of Council, about a quarter mile south of the Y where Highway 95 now turns toward Fort Hall Hill, there is an old dirt lane that runs straight east from the highway. [Across from Shumway’s driveway.] One of the old routes through the valley made a 90-degree turn east here, on what is now this lane, to the base of the hill, then turned north again along the hill. It continued north across the route of the present highway, then turned up Fort Hall Creek on the north side of present-day 2451 Highway 95. [A few years ago I was walking out in the pasture behind this house—where Geoff Cole now lives—and found the old road bed.] Just before the Fort Hall Creek canyon narrows, the road split. The right branch went up the creek and over Fort Hall Hill. The left branch curved north and followed the side of the foothills all the way to Fruitvale. [This old road is still very visible from the Fruitvale –Glendale Road. It is just above the ditch.] The road came into Fruitvale from the east on Rome Beauty Avenue, just north of the old hotel building (2592 Fruitvale Glendale Road—now Joslin’s house). [My father remembered riding in a wagon along the old road, as a small child, and stopping at the old hotel to get the family’s mail, as it housed the post office at that time—about 1920.]
Such roads along west-facing hills were favored in those days because they were the first to be free of snow and mud in the spring. Another example of this was the old route through Meadows Valley (now named Cemetery Road) which followed the Valley's eastern foothills.
The Canyon
The road through the Weiser River canyon between Council and New Meadows has changed paths several times. When Calvin White, the head of the first family to settle the Meadows Valley, arrived there in 1878 there were no roads beyond Council Valley. To bring the first wagons from Council to Meadows, White and his partner, W. C. Jennings, followed the Weiser River bottom, crossing the river repeatedly. They finally gave up this tactic just beyond Starkey. From there they climbed up onto the ridge tops north and west of the river. Their exact route is unknown, but they reportedly passed through Lost Valley and Price Valley.
Later, White, along with some of the Winklers, helped build the first road to Meadows. This road bypassed the river bottom between Fruitvale and Glendale by going over Fort Hall Hill. On the south face of this hill, the road followed the flats to the west of the present highway and topped out at about the same place. Just north of the Fort Hall Hill summit, the road followed the first canyon back to the river bottom. From that point, depending on which source one believes, the road forded the river somewhere between 26 and 37 times before reaching Price Valley.
As use of the road increased, the constant fording of the river became impractical. Late in the fall of 1888, ten bridges were built across the Weiser in the Canyon. They lasted only a few months; massive flooding the following spring totally obliterated them.
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Photo captions:
98060.jpg—This is one of my all time favorite photographs in the museum collection. It was taken from the old road, about a mile south of Fruitvale sometime around 1910. The camera was looking northeast. I have put this picture in the newspaper before and it didn’t come out very clearly, but I hope you can make out some landmarks. I’ve put a line along what looks like the railroad grade. There are a couple haystacks in the center that mark the Bill Glenn place. The smaller circle to their right indicates a small log building that is still standing today. The Glenn house must have been just to its left. I believe the white building in the circle just above that is the old McMahan schoolhouse. Just above the haystacks is the Isaac McMahan house. One of the larger buildings near the center must be Art Wilkie's Fruitvale Hotel. If anyone would like a copy of the original via email, drop me an email at dafisk@ctcweb.net and I’ll send one to you.
11-22-07
Early Routes
In the late 1880s or early '90s, Tolbert Biggerstaff established a stage station just north of the Fort Hall Hill summit. It was known as the "half-way station" between Meadows and the stage company's headquarters at Bernard Snow's ranch at Indian Valley.
Probably in the late 1880s, a road was built north from the East Fork along the hillsides east of the Weiser River. A stretch of the road referred to as "Mail Cabin Hill," between Strawberry and Evergreen, seems to have been the first part of this section to be built. Soon afterward, the section from East Fork to Mail Cabin Hill was evidently built. Apparently, after the road came down to the river from the top of Fort Hall Hill, it climbed back out of the river bottom at East Fork. This seems to have been the route until after 1904. Sometime after that, the stretch between the summit of Fort Hall Hill and East Fork was also built on the hillside. This route had to negotiate a steep dip to cross the East Fork by way of a bridge located just east of the present highway.
In 1896 stage contractors started using the Stevens stage station, on the bench just north of East Fork, instead of Biggerstaff's for their half-way station.
Council to Long Valley Road
Early settlers in Long Valley looked to the towns along the Weiser River and beyond as supply points. For these people, a journey to get supplies was not a short nor pleasant one. At first, wagons traveling to Long Valley had to go by way of Council and Meadows. In 1889 Washington County built a shortcut road from Indian Valley, up the Little Weiser River, to Long Valley. [Parts of this road later became the Van Wyck Sheep Driveway] Apparently this road was too poor to be widely used. Six years later, freighters were still hauling loads via Council and Meadows, taking eight to twelve days to make a trip from Middleton to Long Valley. About 1895 a shortcut road was proposed that would go east over the mountains just northeast of Council by extending an existing road up Mill Creek. By this road, Long Valley settlers could haul supplies from Council in four to six days. In addition to the road-weary freighters, Council merchants were enthusiastic supporters of the proposed road because they stood to gain a healthy increase in business.
During the Thunder Mountain gold rush of 1902, Council was the nearest rail point to this new miner's Mecca, and many of the "boomers" used the shorter Mill Creek route. Thousands of "argonauts" funneled through Council on their way to the new El Dorado. This may have produced the final push to complete this "Council to Long Valley Road" in September of 1902. [This road may be the same one later called the "Old Cascade Road."]
The way this road was built illustrates how things sometimes got done in those days. Often the county could not, or would not, foot the total bill for a road, so roads were frequently built as a joint venture between the county and the local users of the route. Sometimes the locals became impatient with the foot-dragging of county bureaucracy, and simply built the road themselves. The building of the Council to Long Valley road was mostly accomplished by individual efforts.
The first road between Meadows and Lardo (McCall) went over "the big Meadow hill" south of Meadows. About 1905, the present route up Goose Creek was established. A wagon road linking Warren and Lardo was also built about that time.
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Captions:
72091.jpg—The Biggerstaff Stage station at the top of Fort Hall hill, 1888.
84004.jpg—Looking southeast from the middle of Galena Street in 1902. The Diamond & Young Pack Train is loading up at the Weed store before making the long journey to Warren with supplies. The Kuntz & Hancock Livery Barn across the street looks deceptively small in this picture. To walk across the street and look inside, see the other photo.
72035.jpg—Inside the Kuntz & Hancock Livery Barn. Gene Koontz, left - R.C. Watt, right. This barn—very probably the biggest building in Council for many years--was built 1898 and used as a livery at least until 1922. It became Hugh Addington’s garage in 1925, and burned in 1931.
A Canyon Story
Travelers who had to get from Council to Meadows were stuck with the challenges of the dreaded "Canyon." The following is an expanded, and somewhat fictionalized, version of a story printed in the Weiser Signal, Mar 16, 1904.
It was a pleasant March morning as Frank Hahn stepped up proudly into the driver’s seat of his newly acquired bobsled. He had recently bought the Council-Meadows stage line, and he was confident it was a solid business venture. After raising cattle in Montana, and then managing as many as seven thousand sheep from his ranch near Weiser, this was an intriguing new career.
Frank had also purchased a livery stable on the north side of Moser Avenue, and he had his eye on a ranch about four miles north of town. [His livery was located at the approximate site of 100 Moser Ave.] The bright prospects that 1904 held for him and his family made him feel younger than his 47 years.
His customers filed out of the Overland Hotel and arranged themselves in the crowded vehicle. This would be a profitable haul, Frank thought to himself. He turned to the urbane-looking woman sitting primly beside him who was traveling from Boise to Meadows.
"Well, are you quite ready for the journey Mrs. Turner?” he asked.
"Yes, quite, Mr. Hahn," she replied, "I am simply weary of the confines of the indoors after the long winter. Besides, a woman must condition herself to the ardors of the frontier."
Frank gave the woman a warm smile; it came more from amusement at her remark about this being a "frontier" than out of friendliness. Mrs. Turner's remark about the long winter brought Frank back to matters at hand. There was still plenty of snow on the ground, and he had decided to take the sled instead of a coach. But it had been raining all night, and conditions along the road would be hard to predict. Mrs. Crowell had told him that, on good summer roads, her late husband usually covered the distance from Council to Meadows in four or five hours. Under ideal conditions, a sled could make the trip more quickly and provide a smoother ride too. But Frank could already see that the snow was far from being in ideal condition.
Frank flipped the reins and spoke to the horses. The sled glided ahead easily on the hard-packed snow on the street. As they turned north onto Galena Street at Dr. Brown's office, Carl Weed called out a friendly greeting from the porch of the Haas Brothers store.
As the horses patiently plodded up the valley, Frank watched for clues as to what the road through the Canyon might be like. The farther they got from town, the snow in the road became less packed and more mushy. Every stream was swollen past the confines of its banks.
As one passenger later related, "At every creek on the mountain, the water had cut a deep gully down through the ice and snow, and where the stage did not stand on end, we made flying leaps across, and wherever there was a depression, the horses broke through the well-soaked snow into the treacherous water beneath. . . ."
To be continued next week.
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Captions for photos:
95265L.jpg—Frank Hahn, about 1905. He operated the Council - Meadows stage line at this time. A stage made daily runs, except on Sundays. The four-seated coach could carry eleven passengers, and was pulled by a four-horse team. The journey to or from Council and Meadows took four or five hours one way in good weather. Hahn also owned one of the livery stables in Council where he kept half a dozen driving teams, about ten saddle horses, and a number of vehicles. All of these were for rent as well as for his own business use. He also owned a 265-acre ranch about four miles north of town where Bill Shore now lives (the old Barr Jacobs place).
72054.jpg—This was a common sight in the old days. Roads were not well maintained, especially in winter. This man is struggling to take the harness off of the team and get them up out of the snow.
12-6-07
The story of the Frank Hahn stage to New Meadows in 1904 continues from last week.
After coming down the north side of Fort Hall Hill the passengers felt the sled stop. They looked ahead past the team to see a few broken planks clinging to the soggy river banks were there had been a bridge across the Weiser just a few hours before.
Frank pushed his hat back on his head, scratched his scalp, and swore venomously under his breath. He had never been a quitter, partly out of plain stubbornness, and he was not about to let the river win this one. He had the passengers get out of the sled, unloaded most of the baggage, and tied the mail sacks securely on top of the seats. Urging the horses up to a likely looking spot just upstream from the bridge abutment, he cracked his whip and yelled, "Gettup!"
The horses--half out of habit, half startled by the noise--jumped out into the churning, chocolate river. Immediately the team went almost completely under water. For a second, only their noses and frightened eyes were visible. Frank felt the sled runners leave the riverbed as the sled began to float down stream. But before he could think of what to do about it, the team found footing and lunged up the opposite bank. Frank looked back at his passengers and smiled as if to say, "Nothing to it." Inside, he was wondering if he had made the right career move by getting into this business.
After unloading, Frank took the rig back across. This time, the horses were more confident, and the crossing went without incident. The rest of the baggage was loaded, and the self-assured stage man hurried back across. Proving the old adage that "haste makes waste," the rapid pace caused the sled--which for some reason was not designed for nautical use--to be pulled under the waves. As ice water and floating debris gushed into the sled, drenching Frank's legs, he rose to his feet preparing to jump for his life. Once again, just as things seemed hopeless, the sled runners hit bottom and slid up out of the merciless torrent.
By now, the passengers were not anxious to try this ferry cruise, but Frank assured them that he had a firm grasp on the situation. Apparently he was right; the final crossing went smoothly.
When the weary party pulled up to the Stevens stage station at East Fork, Frank dragged his watch out of his vest pocket. It was noon. His team was exhausted, and he was several hours behind schedule. Everyone in the sled was chilled to the bone and ravenously hungry.
The sour mood soon changed as Mrs. Stevens laid out a hot meal, and Mr. Stevens stoked the stove until the sides glowed red. While the stage passengers ate, the air was heavy with the smell of drying wool, and Mr. Stevens told stories of his adventures as an Army scout in Utah.
To be continued next week.
George M. Winkler, now of Oroville, California, wrote to set me straight about a picture I featured here in the November 1 issue. The name George has been passed down through the Winkler generations so many times that it gets confusing, plus the middle initials M and A have accompanied them, which adds to the effect. The museum information says that the picture was of the George A. Winkler place, which is now the Gould Ranch, about a mile north of Mill Creek and west of the highway. George wrote: “The picture is actually of my grandfather’s place located at the corner of Mill creek Road and highway 95, north of Council. My grandfather, George M. Winkler, was George A. Winkler’s oldest surviving son.” I will correct the museum record for this photo, and appreciate very much receiving the information.
Claude Bruce at Payette Museum looking for photos of, or information about, the old Mann Creek Hotel. Has a photo of it that was taken in the 1920s, but he is looking for an older photo. The hotel had a barbershop and boxing ring among other amenities. An old book, “Peggy the Nomad,” mentions stopping at the stage station there on the way to McCall. Claude would also like to find a copy of this book. If anyone can help with this effort, please contact me.
88006.jpg—Bill Winkler driving a sleigh that may resemble the one Frank Hahn was driving on his fateful trip to New Meadows. This blacksmith shop stood on the east side of Main Street, about half a block north of Moser Avenue. The first Winkler blacksmith shop was just south of it, on the corner of Moser and Main.
95161L.jpg—Pete Kramer used this larger sled—shown here at Cuprum--to transport passengers between Council and the Seven Devils Mining District.
95116L.jpg—Kramer’s stage sled again, this time at Landore. Kramer is the second man from the right. The man just to the right of the sled, with his hand on it, looks like Dr. William Brown. Notice the two women behind Kramer’s sled in some kind of smaller sled-type vehicle.
Continuing with the story of Frank Hahn’s stage ordeal in the canyon.
All too soon it was time to return to the trail. With a fresh team and lifted spirits, the travelers started out. Even though the road was in deplorable shape, the rest of the bridges were intact and they made relatively good time. Just past old miner Filley's cabin, they met one of Frank's employees, Tommy White, driving a bob-tailed cutter that carried several miserable-looking passengers. Frank and Tommy conferred, and both agreed that it would be easier to trade rigs than to try to get around each other on the narrow track.
As the sleds were unloaded and turned around, Tommy related the merry time he and his passengers had encountered on the road from Meadows. Having struggled to Price Valley, the front of his sled had suddenly plunged out of sight in a deep, mushy stream of snow and water. The half-buried, half-drowned horses could not get it out. Tommy had had to wade into the frigid mess, unhitch the team, and lead them out. While he worked to dislodge the sled, most of his passengers had opted to walk the remaining miserable mile to Norton's stage station. [Norton ran an establishment with a liquor license near present-day Tamarack.]
After Frank and Tommy got both sleds turned around and rehitched, Tommy's group made it to Stevens station and spent the night there. Some of Frank's passengers had decided not to wait for their sled. Tired of the constant jostling, they walked the remaining two miles to Norton's. By this time no one was up to the task of completing the journey to Meadows. After a stiff drink from Norton's bar, Frank joined his careworn customers in a good night's sleep.
The next morning broke bright and clear. Much to Frank's relief, the mushy snow had frozen solid. A team arriving from Meadows met Frank's sled at the impassable place where Tommy's had submerged. The sled was unloaded and pushed easily across the thin ice and hitched to the fresh team. The passengers had to jump across a narrow place where the raging, four-foot-deep stream narrowed to about three feet across. The mail and baggage was thrown across this gap.
The day quickly warmed up, the slush began to melt, and once again the sled was dragging through a continuous string of deep water holes and slush. At noon, Meadows came into sight, and the hellish trip finally ended with everyone surviving "the ardors of the frontier."
Bruce Addington contacted me about my guess that one photo of a Council-Meadows stage was taken at Price Valley. He said he was very familiar with the ridge in the background of that photo, and that my guess was correct. Bruce also had information about the picture of Dale Donnelly and J. L. Johnson that I featured here a while back:
“In case someone else hasn't told you, Dale Donnelly is the one on the left a bit “further back in the picture. J. L. is the one with the pipe. They are in the scale room of the store. The scales are on the left of the picture. There was a dirty window there and trucks backed in along side of the building to be weighed. Further back was the door to the ice storage.”
“The main front room of the store was on the other side
of the wall behind J. L.'s back. Dale Donnelly was a tall slender man
with a big voice and a booming laugh.
J. L. Johnson was a quiet
pleasant man and always in good humor. Johnson had a large house
and provided room and board for a few people. Bud Addington was
living there when he passed away in 1938 or 39. I was in the
first grade at the time.”
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Photo captions:
72053.jpg—This picture was taken in 1909, not long after Frank Hahn’s struggle up the canyon. Notice the lead horse is down.
95259L.jpg-- Dr. and Mrs. Frank Brown in their sleigh in front on their house on Galena Street—about the current location of the Body Shop in Council. The Brown’s house was just north of his office, which was on the northwest corner of Galena and Illinois Ave. In 1910 they built a new house east of this one. The school on the hill is visible in the background.
98460.jpg—A closer look at a typical sleigh and a fine, matched team. Della White, the nineteen-year-old daughter of Council’s first postmaster, Robert White, was killed in such a sleigh when the team jumped a steam. The sleigh slammed into the far bank, throwing Della forward and killing her.
12-20-07
Post Script to the Canyon Story
Several freighters on the road during this time simply had to abandon their loaded wagons in the Canyon and walk out. Just the next month, people in Meadows were amused to see 23 horses parade into town instead of the stage. Frank Hahn had become so frustrated with trying to get a vehicle through the Canyon (which was now flooding), that he had resorted to putting the mail, 19 passengers, and their baggage on horseback to get them to their destination. It is no mystery why people in those days so joyously celebrated the coming of the railroad.
Tommy White, the other stage driver mentioned in the story, was the son of Robert and Elenor White, the second family to settle in the Council Valley. Another incident involving Tommy White happened in the Canyon the next year. In February of 1905, Tommy was driving his route alone from Meadows to Council. When he brought his team down the hill too fast, just below the Stevens station, he couldn't make the turn. Team, wagon and Tommy wound up 400 feet down off the bank, through brush and over logs and rocks. Both Tommy and the horses miraculously escaped the wreck without serious injury.
Five years later, Tommy White became infamous as the reputed murderer of a Seven Devils miner named Joe Brown. Brown's skull, with a bullet hole in the forehead, is now in the Council Valley Museum. There was never enough evidence to arrest Tommy, but he later met with a dishonorable end. The story says that Tommy was shot out of the saddle while swimming stolen horses across the Snake River. His body was never found.
When the railroad was extended from Council toward Meadows in 1906, it only went as far as Evergreen. The place where the tracks ended was in the large flat about a mile down river from the present Evergreen Park. A hotel, livery stable, freight house and several other buildings were erected there.
The comments of the Meadows Eagle editor in 1908 indicated that the road between Evergreen and Meadows hadn't improved much since Frank Hahn's ordeal: "The way to the Meadows leads over a steep, dangerous stage-road, which winds for sixteen miles from the end of the Pacific and Idaho Northern railway around precipitous cliffs, through forests and along the circuitous course of the wild Weiser river."
In 1908 serious consideration was given to building a road up the east side of the Council Valley, along the foothills. The road was to run from the Cottonwood road (then known as "Gould's Lane" because it ended at George Gould's house) all the way to Ed Tomlinson's place on Fort Hall Hill, but it was never built.
Until well after 1900, roads in the Council Valley area were very poor. And there were few roads into the mountains except for a few leading to sawmills or homesteads. As automobiles began to appear on the scene just after the turn of the 20th century, they could be used only in the summer and fall when the roads were dry and firm. For the rest of the year, cars were put in storage. They were placed on blocks to take the weight off the tires, and the water was drained from the cooling system to prevent damage from freezing. In 1913 Dr. Frank Brown set a new record by driving his car until late December. The following spring, the Adams County Leader reported: "Dr. Brown made his last auto trip last year on Christmas day, and his first trip this year on March 18. . . ." The editor cited this as evidence that this area was "not such a bad place when the automobiles only have to lay off that long."
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A Payette police officer named Ryan Bertalotto is looking for information and memorabilia related to area city police officers. He is putting together a historical collection and would like photographs, uniform patches, names of officers in the past (and dates they served if possible), and other information concerning Council’s police force in the past. Council seems to have only had a police force intermittently, and information seems to be hard to come by. The last officer he has received info about is Bill Clausen. If any of you have any of the things Ryan is looking for, please contact me.
Photos:
98349.jpg—Meadows main street as it probably looked in 1905 when Frank Hahn was battling the dreaded canyon.
95447croppped.jpg—Freight wagons between Council and the Seven Devils Mining District.
12-27-07
The North - South Highway
Early travel between northern and southern Idaho was a challenge. For many years, anyone undertaking such a journey had to take a very circuitous route. In 1895 Mr. Lorton, the Editor of the Salubria Citizen newspaper, traveled to an Idaho Press Association meeting in Lewiston by train. First he took a wagon to Weiser. This probably took him all day and in the opposite direction of Lewiston. At Weiser, Lorton boarded a train. His route--the shortest one by rail--was through Oregon, via Huntington, Baker City, Union, LaGrande, the Blue Mountains, Pendleton; then through Washington by way of Walla Walla, Colfax, and Pullman. From Pullman, he took the stage to Lewiston. Lorton arrived at 9:00 PM the second day after leaving Weiser, somewhat disgusted at having traveled a total of less than 200 direct-line miles from home.
Even if Mr. Lorton had wanted to make this journey by wagon, he probably would have taken a similar route. At that time a "State Wagon Road" linked most of the state from north to south, but it lacked a 27 1/2 mile stretch through the treacherous canyon of the Little Salmon River. Residents of the little town of Pollock found this very inconvenient; everything taken there had to be hauled in on pack animals.
By the next year (1896), there must have been a crude wagon trail between Meadows and the main Salmon, as it was reported that a wagon could make the trip "with a light load and some dodging." For the next several years there was much discussion about building a road down the Little Salmon, but no one seemed to be able to come up with the money. One idea was to make it a toll road to make it pay for itself. The road was finally built in 1901.
In the late 1910s cars became more common, and the U.S. made ambitious plans to build a national system of roads "that would make the highways of the ancient Romans . . . pale in comparison." In 1913 the main road through the Council Valley became part of the State Highway System. The official name for the road was the "Idaho-Pacific Highway."
A few years later, this road was to become part of the "Evergreen Highway" which was to run from Texas to the Canadian border at British Columbia. The State of Idaho participated in this project by planning a "North - South Highway." It was to run the length of the state from the southern border of the state to Canada. The cost was to be shared by each county through which the highway was constructed.
There was some debate as to whether the North - South highway should be built through Long Valley or through the valleys along the Weiser River. The towns along the Weiser managed to persuade the decision makers that building the highway through their communities would serve more people, and that the road would be open for a longer season of travel due to the warmer climate.
I’ll have more on the North-South Highway next week.
The three police patches shown in the photos this week are ones that Payette police officer, Ryan Bertalotto, is trying to find for his historical collection. They are patches that were worn by Council city officers. Ryan is also looking for information as to when they were in use and any other info about the city police department in the past, such as the size of the department, dates they existed, etc. Please contact me if you have any information. To see other patches that Ryan has collected, along with the information he has so far, you can go to this web site: <http://www.angelfire.com/id/ryanbertalotto/Adams.html>
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Photo captions:
Maybe you could put the other two patch pictures together and caption it something like: “Officer Bertalotto is looking for these two patches, as well as the patch in the other photo.”
Council_Police_2_ID.jpg--Ryan Bertalotto said about this patch, “I have had collectors state this patch was the last one used by Council Police in 1995. However, according to Sheriff Green of Adams County, the department hasn't existed since 1990.”
1-3-08
Work was started on the North-South highway as early as 1917. That year, a road was built through the canyon between Cambridge and Midvale on the east side of the river.
The next year the paper reported, "Enough work has been done on the north and south road in this county, both north of Fruitvale and in the vicinity of the Middle Fork hill [Mesa Hill], to indicate the vast improvement that will have been made when the work now planned has been completed.” At Mesa work had progressed, "extending from the southern slope to a point north of the summit. The new road, eliminating the grades that now separate the Indian Valley district from the remainder of the county and by natural route winding through the orchard and passing the townsite, will present a view that will be long remembered by every tourist who passes.”
The road leading off the north side of Mesa hill is an interesting example of the progression of road construction. For 45 years the road that was first started by the Moser family in 1876 was the only road between Council and Indian Valley. (It is still very visible today.) It plowed (pun intended) almost straight down the side of the mesa. By about 1920 automobiles had become common enough that there was a demand for roads that cars could easily travel. Most early autos were not very powerful and had undependable brakes. So, aside from general surface quality, the new roads needed hills that were not as steep as those of the old wagon roads. For this reason, when the North-South Highway was built down the north face of Mesa hill about 1921, it was a winding set of switchbacks. As cars got more powerful, were equipped with more dependable brakes and the pace of life became faster, road builders went back to the old-fashioned practice of going straight up and down hills, as evidenced by the current highway. The present and past highways on the White Bird and Lewiston hills are other classic examples of this progression. It seems ironic that these "jet age" roads have come full circle, back to routes resembling those scratched out for horse-drawn wagons.
In 1919 work began on the difficult stretch between New Meadows and Grangeville, including the famous switchbacks on Whitebird Hill. The part of the North - South Highway between the sheer rock cliffs along the Little Salmon River was especially difficult and expensive to build. In 1921 the Leader reported: "Two places in the canyon of the Little Salmon known as 'Devils Elbow' and 'Hells Half Acre' are now a broad paved way." In spite of this glowing description of the new "highway," it was actually nothing more than a narrow dirt road.
Auto drivers were relieved to hear that the new highway would follow a "water grade" along the Weiser River north of Council instead of negotiating the treacherous Mail Cabin and East Fork hills, renowned as the most trying obstacles to travel between Council and Grangeville. "East Fork" hill may have referred to Fort Hall Hill
The highway was to be built via Starkey and Glendale instead of over Fort Hall Hill. At that time, the road up the Weiser River ended at Starkey. It had been a long struggle to get it that far. For many years the only way to reach Starkey was by means of a crude wagon trail that crossed the river a number of times by means of fords that were very rough and not usually passable until almost mid summer. As soon as the railroad was built, the train became the favored means of getting to the resort. About 1912 Dr. Starkey began a campaign to get a decent road built to his establishment. He fought the county commissioners for several years to get the job done. He even hired contractors and paid to have part of the road built himself. Finally in the fall of 1914 and summer of 1915 the county built a new road to Starkey, beginning at the end of the county road at Emsley Glenn's ranch about a mile north of Fruitvale. Emsley Glenn was Fred Glenn's father, and his home was at the present site of 2679 Fruitvale-Glendale Road (Doug Scism’s place). When this road became the main road to New Meadows about 1920, it was paved this far, and has never been paved any farther.
Photo captions:
98140.jpg—The North-South Highway (now Highway 95) near Mesa. Tramway towers along the road. The year is unknown, but it is before the highway was paved.
98433.jpg--The Goff Bridge on Highway 95 just north of Riggins, built in 1936. Just what kind of bridge spanned the river when the North-South Highway was built in the 1920s is not clear. This bridge is also known as the “Time Zone Bridge” because it marks the boundary between Pacific and Mountain time zones. Construction on the current bridge that replaced this one began in June of 1997. The bridge was named after early local pioneer John Goff.
99536.jpg—The brand new North-South Highway in 1921, somewhere along the Little Salmon River. Imagine building this highway through all those rocky areas with only horses, men and dynamite. Albert Hagar may be driving the wagon and team, which is very hard to see in the shadows.
1-10-08
During the time that this rerouting was being done for the North-South Highway, the State proposed the idea of building a more direct route to McCall from Boise by going through Emmett and Indian Valley. This idea was never carried out because it would bypass too many towns, but has often been reconsidered.
Construction began on the North - South Highway through the Council Valley in 1921, and was completed by the next summer. It was an improvement over the old road, even though the new "highway" was only a dirt road. The stretch between Council and Fruitvale was particularly troublesome because of numerous swampy areas. After this section was built, the State hesitated to approve it because it was in such poor shape.
During the construction of the highway between Council and Fruitvale, a large shed was built, just east of the new road and south of Fort Hall Creek, to shelter the horses that were used on the job. This was about 200 yards north of the present "Y," near the present location of 2448 Fruitvale-Glendale road [currently the Russell Allen home]. About forty horses were kept here and fed baled hay.
Hay was generally put up loose in those days, but a few stationary balers were in use. The large, heavy bales were generally used only when the hay had to be shipped because it was much more economical to ship densely packed bales than loose hay. After the job was completed, construction stable sites were usually littered with the wire that was used to bind the bales together. People salvaged baling wire and used it to repair almost anything. This is where the term "haywire" came from for anything that was broken or dysfunctional. Hay balers used wire to bind bales at least through the 1950s.
The cuts through the small, rocky hill about a quarter mile north of the stables took large amounts of "giant powder" to blast out the rock. "Giant" powder was a common brand name by which blasting powder became known in general. The tin canisters that the powder came in were scattered around this, and other, road cuts for years afterward. Local people found several uses for the canisters, including using them for milking stools.
It took several more years to complete sections of the highway to New Meadows. In May of 1923, a telling report in the Adams County Leader indicated the state of the art of auto travel on the new road. The first auto of the season had just made it through the canyon to New Meadows. Another car had made it a short time earlier, but that trip didn't count since the auto had to be pulled part of the way through snow slides by a team of horses.
The previous winter, Bob Zink had made an extremely daring auto excursion, traveling the North - South Highway all the way to Spokane, Washington. It was a journey to try the strength and endurance of any man. At one point the car broke through the ice on the road and sank to the axles in water.
Finally in 1925 the North - South Highway through the Council area was given a gravel surface. Even then, use of certain sections could not be counted on year around. This was particularly true between Council and Fruitvale. The highway between Cambridge and Midvale was sometimes impassable in springtime as late as 1930. Dry-season driving was also not without its hazards. Many wrecks occurred when a driver's vision was obscured by dust stirred up by another car. During the 1920s and '30s, it was common to see reports in the local paper of a dust-blinded driver running off the road somewhere in the canyon between Fruitvale and Price Valley.
I would like to thank Shirley Wing for a generous donation to the Council Valley Museum. It is very much appreciated.
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Photo captions:
95038.jpg—Building the Lost Valley Reservoir Dam in 1909. This is essentially the same method used to build the North-South Highway in the 1920s. Notice that at least one team is pulling an ordinary farm plow to loosen the soil, which was then shoveled into a wagon.
95039.jpg—This 1909 construction camp at Lost Valley Reservoir shows a temporary stable (far right) similar to the larger ones erected at the base of Fort Hall Hill when the North-South Highway was built to Fruitvale.
1-17-08
The carnage caused by auto wrecks was something that people had trouble accepting. Excess speed was blamed for many accidents. The velocities that alarmed people then seem very mild now. In 1919 the Leader contained this comment:
We read that Henry Ford has invented a new-fangled safety alarm that is especially intended to give warning against excessive speed. At thirty miles it shows a white light, at thirty-five a green light, and when the car strikes a forty-mile clip an instrument plays 'Near My God To Thee.'
In spite of all the challenges faced by early automobile drivers, the Leader editor said that if the pioneers of this area had had a graveled road such as the North - South Highway it "would have satisfied their wildest dream." In the same breath he mentioned that it would be even better if the roads could be paved.
In 1926 Congress created the Numbered Highway System that we know today. The North - South Highway officially became "US Highway 95," but locals continued to call it by its old name for many years.
The winter of 1928 - 29 was the first time the highway was cleared of snow and kept open for winter travel. It would not become common for snow to be plowed from lesser roads in the Council area for another ten years or more (1940s).
Before clearing roads became standard practice, it was still common to put away the auto for the winter and harness the team. Horse hooves and sled runners eventually packed the snow down to a passable surface for the old styles of conveyance-if conditions were right. The curse of any means of transportation came in the springtime. As the snow melted there was no way to stay on top of the slush. And as the ground thawed, it often became a mud bog. At these times it was said, "The roads have neither top nor bottom."
Idaho started experimenting with paving in 1927, putting blacktop on 90 miles of road in the State that summer. The workers had no experience with paving, but learned by trial and error. By 1930 Highway 95 was being paved in some places. By 1935 it was paved through the Council Valley, but the asphalt ended at the Glenn ranch, about a mile north of Fruitvale. In the late 1930s, before the highway could be paved between Fruitvale and New Meadows, plans were laid for another major route change.
For reasons that were a mystery to some and an outrage to others, the State decided the highway would follow the route of the old wagon road over Fort Hall Hill. Residents of Fruitvale were particularly angry. They had grown used to being conveniently in the thick of things along the main route of travel through the state. It made no sense to them to build a highway up and down a hill in the first place, and it would also serve fewer people. The editor of the Leader summed up the sentiment: "It has always been the custom of the highway engineers to eliminate as many hills as possible, and now it has come to pass that the highway department is trying to put one in the highway. It looks like plain foolishness to this writer." In their defense, State highway engineers said it would shorten the highway by four miles.
One story says the highway was changed because of interpersonal politics. The engineers who were planning the route were camping at Starkey. At the time, the resort was gaining a high-class reputation, and the owners discouraged the engineers from mingling with the more well-heeled clientele. The snubbed engineers took revenge by routing the highway away from Starkey.
In spite of public opposition, the new section of highway was built over Fort Hall Hill in 1938. The route was not used for through travel for another two years. The new road came to a dead end, as there was no bridge over the canyon just north of East Fork until December of 1939. Even after the bridge was finished, much of the new road was closed to traffic until after it was paved in the summer of 1940.
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Photo captions:
98010.jpg—This picture was taken about 1940, looking northeast at the homes at East Fork. The new bridge is just around the corner.
95253L.jpg--"This house is remembered by old timers as Lewis and Emily Harp's house. This view is at the foot of Fort Hall Hill, looking North northwest, north of the present highway across from where the highway passes a small rocky bluff. The old road went right by the house. On the porch: at left--Nora Harp (left), daughter of Hardy Harp, and Rena Harp, Hardy's wife.
1-24-09
Finishing Highway 95
In spite of public opposition, the new section of highway was built over Fort Hall Hill in 1938. The route was not used for through travel for another two years. The new road came to a dead end, as there was no bridge over the canyon just north of East Fork until December of 1939. Even after the bridge was finished, much of the new road was closed to traffic until after it was paved in the summer of 1940.
About the same time that the new Fort Hall Hill route was built, the trouble spots between Midvale and Cambridge were eliminated by building the present route on the west side of the river. The editor of the Leader thought the new road would be a death trap due to the steep drop off and from rocks falling into the road. He has occasionally been proven correct. [Sixty years later, this stretch of highway was widened, and barriers were placed on both sides, in the summer of 2000 to combat the problems the editor mentioned.]
By1940 the highway through Council was paved, but the Leader reported that on the side streets, "a good ten to fifteen minutes rain generally makes them so slick that driving a car is dangerous, and a half hour or so of rain about makes them impassable."
By the fall of 1940, Highway 95 was paved all the way from Weiser to Strawberry. [In the canyon south of Price Valley.] In 1941, the last section of the old highway on the east side of the canyon south of Tamarack was eliminated. Until this time, the highway had crossed to the east side of the railroad tracks and the river at Strawberry. It crossed back again just before Tamarack, where the old concrete bridge is still in use. After this last route change, all of Highway 95 between Council and Tamarack was on its present course. The last gravel-surfaced stretch of Highway 95, between Tamarack and New Meadows, was finally paved in 1948.
The Council - Seven Devils Road
In January of 1885 pioneer miner, Charlie Walker, outlined the distance from the Seven Devils mines toWeiser:
Weiser to Salubria = 35 miles
Salubria to Council via Indian Valley = 28 miles
Council to the head of Hornet Creek where the road ends = 14 miles
End of Hornet Creek road to the mines = 25 miles
Total distance from Weiser to Seven Devils mines = 102 miles, and can be traveled with wagon except the last 4 miles.
That same year (1885), the County improved the existing road, and completed it to the homesteads along Bear Creek. This county road was called the Council to Seven Devils road, but it still did not connect Bear Creek with the mines. At this time, activity in the Devils was just starting to pick up.
In 1888 Albert Kleinschmidt hauled the first ore out of the Seven Devils mines. The ore was packed on horses to the road at Bear Creek. The point where the pack animals were unloaded into wagons was a few miles north of the present community of Bear. From there the ore was hauled by wagon to the railroad at Weiser, and then shipped to a smelter in Wales. [There was no copper smelter in the U.S. Amazingly, the ore was so rich that it still yielded a profit.]
In the fall of 1890 a road was completed to the mines, and the first load of ore was taken all the way to Weiser in a wagon. This new road was a project Albert Kleinschmidt had underway that year: a road from the Peacock Mine all the way to the Snake River. This convoluted monument to the ambition of man became known as the "Kleinschmidt Grade."
To some, the completion of the Kleinschmidt Grade caused consternation. By way of Council, it took three days to travel from the Seven Devils to Weiser. But by using the new road, it reportedly took only two days to get from the mining district to Baker, Oregon. Weiser merchants braced themselves for a large drop in business as a result. Either because the travel time was misreported or because there were more amenities along the Idaho route, Seven Devils business continued coming to Weiser.
As mining development continued in the Seven Devils, more roads were built. In 1900 a shortcut route was constructed between Landore and Bear. That same year, a road was built to the gold claims at Black Lake.
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Photo captions:
00156.jpg--- In 1894, Thomas Bates sent crews out to survey a railroad from Weiser to the Seven Devils mines. When Jeanne Boehm donated a copy of this photo back about 2000, on the back was written: "Bates survey crew at transfer house, Bear Creek" This must be the transfer point where copper ore was taken off pack animals and put in wagons before a road connected the mines to the outside world.
95435.jpg—On the Kleinschmidt Grade in 1912, near Tousley cabin. Left to Right: Mrs. Lulu White, C.R. (Rupert) Shaw, Mrs. Shaw, Franz Kleinschmidt (with shovel), Mr. Shaw is behind Kleinschmidt. They are probably clearing the way for Shaw's Winton Six auto, which was the first to make it through the Kleinschmidt Grade. This illustrates the type of road that freighters took wagons over. Talk about a rough ride!
1-31-08
THE RAILROAD
The importance of railroads in the 19th and early 20th centuries can hardly be overstated. Railroads were the lifeblood of any community. Trains were the primary method of transporting anything that had to be hauled very far. The steam locomotive was cutting-edge technology and was the fastest means of transportation on earth at the time.
In 1869 a railroad line was completed across the U.S. from coast to coast. A journey from Omaha to San Francisco that had taken three weeks now took only four days by rail. Not everyone could afford to take the train, and it would be several years before rail lines extended very far from the transcontinental line. As a result, many settlers continued to make the trip west to Idaho by wagon. [Those who could afford it had their wagons, livestock and possessions shipped part of the way by rail in what were called “emigrant cars.”]
During the earliest settlement, the nearest railroad to the newborn communities along the Weiser River was at Kelton, Utah. By 1874 the tracks had crossed Idaho's southern border, ending at the town of Franklin. In 1884 the Oregon Short Line Railroad reached Weiser. This was three years ahead of Boise, which got rail service in 1887.
Almost as soon as the rails hit Weiser, there was talk of laying tracks to tap the riches of the Seven Devils. From the very beginning, a practical way to transport ore out of these devilish mountains was one of the biggest factors working against mine operators. Excitement about this railroad ran high and it had much public support, but the cost and logistics of the project were not easily overcome.
There was some controversy as to whether to build the tracks down the Snake River, thereby serving the Seven Devils as well as linking the northern and southern parts of the state. In the end, the people along the Weiser River successfully persuaded the railroad company to build up the Weiser.
After years of dreaming, planning, and promotion, a railroad spike made from Seven Devils copper was driven at Weiser on May 18, 1899 to mark the laying of the first rails.
Plans for a Snake River route did not die, however. Simultaneously with the construction of tracks along the Weiser River, rails were laid down the Snake as well. For years, the Snake River rail route was constructed in fits and starts while financial problems plagued the project. Finally, in 1910, the builders gave up after reaching Homestead, Oregon.
Meanwhile, the Pacific and Idaho Northern (P&IN) company laid tracks up the Weiser River. Lewis A. Hall, a charismatic young man with Eastern money behind him, was the president of the P&IN. Hall was also president of the Boston and Seven Devils Copper Company which owned many of the mines and claims in the Seven Devils. This apparent marriage between the railroad and the mines led to giddy optimism and drew enormous amounts of investment money into the Seven Devils Mining District.
As seemed common practice in those days, the railroad apparently spent little time on organized, advance planning. People in Salubria were kept in suspense for months as to whether or not the tracks would bypass their town. The railroad may have known all along that it would not build the tracks to Salubria, but public perception was that even the railroad engineers didn't know what route they would take until after rails had been laid through "the Jewell canyon" into the valley. Late in 1899 Salubria's fate was sealed when the tracks were planned to go to the site of a new townsite called "Cambridge." The rails reached Cambridge on December 29.
Over the next fourteen months, backbreaking work by hundreds of men--using almost as many horses and cans of blasting powder--pushed the railroad grade north through rocky hills and across canyons. On March 13, 1901, the last spike on the P&IN was driven at the east end of Council by four young ladies. For now, this was as far as the rails would go.
I would like to thank Bonnie Miller Morin of Brooking, Oregon for a donation to the museum in memory of Neal Winkler.
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Photo captions:
72045—The railroad depot at Council, about 1910. This is looking north. The old steam engines needed to take on water every 25 miles in some cases, so there were water tanks like this one all along the P&IN line.
95502—One of the businesses at Salubria that either had to move to Cambridge or go out of business when the railroad bypassed the town in 1899/1900. This story was repeated many times all over the West. Railroads made a ton of money by routing their lines to land that they had bought cheaply. Rails ran the world, and nearby towns had no choice but to fold and move to the new depot site where land prices had suddenly gone up significantly.
2-7-08
For the communities that had struggled with the trials of seasonal wagon roads, the railroad was a decades-long dream come true. The Salubria Citizen editor pronounced the arrival of the rails as "the completion of what the oldest inhabitant has looked forward to with fond anticipation through all the hardships and privations of pioneer life. . . ." For Council Valley residents what had been a two day trip, one way, with horses could now be made in a little over three hours by train.
Before the tracks even reached Council, surveyors had plotted a route up Price Valley to the Seven Devils Mining District. West of Tamarack, about a mile of railroad grade was built between Lick Creek and Railroad saddle. The saddle takes it's name from this construction project. Presumably, this route would have followed the ridge west to Bear Saddle and Smith Mountain, then down a grade to the mines along Indian Creek and Deep Creek. What a scenic train ride it would have been along this ridge if the line had been built! It would have had the highest elevation of any railroad in Idaho.
Soon after that, the P&IN decided to take a shorter route to the mines via Hornet Creek. In another example of shoddy planning, after the railroad company had already started grade construction up Hornet Creek, some of the farmers along the way demanded more money than the P&IN wanted to pay.
Hornet Creek residents were not the only problem that stopped the tracks in that direction. In June of 1901 a special agent from the U.S. Land Department found 600 homesteads had been filed along the route of the P&IN extension to the Seven Devils "for speculative purposes." These people wanted to make a fast buck when the railroad needed to buy a right-of-way across their "homestead." Evidently their homestead claims were denied, since the agent reported, "These same lands will be reopened later for bonifide homeseekers."
The right-of-way problems were eventually settled in court, but tracks were never laid. Where the grade left Council, it stopped at a slough about 100 yards west of the end of Bleeker Street. Railroad grade was also built in several places along Hornet Creek, and is still visible near 2730 Council - Cuprum Road (the old Andrew Peck place, better known as the old Armacost place, now owned by John Brown).
Not long after the first train rolled into Council, T.G. Jones had already made a deal with the P&IN as to exactly where the depot would be erected near Landore. Crews had started building a grade for the tracks from Helena toward Council in 1899.
The grand designs for a railroad to the Seven Devils were never realized. Financing problems within the P&IN Company, and the constant failures of mining enterprises in the Devils, ultimately combined to kill the ambitious plan.
For several years after the rails reached Council in 1901, the tracks ended at here. The terminus and depot was at the east end of town, just east of the point where Dartmouth Avenue intersects Illinois Avenue. For many years, pieces of copper ore could be found lying on the ground from the days when ore wagons from the Seven Devils unloaded there.
In 1905 plans were made to continue building the tracks northward. About a mile and a half of track was removed, from the depot back to a place near the IOOF cemetery. Then the line was built north through the west end of town where a new depot was constructed.
North of Council, about six miles of grade had already been prepared for future construction. The planned destination of the tracks changed from time to time. There was some talk of it going on to Warren or Long Valley. Much promotion went into a plan to take the rails on to the north part of the State. One plan was to build an electric rail line between Boise and Spokane via Grangeville and Lewiston. Water powered generating plants would be built along the Salmon to power the trains.
There was a resurgence of the idea for a railroad down the Snake to Lewiston in 1906. At one point the Weiser paper guaranteed it as a done deal. It was never built.
96027.jpg—This week I pulled out a couple pictures from the museum files that don’t have much to do with the subject of my column. I’m pretty sure this one came from Paul Phillips. His father, Clarence Phillips, is the second man from left in this picture of salmon fishing on the Sesesh River, probably in the 1920s or 30s.
96007.jpg—The only people identified in this 1950s class photo at the old brick school in Council are the teacher Esther Woods (far right), and Larry Walling, Vonda Lawrence, Darlene Moritz and _ Johnson.
2-14-08
By the fall of 1905 one hundred men and sixty-five teams were working on extending the railroad grade up the Council Valley. It was reported, “ . . .contractors are paying the highest wages of any railway contractors in this part of the country-$4 per day for man and team and from $2 up for laborers."
By the end of 1906 the tracks were completed to "Evergreen." Again construction stopped for several years. People and supplies bound for the Meadows Valley had to continue north from Evergreen by wagon road.
In 1908 the train left Weiser at 10:00 a.m., arrived at Starkey at 1:04 p.m., and reached Evergreen 26 minutes later. The cost for a passenger riding from Weiser to Council "or any point north thereof and return" was $3.00. To ride from Council to Starkey, Glendale, East Fork, or Evergreen and return cost $1.00.
Construction on the line started again in 1910. Finally, in February of 1911, the first train rolled into the Meadows Valley. Very much like the story of Salubria and Cambridge, the railroad snubbed Meadows in favor of a new town called "New Meadows." In spite of that fact, there was much rejoicing at the arrival of the railroad.
As soon as the P&IN line linked the towns along its route, it became easy for baseball teams to reach other communities for games, and every advantage was taken of this fact. Because the P&IN had become affectionately known as the "PIN railroad" or simply as "the Pin." The teams that competed against each other were collectively called the "PIN League." The original PIN league was established in 1916, and consisted of baseball teams from Council, Cambridge, Midvale, and Weiser. New Meadows was soon added. In the 1930s, this league combined with the Long Valley League, which included Cascade, Donnelly and McCall. The new league was called the "Long Pin League." Weiser was eventually dropped, and Riggins joined the Long Pin League in the 1940s.
Edgar M. Heigho (pronounced Hi-ho) became president and general manager of the P&IN Railroad Company in 1903. "Colonel Heigho" was involved in many aspects of life in this area. He was also president of the Central Idaho Telegraph and Telephone Company, vice-president and director of the Weiser National Bank, director of the Meadows Valley Bank, and was involved with the Washington County Land and Development Company.
Heigho left his most indelible legacy as president of the Coeur d'or Development Company which owned and developed the New Meadows townsite. He was very instrumental in designing the layout of the town, especially in the placement and design of its principle brick buildings. A large, brick hotel called the "Hotel Heigho" was a landmark in New Meadows until it burned down in 1929. Heigho's former home in the northeast part of town is a hotel at this writing. Several streets in New Meadows are named after Heigho's wife (Nora) and children (Cedric, Virginia & Katherine).
Probably the most bizarre incident involving Heigho occurred in 1910. He became involved in a fistfight that resulted in a fatality. The person who died was not one of the participants in the fight. A woman who witnessed the battle became so distraught that she died of a heart attack. Heigho was arrested and charged with manslaughter because he had contributed to the woman’s death. The case went as far as the Idaho Supreme Court, but Heigho doesn’t seem to have been convicted. Details of the story can be found in my 12-2-99 column.
In 1918 Heigho was forced to resign from the P&IN after a series of strokes ruined his health. He died in 1926.
I was wondering if all the snow we’ve been getting has set any kind of record. It hasn’t yet right here, but it has up in the Coeur d’Alene area. The heaviest snow winter on record here seems to be the winter of 1948-49. I’m told the snow covered the fence posts and was wet enough that when it turned cold it crusted so hard that livestock simply walked out of their feed yards. Cattle and horses were running around everywhere and nobody could keep them in. The crust was so strong that a few people were even able to drive tractors on it! That spring the fences were a disaster from the weight of the snow that had frozen to the wires.
Captions:
95520.jpg—Nobody is sure, but this may be the record-breaking winter of 1948-49. It shows the buildings at Pine Ridge.
95263.jpg—Look familiar? This picture dates to around 1920. The roof of Frank Shelton’s barn at Bear was being relieved of its snow burden.
72103.jpg—Almost exactly 75 years ago (February 12, 1938) there was 4 ½ feet of snow on the ground at Council. Interestingly, the streets look very well cleared. Mechanized equipment was in its infancy at the time, and even the main highway was not kept clear of snow. Notice the horse team (or teams?) in front of the Weed Store on the left. The People’s Theater is the first (lighter) building in the background to the right of the street.
2-21-08
Changing Times
As soon as better roads were built through the Council Valley in the 1920s, and as cars and trucks came into routine use, the P&IN railroad began to see a decline in business. The company resented this because the railroad had been responsible for much of the success of the communities up and down its line. It had played an especially key role in the rise of the fruit industry here. Ironically, it had also paid significant amounts of taxes in the area--part of which went to build the auto roads that became its competition.
In an effort to compete, the railroad tried several alternatives to their expensive-to-operate steam engines. A unique passenger vehicle began service in 1920. It was little more than a gasoline-powered passenger bus converted to rail service, officially called the M-1. It broke axles frequently, and was pulled off the line in 1923.
In 1923 a diesel-powered passenger vehicle started running on the PIN line. The engine had such a long, slow piston stroke that the train jerked slightly when each cylinder fired. The resulting rocking motion was one reason it became affectionately known as the "Galloping Goose." About 1947, diesel engines that didn't directly drive the wheels came into use here. These engines were coupled to electric generators that powered electric-motor-driven wheels, and the "galloping" effect was eliminated. Several models of galloping goose vehicles were used on the P&IN over the years.
Many other rail lines across the U.S. had vehicles that people called a “galloping goose.” I suppose most railroads started using this type of vehicle to compete with cars at about the same time, around 1920.
As a result of financial problems, the P&IN was purchased by the Union Pacific Railroad in 1936. In 1950 passenger service between Weiser and New Meadows was discontinued. By the late 1980s the heyday of the railroad was long over. The rails between Tamarack and New Meadows were removed. In 1996 and '97 the tracks between Weiser and Tamarack were taken out. To old-time residents, the canyons along the Weiser River that for almost a century had echoed with the sounds of a train whistle, became strangely quiet.
If anyone out there is not familiar with the book that Don Dopf and I wrote about the P&IN line, they are still available for $20. Contact either Don or me to get a copy, or they are for sale in Cambridge at Kay York’s Heartland Gallery.
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Photo captions:
95497.jpg and 95286L.jpg—I’m not sure whne these photos of trains on the P&IN were taken, but it may well have been the record-breaking winter of 1948-49. The picture of the locomotive pushing a big pile of snow looks like trouble to me. It was not unheard of for snow to pack under an engine so hard that some of the wheels would derail. The Idaho Northern line down the Payette River was plagued with snow slides because of the steep mountainsides. One time a snow slide picked a locomotive up and sat if off the tracks. For a while during the winter of 1948-’49 that line was shut down because of snow.
2-28-08
MINING
The early settlement of Idaho was built on a foundation of mining. Mineral wealth induced the first non-native people to come here. These miners provided a market for the produce and labor of Council area homesteaders and enabled them to have more than a life of bare subsistence. Miners and homesteaders made possible the inception of stores, blacksmith shops and freight lines; schools, churches and opera houses; telephones, toilets and tonsorialists. The need to transport heavy ore from the mines provided the initial push to bring in the lifeblood of early commerce: the railroad.
Gold lured the first prospectors to what is now Idaho. Most of the gold taken from the earliest mining districts was found in "placer" deposits containing "free" gold in the form of nuggets or gold "dust." Sometimes placer gold could be found lying on the surface of the ground, in a streambed, or even on an ocean beach. Most Idaho placer gold was found under the surface of the ground where it had settled into low spots along ancient riverbeds. Miners removed the soil above the gold deposits, then washed or "sluiced" promising material with water to separate the gold. In most cases this was a process that anyone could do with simple hand tools, and a man could find a fast fortune with little more than a shovel and gold pan.
Gold imbedded in quartz veins was a different story. Some kind of mill was usually necessary to break up the ore so the gold could be separated from it. For this reason, little attention was paid to quartz mining in Idaho until the end of the 1860s when there seemed to be no new placer claims to exploit. During 1870 and 1871 a handful of the Territory's more ambitious miners processed quartz veins that held relatively free gold, using only picks, shovels and mortars.
Soon those willing to invest the time and money went after the tougher gold-bearing quartz ore lodes. This was risky business. The mills required to process quartz ore were expensive and difficult to bring into remote country. In one instance in the 1860's, it took 48 freight wagons to bring a single stamp mill from Umatilla over the Blue Mountains to a remote camp in the Boise area. Only a couple of the early quartz gold mines in central Idaho succeeded for long.
Stamp mills were the most commonly used ore mills in Idaho. A large wheel turned a camshaft that raised and dropped a series of rods. The rods had heavy cylindrical pestles on the bottom ends that hammered the ore. Ball mills, such as the one built at Placer Basin, worked like a giant rock tumbler. Heavy steel balls fell on the ore to break it up. A third, less common type of mill was the "arrastra." This mill, Spanish in origin and name, operated something like a huge flour grinder. It used a large, flat, horizontal stone or a series of round stones that rotated on top of a second horizontal stone surface.
For the first several decades of settlement in and around the Council Valley, many people had mining claims that they worked in addition to their principal vocation. For some it was little more than a hobby. For others, like Lewis Winkler, it was a second business that became a way of life. Lewis, in partnership with various people including his brother, Bill Winkler, ran a blacksmith shop for a number of years in Council. Every spring between 1914 and 1939 Lewis turned the shop over to someone else, and spent the summer working his Golden Anchor gold mine northeast of McCall.
There were (and are) two kinds of mining claims. A "patented" claim was purchased, and the owner had title to the land. Any other claim was "unpatented." A person holding an unpatented claim was required to have it "assessed" once every year in order to keep it. In the early days the claim holder had to perform $100 worth of work per year in order to keep rights to the claim.
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Photo captions:
97021.jpg---Buildings at the Golden Anchor Mine, probably in the 1930s. The long building in the center was a bunkhouse.
95495.jpg—Wedding portrait of Lewis Winkler and Nancy Harriet Cossitt Winkler about 1890.
00190.jpg—The ore mill at Black Lake is a classic example of the kind of investment that was necessary to extract gold from hard rock. The boy sitting on the stump in the foreground is Ted Hagar, age 12.
3-6-08
The Seven Devils Mines
Even though Levi Allen discovered copper ore in the Seven Devils in 1862, no mining was done there until more than twenty years later. One reason was the Indian wars that made the region dangerous all through the 1860s. Also, the Seven Devils were so remote and rugged that no one could figure a practical way to get the ore out. And even if they did get the ore out of the mountains, what could they do with it? Copper was a very new segment of the mining industry in the United States, and there was no great market for it. There wasn't even a smelter in America to process the ore.
In 1882 Marcus Daly finally got the ball rolling when he found copper deposits in Montana. He was actually looking for silver, but there was too much copper there to ignore. His interest in copper was undoubtedly fueled by the fact that Thomas Edison had just used the first commercial power plant to light a section of New York City. Electricity was the future. Copper was second only to silver as a conductor of electricity, and since copper was stronger, more abundant, and much cheaper, it was becoming the standard material for electrical wiring. The demand for copper, and the chance to get rich from it, increased dramatically in the early 1880s. By the middle of decade, even western towns like Boise were spinning webs of wire above their streets for telephones and electric lights.
At first (1882 - 1884), the Montana copper ore was shipped all the way to Swansea, Wales to be refined. After that (apparently about 1884), Daly built a smelter at Butte, Montana, and laid the foundations of what was to become the huge Anaconda Copper Company.
The Heath Mining District, northwest of Cambridge, was more accessible than the Seven Devils district, so it started booming a few years earlier. Ruthburg, the first town there, had a post office in 1881. Both the Heath and Seven Devils mining districts are in what is known as the "Snake River Copper Belt." This belt lies on both sides of the Snake River, beginning near Hitt Mountain west of Cambridge, and extending north about 120 miles to Craig Mountain near Grangeville. It varies from one to forty miles wide.
Many copper claims were staked in the early 1880s by individual prospectors in the "Hornet Creek Mining District," as the Seven Devils district was then called.
Because the last four miles between Bear and the mines could not be negotiated with a wagon, everything taken to the mines was hauled on foot or by pack animal.
In 1885 activity in the Devils started to increase. The biggest news that year was the arrival of wealthy Montana entrepreneur, Albert Kleinschmidt. Kleinschmidt and his partners were the first to have enough money and expertise to get things rolling. With Kleinschmidt's arrival, hopes in the area ran high. Stores, saloons, and sawmills sprang up at a townsite that later would be called "Helena" near the Peacock mine.
In 1888 Kleinschmidt hauled the first ore out of the Seven Devils. The ore was packed on horses the first four miles to the road at Bear Creek. The point where the pack animals were unloaded into wagons was a few miles north of the present community of Bear. [There is a corral on the east side of the road there.] From there the ore was freighted almost 100 miles by wagon to Weiser, and then shipped by rail to a smelter.
I would like to thank Otto Davis for a generous donation to the museum in memory of his wife, June. June was an ever-faithful volunteer at the museum, and she will be greatly. missed.
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Photo captions:
95439.jpg—Levi and Olivia Allen. Levi discovered the copper deposits in the Seven Devils and is operated a series of sawmills in the Adams County area.
99511.jpg—Remains of buildings at Helena in the 1980s. The old townsite is now private property. A combination of logging operations and a fire in 1988 have left no sign of the old town today.
95077L.jpg—Helena in its heyday. L to R: Helena Postmaster Ferdinand Allers, Mr. Arthur (?), John L. Thompson, seated men unknown.
3-13-08
A Devil of a Road
In 1890 Kleinschmidt started building his "Kleinschmidt Grade" from the Peacock Mine all the way to the Snake River. His plan for the new road was to haul ore to the river with wagons, and transport it from there with a steamship. In October of 1890 the Kleinschmidt Grade was completed and the first load of ore was taken all the way to Weiser in a wagon.
Winifred Lindsay has often been quoted as saying the Kleinschmidt Grade was completed on July 31, 1891. I believe confusion was caused by the fact that the first direct mention of the completed road was in the Idaho Citizen, July 31, 1891 issue quoting W.H. Whyman of Helena: "He says business is dull in the Seven Devils since the completion of the Kleinschmidt wagon road." The Weiser Leader, Oct 31, 1890, said, "The new road has been completed directly to the mines, thus making a complete wagon road from Weiser to this great copper camp." Since a road from Council was not completed to the mines until 1893 or later, this has to refer to the Kleinschmidt Grade. A more obvious reference was made in the Weiser Leader, Nov 28, 1890, quoting from the Baker City "Bed Rock Democrat: "The road from Helena to Snake river landing, a distance of fifteen miles, is completed." This would too late in the year to use it much until the next summer.
It was a crushing blow to the mining district when Kleinschmidt's grand plan failed. The Snake River proved to be too shallow and rapid to run a steamship. A shadow of gloom and inactivity fell over the district. Kleinschmidt's defeat would not be the last time the transportation dilemma would strangle bold dreams of wealth in the Seven Devils. These mountains quickly earned a reputation as being as unfriendly to human endeavor as any place on earth.
Aside from the transportation problem, there was a deeper difficulty--literally. All over the mining district prospectors found tantalizing signs of mineral wealth that made their eyes gleam. The district was unique in that portions of the copper deposits ore were lying right on the surface of the ground instead of being buried deep in the earth. The ore did have some of the richest in copper content ever found; the problem was that appearances were deceiving.
In Montana, copper had been found in large, continuous veins. There was no reason to expect anything else in Idaho. But ancient geologic activity in the Seven Devils had stirred the minerals of these mountains into a giant rock salad. The copper here was found in intermittent pockets that ranged from the size of a car, to the size of a house. A tunnel would often be started into rich ore, but it would quickly hit worthless rock.
The cycle of activity in the Seven Devils developed into a monotonous pattern. First, a mining company formed, either for an individual mine or a group of them. Several times a single company bought up all the major mines in the district. These companies were usually financed by investors from the eastern U.S. Next, large amounts of money were spent on equipment and other improvements. This often took most of the season and was an economic boon to the area, providing local employment and income for everyone in the region from farmers to hardware merchants. Next, extraction of ore began. During this stage, any or all of the following happened: the ore vein ran out, transportation became too expensive, winter set in, or the money ran out. Giant mining companies backed by Eastern investors and individual prospectors following their dreams came and went. Many fortunes were poured into dry wishing wells in the Seven Devils.
Photo captions:
95110.jpg—Looking west across the town of Landore in the Seven Devils Mining District. The Arkansas Mine (the tailings piles anyway) is obvious at the far end of the main street.
05078.jpg—A map of the Arkansas Mine from a book by D.C. Livingston and F.B. Laney called "The Copper Deposits of the Seven Devils and Adjacent Districts" published by the Idaho Bureau of Mines and Geology in 1920.
95134L.jpg—This photo of a wagon hauling copper ore from a Seven Devils mine illustrates the challenges this terrain posed.
3-20-08
Riches Beyond Imagination
I’m sure many of you recognized the picture of the old Boise Payette sawmill at Council with last week’s column that was labeled as “Landore.” I apologize for that. The way this happens is that the over 2500 photos in the museum database each have a number. I typed in one wrong digit when I attached the photo to my column when I emailed it to the paper, and a totally different picture got sent. I hope some of you got a chuckle from my mistake.
Now, back to Landmarks:
In spite of the fact that efforts in the Seven Devils were met with failure time after time, exuberant optimism was the rule. All during the mining "boom" in the Seven Devils, newspaper editors never seemed to run short of extravagant praise. On the lighter side, it was once printed (tongue in cheek in the Idaho Citizen, Feb 5, 1891) that several people in the mining district had made a good living by shooting grouse that had gold nuggets in their craws. When they were more serious, editors constantly quoted experts as saying the Seven Devils held the richest copper deposits in the world. One paper (The Boston Daily Advertiser, June 16, 1890) claimed the wealth buried here could pay off the national debt. The winner of the hyperbole prize, however, had to be D.C. Boyd, editor of the Seven Devils Standard, when he printed, “ . . . the ore in sight on one mine in the Seven Devils is sufficient to yield four times the product of the whole United States for one whole year, or twice the entire product of the whole world, . . ."
Evidently, investors and adventurers of the day were gullible enough to swallow such tales, and personal fortunes and careers were wagered on the success of the mines. As a result, dissatisfied investors brought a third challenge to mining in the Seven Devils: law suits. Some mines were too bogged down in legal problems to do much digging.
One element that stood out in the memories of the old time miners was mud. Water was vital to placer gold operations. For this reason, mines were put into operation as early in the season as possible to take advantage of spring runoff. At this time of year roads became rivers of mud where wagons sank up to their axles.
Mud was an especially prevalent part of life in the Seven Devils Mining District because spring came late, winter came early, and every day counted. Early in the season, mine employees sometimes spent days removing snow banks from shaded parts of the road where it had not yet melted so that supplies could be hauled in and ore could be hauled out. At this time of year the smell of drying wool clothing hung heavily in the air of every stuffy cabin.
Throughout the 1890s things followed the standard Seven Devils routine: extravagant claims were made, mines changed hands, and fortunes were lost. The one bit of real progress was that a road was finally built from Bear to the Kleinschmidt Grade, connecting the mines to Council, about 1893. Meanwhile, other parts of Idaho were earning the State a ranking of third place in the nation for mining income.
Finally in 1898, hopes soared again. Another, smaller, steamship was launched on the Snake River to haul ore, and a smelter was built at Cuprum. The town of Landore was also established that year, and it was announced that a railroad would be built from Weiser to the mines. The Salubria Citizen summed up the renewed optimism: "Our ship has arrived, cargo discharged and she's sailed away again for another cargo. O! we're in it; and the transportation problem is solved." But the smelter and the steamship both failed. Optimism, and several mines, went down with them.
The Blue Jacket Mine carried on bravely. In 1899 and 1900 the company had 40 to 50 wagons on the road to Weiser, filling one railroad car with ore each week. In 1899 a railroad was actually started north from Weiser. In 1901 it reached Council. In spite of the resulting resurgence of confidence, the mood of the following several years fluctuated between dim and dismal. This was partly because of the Thunder Mountain gold rush in 1902. The huge gold discoveries there overshadowed the Seven Devils as the predominant destination for miners and money.
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Photo captions:
95107.jpg--Dr. Frank Brown is in the buggy, at left, at his house in Council, sometime between 1901 and 1905. This is looking east, and as near as I can tell this house was about 1/2 block north of Illinois Avenue on Exeter Street. The Carruthers & O'Toole warehouse is in background just above the left end of the roof of the house. The warehouse was near the railroad depot at the east end of Illinois Avenue (until the railroad was rerouted in 1906)—about where the Chevron service station sat (now a vacant lot) where the highway turns north out of Council. During the mining boom in the Seven Devils, ore wagons would make their way up the dusty street through Council to the depot to unload onto rail cars. For many years copper ore could be found lying on the ground at the old depot site. The old railroad grade is still visible today in the vacant lots just south of this location.
95110L.jpg—This is the picture of Landore and the Arkansas Mine that should have appeared in last weeks issue.
Bluejacket.jpg—Two views of the Blue Jacket Mine in the Seven Devils. Today this steep hillside just above the road up Garnet Creek is covered with brush and hardly recognizable.
3-27-08
The End of the Dream
The Seven Devils Mining District earned a reputation for producing gold as well as copper. Deposits of gold ore were found at various locations along a strip beginning about four miles north of Bear and extending north about another 14 miles. The most successful gold mines were at Black Lake where an ore mill started production in 1902. More questionable gold diggings existed farther north at Iron Springs and Rankin's Mill.
In 1904 the Seven Devils faithful pinned their hopes to another savior when a copper smelter was built at Landore. It went into operation that winter, and soon produced its first "matte": a 24" X 10" X 12" bar of pure copper that weighed over 400 pounds. As nearly as I can tell, copper was going for 16.22 cents a pound in 1900. So, that 400-pound matte would have been worth about $64.88 in 1900. A dollar in 1900 would buy over 20 times more than it would today, so in today’s money that matte would have been worth about $1300 in 1900. At today’s price of around $3.50 a pound, the 400-pound matte would still be worth about $1400 today.
Anyone reading the local newspapers during the first days of 1905 could not have believed that anything other than prosperity had arrived in the Seven Devils. The place was a beehive of progress. The Landore smelter began processing 60 tons of ore every day. Towns flourished and grew. It seemed that every mining company was pouring tens of thousands of dollars into new machinery and mining hundreds of tons of "the richest ore in the world." Towns all over the world were beginning to use the new miracle of electricity, increasing demand for copper even more. The market price seemed to have wings. (The price of copper seems to have spiked at an all time high around 1915.) The U.S. was producing more than half of the world's copper supply, and there was no reason to believe the Seven Devils would not play a starring role in that production. It was just unimaginable that such a sure thing could go sour.
But it did. After several attempts to make it work more efficiently, the Landore smelter proved to be impractical. It shut down, and the downward cycle started once again.
By 1909 the old confidence reappeared like a long-lost relative wearing a new suit. Even the old fantasy of a railroad to the mines was dusted off and trotted out. In 1910 the mood was reinforced when the Arkansas mine began hiring every available man. This glorious facade of prosperity was sustained into the middle of the decade.
As always, the party ended. This time the players seemed tired of the game. Buildings began to be abandoned. Wagon traffic dwindled. After years of struggling against the odds, the Ford brothers abandoned their gold operations at Black Lake in 1914. By 1916 the Arkansas was the only major mine still running. When half of downtown town Landore burned to the ground that summer, not even the post office bothered to rebuild or find new quarters. By 1920 everything had ground to a halt. A few diehard individuals hung on in the Seven Devils, but the curtain had closed and the audience had gone home.
During the 1920s the Red Ledge mine, on Deep Creek near the Snake River, was heralded as the new champion of the mining district's future. But before much could be accomplished, the company became bound up in legal entanglements that dragged on for ten years. When the case was settled in 1937, the reborn company rushed forth to reap its fame and fortune and immediately fell flat on its face. Over the course of several decades at least one million dollars were spent on the Red Ledge, both at the mine and in the courtroom, without marketing a single pound of ore.
During the 1930s and '40s an increase in the price of gold resulted in a minor resurgence of activity at Black Lake and a major project at Placer Basin. The Helena copper mine was also rejuvenated at this time.
In 1952 demand for tungsten and molybdenum, which had previously been undesirable nuisance minerals in the Seven Devils, prompted the temporary reworking of a few of the old copper mines.
The Peacock, South Peacock and Queen mines have been intermittently worked by individuals in fairly recent years. The old Copper Cliff silver mine, just above Cuprum, was reopened and intensively worked for silver in the 1970s until prices sank too low.
At this writing all of the Seven Devils claims lie idle. A few rusting steam boilers, tailings piles and rotting log cabins rest between the folds of the mountains like bookmarks left to lead visitors to the stories lying there.
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Photo captions:
98311.jpg--Payette National Forest Archaeologist, Larry Kingsbury, at the Peacock Mine in 1991. Copper Creek runs north in the background. The 1988 Eagle Bar fire had stripped away the brush and trees to reveal some of the previously hidden remains of the mining boom. At the old site of Helena, the outline of every cabin—even ones long absent-- was made visible by the fire. But by the time Kingsbury and I got up there to map out the old town, erosion had wiped out most of the clues. Larry did find an 1825 quarter on this day, which is now in the museum.
95145L.jpg—The Helena Mine is at the right edge of the road in this old photo. Today, the road is in the same place and the old tunnel entrance is still evident. There are also several old tunnels up the hill to the right. The Blue Jacket Mine was on the hillside to the upper left in the photo but isn’t visible here. In Heidi Bigler Cole’s book, A Wild Cowboy, this photo is miss-labeled as “Helena,” instead of “Helena Mine.” The mine was not really very near the old townsite.
4-3-08
Other Mineral Resources
Copper and gold were not the only materials of value mined in the Council area. Coal was found near Indian Valley as early as 1884. Other coal deposits were found on Rapid River, Crane Creek and the Middle Fork of the Weiser River. The Middle Fork deposit, discovered about 1895, had some pieces of coal that were eight inches thick. Several blacksmiths in the area used coal from Middle Fork to fire their forges during the 1890s. Coal was mined at Middle Fork least through 1908, but its contribution to local supplies and the economy was evidently negligible.
Mica, a crystalline mineral that forms in flat, clear sheets, was also mined along the Middle Fork of the Weiser River as early as 1884. The History of Idaho Territory, published that year, mentioned a mica mine that must have been here. Typical of grandiose writings of the time, the claims about the mine's production were exaggerated:
“Ninety miles northeast of Boise, near Weiser River, are two ledges, eight to ten feet wide each of mica. The mines are being developed, and thousands of tons of mica are now in the dumps. Clear, merchantable sheets, four by six inches in size, can be extracted in vast quantities.”
Gill Rinehart, known as "Mica Gill" was an early Middle Fork mica miner who built a cabin that stood on the ridge between Mica Creek and Corral creek until it was dismantled in 1998. The mica deposits on the Middle Fork were reworked to some extent during World War Two.
One local newspaper reported that oil was discovered just outside of Cambridge in 1901. If this discovery was real, nothing ever became of it.
Cuddy Mountain Mines
One of the enduring indications of how important mining was to early Council can be found on the town's street signs. Galena Street is named after the bluish gray mineral, galena, which is the primary source of lead. The best-known lead producing mines in this area were located on Cuddy Mountain.
The earliest mining activity on Cuddy Mountain occurred in the Heath Mining District on the steep southwestern slopes of the mountain, and was accessed through the Cambridge area. This area was a full-fledged mining district before the Seven Devils district got well started, but it faded sooner.
Interest in mining on Cuddy resurged in 1914 when John Freeze and Frank Peck discovered a gold vein near the head of Hornet Creek. (This was about eight miles west of the old Hornet Guard Station.) By 1924, new owners were turning one of these claims into a beehive of activity. Fifteen to twenty men were employed constructing roads and buildings. A sawmill and an ore mill were set up, and the sawmill supplied lumber to build a bunkhouse, a cookhouse, a warehouse, and four cabins. The next summer, this mine, by now known as the "Cuddy Mine," was running 24 hours a day with ten employees, and more buildings were under construction. I’m not sure if it’s still there, but there was still an icehouse standing at this site the last time I was there, just west of the road.
In 1928 the operators of the mine were using teams and wagons to haul ore to a point on Hornet Creek where it was transferred into trucks. Two tons at a time were hauled on the trucks.
The Cuddy Mine operated at least through the mid 1930s.
In the 1960s, iron ore was mined for a short time on the southern end of Cuddy Mountain.
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Photos:
95335.jpg—Drilling blasting holes for dynamite, inside the Blue Jacket mine in the Seven Devils Mining District. Even though a few mechanical drilling machines were in use during this time (early 1900s), they don’t seem to have been used in the Seven Devils. The man on the left is holding a drill rod. They were either a straight chisel shape (like a screwdriver), or had a star shaped tip. The drill was turned slightly after each blow with a hammer (by the man on the right). Sometimes two men did the hammer work. Notice the candle on the scaffold just under the drill man’s knee. Before the flash from the camera lit the cavern, this was all the light they had. It’s hard to see, but these guys are drilling straight up into the ceiling of the tunnel.
95405.jpg—Inside a mine at or near the Red Ledge in 1926. Drilling with a pneumatic (air-driven) machine.
moser Plow road off Mesa Hill.jpg—The way the snow settled recently outlined the old road (arrow) that George Moser started with a borrowed plow in 1876 off of the north side of Mesa Hill. This road was in use until the 1920s when the paved road just above it was built. That’s the Middle Fork Road leaving the highway on the left.
4-10-08
Smokey Jones gave me some information about the tungsten mining that occurred at the Peacock Mine in the Seven Devils Mining District. Smokey drove a truck hauling ore from the Peacock to Council in 1952. He thinks Bill Shearer and Roy Scrivens owned the mine at that time. They were primarily mining for tungsten, but the gold, silver and copper in the ore also brought some money.
At the Peacock, a crew of men working with shovels filled an ore bin. The bin was down below the open pit so it could be done without machinery. The truck was filled via a chute from this bin, and every other day Smokey hauled two loads, of ten tons each load to a semi parked near the Forest Service buildings at the east end of Council. Interestingly, since that’s near the old depot where ore wagons used to load copper ore into railcars.
Smokey drove the semi, loaded with the 20 tons of ore, to Winnemucca, Nevada where he had a motel room reserved every other night. The next morning, he would unload the ore at a nearby mill and head back to Council. The next day the two-day cycle started over.
THE FRUIT INDUSTRY
Early settlers in the Council area tried to be as self-sufficient as possible. This was partly because they were far from any place to buy things, even if they could have generated cash to make such purchases. They also had a strong sense of individualism and independence that lingers in some of their descendants to this day. Whatever they could not or would not buy, they either made, grew, or got by without.
Food production was basic to their survival, and they tried growing a wide variety of crops. Early favorites were corn and beans. In the early 1890s one traveler through the valley noted that these two vegetables were being planted in almost every field. Some sugar cane was grown here very early on, and it became a popular crop in the 1920s and 1930s. Just after 1900, peanuts and tobacco were grown in Washington County-probably in warmer climates near Weiser.
One agricultural endeavor that was an early and immediate success here was fruit--especially apples. George Moser and George Winkler planted the first fruit trees in the Council Valley at about the same time, around 1880. Winkler was the first to actually harvest any fruit.
Although many early settlers grew a few fruit trees for their own use, William and Dora Black, who settled on Hornet Creek about 1888, are generally credited with starting the first commercial orchard in the County. Samples of fruit from the Blacks' orchard took a prize at the Chicago World's Fair in 1893, and some of their fruit was even sent to London and Paris for exhibition.
Even though local fruit was of high quality, the market was mostly limited to local sales for lack of a timely means of transportation. This changed with the arrival of the railroad at Council in 1901. By 1904 Benjamin Day, who now owned the Black place on Hornet Creek, was shipping apples to markets as distant as Walla Walla and Nampa. The next year he was sending apples to Chicago by the railroad car full, and area farmers were beginning realize that there was money to be made in fruit. By the end of 1905, about 5,000 new fruit trees had been planted in the Council area. A similar number of trees was planted here in the spring of 1906.
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84032.jpg--William and Dora Black’s ranch on Hornet Creek. This was the first commercial orchard in Council area-- established 1889. This place later belonged to Benjamin Day, August Kampeter, Bill Kampeter, and then Mac Gossard,
72067.jpg—Another shot of the William Black place, looking east. I could be wrong, but I think the pine tree just right of center is where the graves of William and Dora Black’s the two little boys who died of diphtheria in 1892 are located. The pine tree and the white fence around the graves beside it are still very visible from the Council-Cuprum Road.
4-17-08
The Fruit Industry Blooms
Other fruit pioneers in the Council area about this time were A. E. Wiffin, Seward Piper, Morgan Gifford, Eliza Sorenson, and Joseph Carr.
These orchards were on the slopes just east of town. Carr, who arrived here in 1903, is credited by some as initiating the fruit growing boom in the Council Valley. In 1907 he took an exhibit of apples to the National Horticultural Congress at Council Bluffs, Iowa, and brought home seven silver cups as prizes, plus a number of medals and ribbons.
That same year (1907) local fruit men organized the Council Valley Fruit Growers Association. They encouraged the planting and promotion of commercial orchards, and triggered a dynamic chapter in Council's history.
By 1908 there were about 175 acres of young fruit trees growing in the Council area. The Growers Association sent an exhibit to the Boise fair and won 22 first prizes and 8 second prizes for their apples. Once again, apples were sent to the National Horticultural Congress in Council Bluffs, where they won 17 prizes.
Suddenly orchards were the rage in the area, and it seemed that everyone was jumping on the bandwagon. Local businessmen came up with a logo depicting a red apple accompanied by the slogan "The Home of the Big Red Apple" which was placed on envelopes, banners, and other promotional material.
The editor of the Council Leader newspaper championed the cause by bragging, "Council Valley possesses a peculiar climatic condition which worms cannot become climated to." He also claimed, "An apple failure on account of frost is something that has never been known of here."
In the spring of 1909, about 20,500 young fruit trees were shipped to the Council Valley to be planted. The Forest Service even joined in the frenzy by designating the Stevens Ranger Station near the East Fork of the Weiser River as an experiment station where various fruit trees were to be grown to determine which varieties were best suited for the local climate.
The most ambitious plan in the area was a project called the "Council Mesa Orchards." It would eventually be renamed the "Mesa Orchards Company." The goal was nothing less than the biggest orchard in the United States to be planted eight miles south of Council. There was already a post office at, or near, this location in 1908, under the name "Middle Fork." The name of the post office was changed to "Mesa" in 1912.
John J. Allison started the idea for Mesa Orchards in 1908. He had searched all over the West for five years for just such a place. The name "Mesa" was inspired by a trip Allison had made to Teirra Blanca, Mexico in 1903.
The land at Mesa was being dry farmed without much success by several homesteaders. Allison, along with George Weise and Oberlin M. Carter, organized the Weiser Valley Land & Water Company, which purchased several thousand acres from the homesteaders. [Sources vary as to how many acres were purchased, from 3,300 to 6,000. By 1919, there were 1250 acres planted to fruit.] The company then sold ten-acre parcels to individual investors at $400 to $500 per acre. For that price the company would plant fruit trees, care for them for five years, plus pay 3% interest on the buyer's investment. After five years the owner could operate independently, or the company would continue to do the work for 10% of the net profit. The company would also build a house for the buyer, charging what it cost the company for "materials, labor, and supervision."
More on the fruit industry next week.
Photo 98248.jpg—Looking west at Council in 1909 from the Joseph Carr place east of Council. This photo appeared on the front page of the Council Leader, March 18, 1910 courtesy of Bowman - Holmes Co. (realtors). Notice the rows of fruit trees in the foreground.
95285L.jpg-- Council Valley fruit exhibit at the National Horticultural Congress at Council Bluffs, Iowa in 1910. Joseph Carr of Council prepared this exhibit. I may be hard to see, but there are several trophies in the closest section of apples, which is the section for Washington County fruit. (Adams County was broken off of Washington County the next year.) Several such trophies—maybe even the ones in this photo—are on display at the Council Valley Museum.
84029.jpg--Idaho Governor J.H. Brady (center, with hat in hand) and Edgar Heigho, Vice President and General Manager of the P&IN Railroad standing behind a fruit exhibit at the Council railroad depot about 1909. The boxes in front of the table were full of apples before the crowd was invited to help themselves. This photo was on the front page of the May 21, 1909 Adams County Leader, and was made into postcards. The event was an excursion from Weiser to Council by 500 people attending the Oregon - Idaho Development Congress at Weiser.
4-24-08
Water Woes
One of the first hurdles to be overcome was getting irrigation water to the mesa. An ambitious scheme was devised whereby the company would take water out of the Middle Fork of the Weiser River. The only problem was that all the water rights to this river had already been claimed. Their solution was to build a $50,000 dam on Lost Creek, about 25 miles to the north, creating a reservoir. They would then trade this reservoir water for water they would take from the Middle Fork.
Before a single drop of water could be put on the Mesa Company's land, a seven-mile-long, wooden flume had to be built to convey the water from the Middle Fork, plus several miles of ditches had to be dug. The cost was estimated at $300,000.
To put things in perspective, the 50 grand spent on the dam would be equal to about one million dollars today, and the $300,000 for the flume and ditches would be about $6 million.
By the fall of 1909 the Lost Valley Reservoir dam was completed and Council Valley fruit had won several more top prizes at the Horticultural Congress in Council Bluffs. The Mesa Company ordered 80,000 nursery trees to set out the following spring, was building a sawmill on the Middle Fork to cut lumber for the flume, and had 100 men employed digging ditches.
In 1909, a new townsite was established about seven miles north of Council. In keeping with the local trend of the day it was called "Fruitvale," and most of the streets were named after apple varieties. Someone asked me recently if Fruitvale was named for all the orchards there. In fact Fruitvale never became a fruit-growing center. A few people had small orchards, but there were no packinghouses or commercial orchards. Lucy McMahan came up with the name for the town--probably because it was trendy. There was a division of Weiser named Fruit Vale at the time.
Profits on investments in apples here in 1909 were said to be $100 per acre on six-year-old trees, and $600 per acre on 10 to 12 year old trees. Peaches, pears, plums, grapes and prunes were also becoming popular. Strawberries were a favorite, yielding $500 to $900 per acre to the grower. Considering how fast and loose promoters played with facts and figures, it is anyone's guess as to what the actual profits were.
The desire of investors and homesteaders to get in on this type of moneymaking bandwagon produced a multitude of land schemes in the West during this period. A popular practice of promoters was to buy land cheap, plant fruit trees, then sell tracts at high prices to people from the east who had idealistic visions of a homestead in the great western outdoors. Thousands of acres were exploited in this manner, and it had a negative influence on fruit prices at times even though the land involved was often not suitable for growing fruit.
In the spring of 1910, local growers ordered 300,000 more trees, and the Mesa company was hiring every man it could find. Large advertisements started appearing in the Weiser newspaper:
LARGEST SINGLE ORCHARD TRACT IN THE U.S.
A 10-acre farm in Council Mesa Orchard will provide a living income for life.
72,000 trees planted in the last two months.
Water supply perfect and abundant and a perpetual water right follows the land.
In spite of these claims, irrigation was not adequate that year, and most of the trees died. Water was hauled in barrels on wagons until the irrigation system was finally completed in 1911.
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Photos:
96068.jpg—The five trophies and ribbons won at the Horticultural Congress in Council Bluffs in 1909. Several of these awards are on display in the Council Valley Museum.
01017.jpg—A small section of the finished flume. The rotting remains of the flume are still very visible along the hillsides south of the Middle Fork Road.
0001.jpg—The flume under construction in 1910.
5-1-08
By 1912 another ambitious fruit growing effort was starting on the slopes northeast of Council, east of highway 95 and mostly between Orchard Road and Mill Creek Road. The powerhouse behind this project, called "The Council Valley Orchards," was C.E. Miesse (pronounced Mee-see) of Chicago. Miesse had been the president of the Weiser Valley Land and Water Company. Now, as president of this new company, he was overseeing the planting of 17,000 peach trees, 2,000 pear trees, and 13,000 apple trees on land that had previously grown nothing but "sage brush, rocks and a tangled mass of shrubbery." The goal was a 500-acre orchard that would employ 75 to 100 workers seasonally and 1500 workers to harvest the crop in the fall.
The "Orchard District," as this area came to be known, included independent fruit growers along with members of the "Council Orchard Company." The district developed rapidly, and soon had a population that supported its own school. The "Orchard School" was on the southeast corner of the intersection of Mill Creek road and Missman road.
Since newly planted fruit trees would not yield a crop until they had acquired some degree of maturity, both the Mesa and Council orchards adopted the successful practice of growing potatoes between the young trees. Asparagus was another crop grown in this way at Mesa. Asparagus kept sprouting up between the trees there years after the company had stopped planting it.
In 1911 a temporary school was built at Mesa. In the summer of 1912, one of the more expensive schoolhouses in Adams County was built at Mesa at a cost of about $5,000 [about $100,000 today]. This was a high cost per child since there were only nine students at the time. The building had two classrooms plus an assembly room upstairs for public gatherings.
By the fall of 1912 it was estimated that there were 3,000 acres of orchard within a twelve and a half mile radius of Council. The reputation of the Council area as a fruit-growing cornucopia was attracting investors from all over the U.S. That September some Illinois men arrived to look at the local orchards. According to the Council Leader, they had heard that "Council Valley was regarded as one of the safest and best fruit districts in the state." They proclaimed this area was "almost a miracle in fruit raising." The editor, who accompanied the men on their local tour, went on to say, "While going through Mr. Hildenbrand's big orchard he offered us one hundred dollars if we could find a single worm in his orchard."
The orchards didn't seem to have any problems with insect pests, but blight, a contagious disease that killed trees, was present and very much feared. A State fruit inspector made regular examinations of local orchards, and outbreaks of this affliction were taken very seriously. Several local orchard men were arrested and tried in court for not destroying their infected trees after the inspector had ordered them to do so.
Local fruit growing businesses continued to be successful, even through the agricultural depression of the 1920s, and provided badly needed seasonal jobs for local residents. But this self-proclaimed fruit grower's Eden was not to be without its serpent. As the automobile became more common and people and goods traveled faster and farther, noxious weeds and crop-damaging insects began to hitchhike into the area. By 1920 the blister mite, one of the worst enemies of fruit growers of that time, had appeared in orchards at Council and Mesa.
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Photos:
01028.jpg—The Mesa School in its heyday.
98398.jpg—The back of the Mesa School a few years before it was torn down.
95069L.jpg—This photo give a hint of the scope and appearance of the Council-Mesa Orchards when the acreage was first planted.
97022.jpg—The place where this circa 1910 photo was taken east of Orchard Road is very recognizable today, but the fruit trees are all gone.
5-8-08
In 1919 the Mesa Orchards came under the ownership and management of David W. Van Hoesen and Charles Seymour. Van Hoesen was a corporate lawyer from New York. After visiting Mesa some years before, he bought out most of the Eastern investors who had become impatient with their rate of return. Van Hoesen gave up his law practice and came to Mesa with Seymour, who owned the remaining shares of the orchard company.
Van Hoesen and Seymour began an intensive program of improvements. The combination general store and post office was expanded, a large cookhouse was built near it, and a large repair shop with a community center on the second floor was erected. The two houses that were built for Van Hoesen and Seymour seemed like mansions compared to the average local dwelling. Several smaller houses were erected for the year-around employees. The packinghouse and storage cellars were enlarged, and a warehouse was built for storing the modern equipment that was purchased. A well was drilled in the center of the town-site. Before that time, potable water at Mesa was a scarce commodity.
The most unique facility was constructed in 1920--a $45,000 tramway to carry fruit to the railroad three and a half miles to the north. The tram had 48 wooden towers that varied in height from 20 to 45 feet. Its 42 steel baskets each carried six to eight boxes of fruit. A storage and loading facility was also built along the railroad tracks.
One feature the early promoters had promised never became a reality; originally a trolley line was to transport passengers to and from a railroad depot that was planned near the foot of the mesa.
It is hard to say whether the Mesa Orchards Company achieved its goal of having the biggest orchard in the nation. Some have claimed that it was the biggest orchard in the world. Since human nature ardently follows the adage that a good story is better than the truth, the actual size of the orchard in comparison to its peers is hard to pin down. At its peak in 1929, about 1,250 acres were actually growing fruit trees at Mesa--significantly short of its goal of 4,000 acres. A 1929 issue of the Adams County Leader printed what may be a realistic estimation of the Mesa Orchards as, "one of the largest commercial orchards under one head operated anywhere in the northwest."
A publication called, “A Guide in Work & Picture -- American Guide Series" first printed in 1937, with its most recent edition in 1968, said Mesa Orchards, at 1,200 acres, was "... one of the largest apple orchards in the world."
Mynderse Van Hoesen told a story that put the size of the orchards in context for him:
The tramway received a lot of publicity. I recall a couple of fellows arriving at the Orchards one day and asking if they could inspect the tramway. It turned out they were from Honolulu and had been sent to Mesa by some Hawaiian Pineapple interests to ascertain if the tramway would be feasible to transport pineapples from the fields to the cannery. Incidentally, we thought they would be impressed when we told them we had about 1250 acres in fruit trees, but upon being asked their acreage they replied that the small area they were thinking about contained about 12,000 acres.
In December of 1920, Charles Seymour was killed in a warehouse fire. Van Hoesen then took Horace Woodmansee as a partner. Woodmansee evidently bought out Seymour’s share from his family, as he moved into the former Seymour house. Woodmansee supervised the construction of an evaporator and several earth-covered cellars.
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photos:
95109—The top end of the Mesa tramway. The top cable was a larger one that did not move. The lower one moved and the tram carriages had a clutch type device (visible in photo) that grabbed this cable. The carriages were disengaged from the moving cable for loading and unloading.
05028-- Mesa tramway baskets in the foreground. The closer one is loaded with a tarp covering it, and the other is returning empty. The Van Hoesen houses are visible in the background. Two of the three houses are still standing at Mesa; one burned. The camera seems to be looking southwest.
96147-- Charles Seymour, co-owner of Mesa Orchards with Van Hoesen until he died in a fire in December 1920.
96146-- David W. Van Hoesen who bought the majority share of Mesa in 1919.
5-15-08
In November of 1921, David Van Hoesen was elected State Senator from Adams County. He was serving a second term when he died at Boise in January of 1923. His son, Enderse, filled out the remainder of his father's Senate term, and was reelected to a second term. Enderse and his brother, Mynderse, took their father's former position as managers of the orchards along with Woodmansee. It was after the death of David Van Hoesen that the company incorporated under the name by which it is best known, "The Mesa Orchards Company."
During this time there were few "outside" owners of property. A few of the original investors owned small lots that were managed by the Company. Several local men owned and operated orchards at Mesa. Among them were Clyde Rush, Gus Keckler, Peter Dahlgren, John DenBoer, H.L. Brooks, Stephen Nock, the Messingers, and Ed Hart.
During the 1920s the Orchard District expanded until fruit trees covered almost the entire area between Mill Creek and Orchard Road east of the highway. Men such as William Hoover, Lawson Hill, Addison Missman, Tom Nichols, and Frank Scholl were some of the prominent producers. These men, and others, built "packing plants" where apples were sorted, boxed, and then shipped via the railroad.
Hoover's packing plant was located on the southeast corner of the intersection of Orchard Road and Missman Road. When it was built in 1926 it was said to be the biggest one in the Council area, second only to Mesa's. It had a cement floor, contained a grading machine, and could store almost 80 railroad carloads of apples. (The largest cars held 795 boxes and took about a day to load.) When the packing plant was built, it took six railroad carloads of wood shavings as insulation to fill the walls. Hoover employed 40 pickers during the harvest season of 1927, and kept at least 40 more workers busy at the packing plant.
The Hoover packing plant was considered enough of a local point of interest that movie star, Gary Cooper, was given a tour of it when he stopped through town in 1947.
Each box of apples from the Hoover plant was labeled with the number and kind of apples. Another large label on the end of the box featured a big red apple on which was printed, "Council Brand, Idaho Apples" and the image of several Indian chiefs holding a council meeting.
In the early 1920s a railroad spur was built to service the packing plants in the Orchard District, and the power line was extended to them as well. The rail spur left the main line about where Orchard road crossed the tracks, and went straight east about to the highway. Addison Missman (for whom Missman road is named) built a big packing plant next to the main rail line and just north of the new spur. Bill Hoover built a second building along the south side of the spur near the highway to facilitate loading fruit into railroad cars. Frank Scholl had a similar structure between Hoover's loading facility and the main rail line.
Charles Lappin had an orchard to the north of the Orchard District on Lappin Lane. He had one of the first commercial orchards in the valley when the "fruit boom" began about 1907. In 1927 he employed 35 workers during the apple harvest. Frank Galey was another well-known fruit man. He had a sizable acreage on Mill Creek.
Lawson Hill's place was on the southeast corner of Mill Creek Road and Orchard Road. Bill Spahr's was just across the road to the north. Mrs. Spahr (Lucy) taught school at the Orchard school for a time, in the 1920s. At this writing, the old Spahr orchard is the only orchard in that district that has remained more or less intact. The Spahr house (still standing at this writing) drew attention as being unusual when it was built in 1935. It was constructed with rock, and also sat on a natural rock foundation from which the basement was reportedly excavated with dynamite.
Tom Nichols built a packinghouse on the north side of Orchard Road, about a quarter mile east of Missman Road, in 1924. Years later Herb Woods converted the packing shed into a home (2378 Orchard Road).
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Photos:
96146—David W. Van Hoesen
96145—Enderse Van Hoesen, son of David Van Hoesen. Enderse married Freda Soulen, sister of Harry Soulen. Harry was Phil Soulen’s father.
85014—The Mesa Store when Van Hoesen and Seymour owned the orchards. This building stood along the old highway long after the orchards were gone. Its demise came in October 1972 when Roy and Connie Mocaby’s new pre-manufactured home was being delivered. The house clipped a power line as it was going through Mesa and somehow caused a fire that burned down the old store building.
5-22-08
The stock market crash in the fall of 1929 proved to be the beginning of the end for the local fruit industry. As the nation sank into the Great Depression, local orchards were pulled down with it as fruit prices plummeted.
Because the fruit market failed to yield an adequate return, trees in the Orchard District were not maintained as well as they had been. The trees were older now, requiring more water, and water had become harder to get. Disease began to spread through the orchards, and many of the trees were destroyed. Only those trees that received adequate water and care survived the Depression years. Eventually most of the land in the Orchard District was sold off for homes and small farms.
There were four main reasons for the end of the fruit-growing boom in this, and other, areas:
1- Low fruit prices.
2- Cost of spraying. By the 1930s codling moths had apparently developed immunity to lead arsenate, which had been used to control them for many years. It took almost continual spraying during the growing season to keep the worms from taking over an orchard. Not every grower could afford this.
3- New Federal health regulations required the washing of apples with muriatic acid to remove lead arsenate. The cost of washing the apples was the least of the problems caused by this law. Muriatic acid hurt the keeping quality of apples, making refrigerated storage and transport almost a necessity. The average small grower only had cellars.
4- The accumulation of lead arsenate made it almost impossible to start new trees on ground where it had been sprayed routinely.
These were not the only problems caused by lead arsenate at Mesa. Thurn Woods remembered how the workhorses used in the orchards would slowly become sicker and sicker from eating the grass that grew between the trees. They would eventually have to be put down.
During the early days of the Depression, the Mesa Orchards seemed to be doing well, at least on the surface In 1933 more than 500 workers were employed to harvest apples. Each crew picked between 15,000 and 20,000 boxes. Eighteen trucks and 150 horses were used to transport fruit.
But by 1936 the Mesa Orchards were so far in debt that the court ordered its property to be sold. The property was purchased at a public auction by the Western Idaho Production Credit Association. According to the Leader, the price was $66,050. The orchards continued to operate under the management of F.H. Hogue.
Use of the Mesa tramway stopped about 1934; after the North - South Highway was built down the hill to the railroad, trucks were used to haul the apples to the tracks. Hugh Addington told Roy Mocaby that parts of the tram were taken to Sun Valley and used for the first ski lift there. In 1940 the tramway towers were in such dilapidated condition that the highway department declared the tram a safety hazard, and it was torn down.
In 1937 the management of Mesa was taken over by J.R. Fields. His father had been consulting horticulturalist there when the orchards were first started. The next year, the flume was rebuilt at a cost of $63,000.
The museum still needs some red fir logs to make timbers for the steam-powered sawmill. If you know of any available, please contact me.
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Photos
98043—Workers at Mesa getting aboard the flatbed trucks that would take them out to pick fruit. The south side of the store is on the right.
95434—Workers in the packing plant at Mesa, sorting and packing apples into baskets for shipment.
99496—Some of the horses that may have been euthanized after eating the lead arsenate-laden grass at Mesa. In the background is one of the tramway towers.
5-29-08
In 1941, and for a few years thereafter, apple prices were high. Growers who had survived the depression did well.
In 1943 the Production Credit Association sold the Mesa orchards to a partnership that included orchard manager, J.R. Fields. The partnership was headed by A.H. Burroughs Jr., a relative of the founders of the Burroughs Calculator Company.
The Burroughs partnership hired Harry Spence to manage the orchards late in WWII. Spence had been director of the University of Idaho extension service. In the late 1940s, Spence resigned from Mesa to be a foreign agricultural attaché for the U.S. State Department.
During World War II, the government used houses at Mesa to hold a few Japanese-American families in detention. Many adults worked for the Mesa Company, and several children from these families attended school in Council.
Sometime in the 1940s Burroughs built a cannery at Mesa that made applesauce from the inferior apples.
The 1945 and 1946 seasons stood out as being profitable for Mesa. Demand and prices for apples were high, and the income in one of those years was said to be $1 million. The apple harvest at Mesa in 1947 was said to be the largest in its history--about 500,000 boxes. That October, six train carloads were being shipped per day. Apple prices were low that year, so profits were only average.
1948 proved to be another very productive year for the few remaining fruit growers around Council. But the following winter brought another low to the floundering industry. After 63 consecutive days of temperatures that never rose above zero, many trees were weakened and never produced well again.
The wooden flume continued to be used up until the Burroughs partnership sold the orchards to the Byron Ball family in 1954. It was abandoned when government regulations made the cost of rebuilding it unreasonable. With no flume, there was no use keeping the water rights from the Middle Fork, and they were sold. By this time there were only 700 acres of orchards left at Mesa. After a series of crop failures and the death of Mr. Ball in 1960, the orchards fell into disuse. About 1967 Emma Ball sold out to a rancher from Parma who took out many of the remaining trees to make better pasture. Later the purchase fell through, and Balls took the property back. The land has since been used for livestock production or subdivided.
Even if it were possible to resurrect the success of Council's fruit-growing glory days, it could never be the same. Like many other businesses, modern fruit orchards have streamlined and standardized their product for mass consumption until only a few varieties are now grown. Since 1900, about 6,000 known varieties of apples (86% of those ever on record) have become extinct. Local orchards used to grow many varieties of apples that few of us have even heard of today. In 1904 Benjamin Day exhibited 43 varieties of apples at the Idaho State Fair. Seventy-five varieties were exhibited from Washington County as a whole.
Perhaps the most sad and fitting epitaph for Council Valley's fruit industry came when the last of the apple trees planted by Council's first family were removed. George Moser had planted an orchard where the high school now sits. By 1940 all but three of the original trees had been removed. Out of respect for this Moser legacy, the street even curved around these last trees where they grew on the corner, northwest of the new high school. They were thought to be the oldest fruit trees in the valley. These stalwart old Landmarks that had witnessed the birth of a community gave their lives to the bulldozer for street improvements in May of 1942.
The museum still needs some red fir logs to make timbers for the steam-powered sawmill. If you know of any available, please contact me.
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Photos
98037—“One of the barns at Mesa, and some of the spraying equipment.”
NOTE: 98143a & 98142 are separate shots taken from the same place and almost fit together, but not quite. If you could print them side-by-side with 98143a on the left, it would be good. One caption might be adequate for both:
“Two shots showing the center of operations at Mesa, probably in the 1920s.”
6-5-08
THE TIMBER INDUSTRY
The first houses in the Council Valley were built using unsawed logs, but board houses were more desired by settlers. With the influx of people in the 1880s, several sawmills went into operation to satisfy the demand for lumber.
Old timers generally agreed that the first sawmill in the Council Valley was built on Mill Creek, northeast of town, in about 1885. It was located approximately where the creek crosses the present Forest boundary. The mill was operated by John Wilkerson, a Mr. Snow, Fred Beier and A.H. Martin. It was reportedly a circular saw, run by waterpower. Many of the first homes in the valley were built with lumber from this mill.
Calvin White and D.W. Jennings had constructed a sash type mill in the Meadows Valley in 1884. (A sash mill had a single, straight saw blade that reciprocated up and down.) Frederick Wilkie also put his sash mill into operation on Hornet Creek that summer.
Over the following years, sawmills sprang up at various locations in the mountains. These were generally small, water-powered mills. They were set up within easy reach of timber, and when all the suitable trees nearby were sawed, the mill was moved to a new location. When steam traction engines arrived in the area sometime after 1900, moving and powering sawmills became much easier.
Sawmills were often built at mine locations to provide lumber for employee housing and other buildings. Besides lumber, early local mills also made roof shingles, apple boxes, and lath slats for plaster walls.
Levi Allen and his son, Charley, were among the first to establish mills in this region. Levi had mills in the Salubria area, and may have erected the first mill at Indian Valley. At various times he also had mills at Payette, Cuprum, Landore and Starkey.
The arrival of the railroad at Council in 1901 expanded the market area for local sawmills. Steve Richardson established the first sawmill in Council that year. It was located just north of the Weiser River Bridge (on the Council - Cuprum Road) on the east side of the river. By 1910 Richardson had moved on to establish what may have been the first mill at Tamarack.
By 1909 Council had a planing mill with two planers and an edger, finishing lumber supplied by a sawmill on Hornet Creek. This may have been the beginnings of the Council Lumber Company--Council's first real lumber business--which filed articles of incorporation in 1911. The company continued until it went through bankruptcy and the mill was sold in 1925. The Jan 22, 1926 Adams County Leader mentioned "the Irwin Sawmill Co. at Council."
Through his brother, Bob, I received a quote from Ted Hagar about his memories of Mesa: “After the big war, I worked for the Sawtooth Company and its owner bought Mesa and started a big applesauce plant there. I remember in the Boise Office there was a display of about eight applesauce labels for the different companies that they packed for. I'm sure that some folks would argue that Del Monte applesauce was better than Safeway's brand, etc. When, of course, it all came out of the same tub. Also remember out in the used equipment lot were these huge rolls of used cable that came from the tramway.”
Folks, the museum is in a bit of a pickle. It should have opened on Memorial Day weekend, but didn’t. This is partly due to the fact that volunteers to man the place are really hard to find. Several of the volunteers we’ve depended on in the past have died, and new ones are not coming forward. There is a program available to us that will allow us to hire an employee for the summer (through Labor Day weekend) if someone will just take us up on it. It only pays $5.85 per hour, but the job mostly entails being there, and it would be an immense help to the museum, the community and me. The job would be 24 hours per week (for a total of about $140 a week). There is a phone and a TV/VCR to watch movies. Aside from some minor cleaning, the employee could do craft work or make paper dolls for all I care, as long at they’re there to host the museum. The person has to be over 55 years old and have a relatively low income. For details, contact Elee Coulter through the Chamber of Commerce office, or contact me.
6-12-08
The Timber Industry Gets on its Feet
By 1920, a few trucks (referred to as "auto trucks") were starting to be used to haul logs to Council. These first trucks are said to have been "Bull Dog" Mac trucks equipped with hard rubber tires. Up until the time trucks were used, the standard practice had been to saw the logs into boards at a mill in the woods, and then haul only the lumber to a planer mill located closer to a railroad.
In spite of the Depression, Matt Spencer started the Council Box and Lumber Company in 1935. (It was sometime referred to in the local paper as the Council Lumber Company.) It apparently was a sawmill with a planer. It was located west of the railroad tracks, just south of present-day 2243 Sawmill Road. The next year the mill was purchased by S.S. Bounds. That fall, the mill burned to the ground. The following year (1937) Bounds sold his lumber business to N. X. Hanson. Hanson, along with his partners, Carl Swanstrom, Matt Spencer, and Charles Jackson, rebuilt the mill and hired 25 men to run it. Almost as if the mill were cursed, it soon burned down again. Undeterred, the men immediately started from scratch one more time. By the fall of 1938 they had sawed 300,000 board feet of lumber, bought that much more standing timber, and were building logging roads.
Late in 1938 a dramatic change began in the Council area timber industry with the arrival of the Boise Payette Lumber Company. The headline of the Oct 14, 1938 issue of the Adams County Leader blazed, "Boise Payette Company Secures Option for Planing Mill Site Here." The company had initially planned to establish a small sawmill where the Wildhorse road now leaves the Council - Cuprum road. (This location was previously known as "Old Davis," but the name seemed to have fallen into disuse by 1938.) From there the company originally planned to truck the rough lumber to Council where it would be sent on to a bigger mill at Emmett for remilling. Later the company decided to build a planing mill on 53 acres of ground just north west of Council that they bought from Bill Winkler.
Work started on the sawmill at Old Davis in December of 1938, and a small community sprang up there. There was concern that the roads between the sawmill and Council would have to be completely rebuilt to stand up to the lumber hauling. But before this could become an issue, the lack of water at Old Davis forced the sawmill to shut down. The mill was dismantled, and some of the lumber and timbers that had already been sawed were used to build a large, steam-powered sawmill on the company's land at Council. The community at Old Davis continued as a logging camp for the families of loggers working for Andy Anderson.
Anders "Andy" Anderson was a logging contractor for the Boise Payette Company who made Old Davis his headquarters when the company brought him to this part of Idaho from Long Valley in 1939. He employed about 25 men, and his equipment consisted of six Kenworth trucks, one jammer, one D-7 and two D-8 caterpillars. The trucks had ten foot wide bunks (eight feet is the current maximum) and water-cooled brakes. Anderson was a pioneer in using trucks to haul logs, and he invented several methods of operation that were adopted industry-wide. His concept of putting a Cummins diesel engine in a Kenworth truck (instead of the standard gas engine) became the industry standard. Andy Anderson retired in 1944, selling out to Gordon MacGregor, another Boise Payette Co. contractor.
Gayle Dixon and Patty Gross are developing a list of people who worked on local forest lookouts. I know there are many of you out there who know who of some of these people were. Please contact Gayle (253-4765 or dxgr@ctcweb.net) or Patty (253-6004 at the library, 253-4503 at home or cvfl@ctcweb.net)
An employee is still needed for the museum through the summer. The museum has not opened yet because of this. Please contact me (253-4582 or dafisk@ctcweb.net) or Elee Coulter (253-6830 or councilchamber@ctcweb.net) for more information.
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Photos:
05048—Andy Anderson’s logging camp at “Old Davis” in the early 1940s. This camp was located at the junction of the Council-Cuprum Road and the Wildhorse Road. The place was changed a lot when the new highway was built. Several Boise-Payette Lumber Company portable houses like these wound up as homes in New Meadows and Council, and are still in use. Most have been remodeled or added onto.
98435—Andy Anderson’s logging trucks lined up at his shop at Council. Notice the water tanks above the cabs. These supplied water to cool the brakes. This must have been something Andy came up with after he moved to the Council area, as the tanks are missing on photos of these same trucks in Long Valley.
98436—The Council Lumber Company sawmill. The first mention of a company by this name in the Council newspaper came in 1901, and the last was in 1936. These were probably different companies. It is unknown which mill this is or when the picture was taken.
6-19-08
A Little Background on Local Logging
This will be a break from the syndication of my Landmarks book to give you a little sample of an upcoming book that Don Dopf and I are writing about the Idaho Northern Railway that ran between McCall and Nampa. The book is just about written and with any luck may be ready for sale by Christmas. Since I’ve been writing here about the local logging and sawmills, this, and the next few columns, will contain much of the Logging chapter from the book, along with additional comments and pictures. As you read these, bear in mind that any time James Barber, the Barber Lumber Company, Payette Lumber Company or Boise Payette Lumber Company are mentioned that these are the direct predecessors of the Boise Cascade Corporation.
The story of the Idaho Northern Railway would be incomplete without mentioning the crucial involvement of the timber industry in general, and of the Boise Payette Lumber Company specifically. Access to timber was a major motivation for the line’s creation and served as its primary source of revenue for most of its existence.
When Union Pacific built the Oregon Short Line in 1883, Coe & Carter cut timber for the ties that were laid through central Idaho. They established camps along the North Fork of the Payette River and hired 300 men to cut and float ties down the river.
In 1902, bigger operators moved into the area. Two men, along with their partners, would stamp their names on the Idaho Timber industry in a big way. Frederick Weyerhaeuser, his best-known associate, James T. Barber, and most of their cohorts migrated to Idaho from Minnesota and Wisconsin after timber stocks in that region were depleted. Weyerhaeuser and his associates formed the Payette Lumber and Manufacturing Company at Emmett in 1902, and the next year bought 160 acres three miles upstream from town (conveniently beyond Emmett’s taxable parameters), planning to build a sawmill.
The new company intended to drive logs down the Payette River, just as former loggers had done, but on a bigger scale. As early as the 1880s, a “flush dam” was built on the Payette River near Smiths Ferry. The remains of this dam are still visible in the river just below Smiths Ferry. A “flush” or “splash” dam was a temporary structure to back up water where floating logs were stockpiled. When it was time to take the logs downriver, the dam was removed, often with dynamite, and the rush of water swept the logs to their destination. At least that’s the way it was supposed to work. Previous log drives had been made from the South Fork of the Payette or below it. But Payette Lumber owned timber along the North Fork of the river, where shallow rapids would make logs hang up.
Payette Lumber formed a sister enterprise, the Payette Improvement and Boom Company, for the purpose of blasting out deeper channels in the river. (It also hired J.J. MacDonald to build a wagon road between Banks and Smiths Ferry.) The company spent $100,000 overhauling the rapids, building flumes and installing the big splash dam just below Smiths Ferry that backed up over 36 acres of water. In April of 1904 Payette Lumber hired the firm of McNish and Allen to cut and drive Payette Lumber's first harvest down the river. Half of the logs hung up along the way and never made it to the mill, and four men were drowned in the effort. All of these men’s bodies were not found until two years later (1906). Before Highway 55 was widened in the 1960s, four crosses stood along the road near Banks in their memory.
I’ll have more logging history next week. Be sure to read about the museum situation elsewhere in this issue of the Record.
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Photos:
splash dam big eddy.jpg—This photo was labeled as being a splash dam on the Payette River at Big Eddy, which is down river from Smiths Ferry, but it may actually be the Boise Payette Lumber Company splash dam at Smiths Ferry.
Splash dam remains.jpg—This is what is left of the splash dam just below Smiths Ferry today. This picture was taken from the Thunder Mountain excursion train. Highway 55 is visible on the other side of the river.
6-26-08
Log Drives
Continuing from the upcoming book on the Idaho Northern Railway.
Log drives were a very colorful part of Payette River history. From the 1880s to when the Idaho Northern took over the job, logs were transported to sawmills via the river. For most of the year, loggers lived in the woods, stockpiling logs to send downstream when the water ran high in May or June. When the splash dam below Smiths Ferry was opened, a mass of logs slammed down through the river channel with awesome force. It was a tremendous amount of work for river crews to get as many logs as possible to their destination. Logs would often hang up on rocks, brush, down trees, current eddies, gravel bars and any number of other obstacles. The river men, also known as “River Hogs,” followed the logs downriver in wooden boats. But it was frequently necessary to stand or walk on the slick, floating cylinders, using long pike poles to push and pull errant logs. Sometimes logs would pile up in a jam that took a team of horses and long chains to pull key logs loose to release the pileup. This was dangerous work; the men wore no life jackets, and logs could break free at any second, catching men off balance and suddenly sweeping down river with hundreds of tons of force. One or more men drowned during log drives almost every year on the Payette. In 1905, seven men drowned while working logs through a rough section called, “Hell’s Half Acre” on the South Fork of the Payette.
Farmers along the river dreaded the log drives. Logs sometimes washed up onto their pastures and fields, crashing through fences and leaving deep gouges when they were dragged back to the river. Complaints were made, but the timber industry was such a vital part of the area’s economy that farmers were left with little recourse but to patch up their property at their own expense.
One interesting element of the Payette River log drives was the “wanagon.” This was a kind of floating chuck wagon that followed the loggers down the river to provide hot meals. An old picture of a wanagon in the June 17, 1948 issue of the Emmett Index shows an open-ended canvas tent atop what appears to be a twenty by twenty foot barge.
Every year, often on July 4th, loggers held a picnic beside one of the millponds near Emmett, and had logrolling contests. Zoe Myer Clarkson wrote that the men wore, “two pairs of wool flannel drawers, with heavy flannel shirts and spiked shoes, and the colors were red and blue, which added a bit of color to this very dangerous work.” The spiked boots were a necessity for scrambling over the logs, but they made hamburger of wooden floors—or an opponent in a bar fight.
After Payette Lumber’s fiasco with driving logs down the river, it was obvious that logging along the Payette River would never succeed on anything but a small scale until a railroad reached the timber. Payette Lumber forged ahead with this in mind, surveying a rail route on its own. But they quickly learned they had walked right into the middle of the brawl between the ultra-competitive railroad empires of James Hill and Edward Harriman. (Hill & Harriman fought viciously for any new route in the West in order to gain profit and advantage over the other.) When the dust settled from the legal wrangling, buy-outs, arm-twisting and competing claims, Payette Lumber found itself brushed aside like a fly at a banquet.
Boise Payette gave up the railroad idea and went back to blasting out more channels in the river in 1907. They succeed it making the river more useable for limited log drives just in time for their competition to cash in on the company’s work. Claiming public access to the river improvements, the Michigan-Idaho Lumber Company moved into Emmett, and another Michigan-based operator, the Idaho White Pine Milling Company, set up a sawmill at Nampa. By 1908, Michigan-Idaho Lumber was cutting and driving logs to Emmett where it leased John McNish’s sawmill. About the same time, the White Pine mill at Nampa started retrieving logs from Emmett via the Idaho Northern Railway.
Continued next week.
I’m optimistic that the situation with the city and the museum will be worked out—possibly with the museum footing the heating bill, which will be much lower once what is now the fire department area no longer needs to be heated.
I have a question for you readers. When did Council High School sports teams begin to be called “Lumberjacks”? I’m guessing around 1939 or ’40 when logging took off here, but some of you are old enough to remember back farther than that, so please tell me what you remember about this.
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Photos:
Wanagon: “One of the wanagons (floating chuck wagons) on the Payette River. Date unknown.”
Payette River Log drive … “These teams are pulling logs back into the river during a log drive on the Payette River. Date unknown. This looks like it must have been near Emmett.”
7-3-08
Dirty Dealings
While Weyerhaeuser and Payette Lumber were busy on the Payette River, James Barber, along with other lumber magnates and former Idaho Governor Frank Steunenberg, had formed the Barber Lumber Company in 1902. Over the next few years, Barber Lumber built a large sawmill, and Barber Dam to power it, several miles up the Boise River from the Capitol. The company then drove a rail line into the Boise Basin where it extracted millions of board feet of timber. It also became mired in a notorious timber fraud scandal that dragged the company through the courts for years.
In the Idaho Northern Railway book, I detail the story of how former governor Steunenberg was murdered and the resulting “trial of the century” that involved Senator William E. Borah who was also the attorney for the Idaho Northern. In the separate timber fraud investigations and trials, Steunenberg was found to have been the ringleader in a scam in which Barber Lumber Company would hire fake homesteaders to file on timberland and then sell it to Barber Lumber. Since he was dead, there was little the court could do.
Somehow Steunenberg came out of the controversy as a hero, with his stature occupying a prominent spot in front of the Idaho capitol building. William Borah was indicted for involvement in the same timber fraud scam. After a scandalous legal battle that aged Borah beyond his years, he was eventually cleared of the charges.
About the time that the Barber Lumber Company was acquitted of wrongdoing, it merged with the Payette Lumber Company to form the Boise Payette Lumber Company (BPL) in 1913. Chares A. Barton was appointed General Manager.
By this time, construction of the Idaho Northern had reached Long Valley. It has been said that the BPL had a guiding hand in determining the route of the Idaho Northern as it surveyed through Long Valley, choosing the site of Cascade because of its proximity to company timber holdings just northeast of there in the “Crawford Nook.”
The Boise Payette Lumber Company later morphed into the Boise Cascade Corporation. It may never be known just how much timberland Boise Cascade wound up with from the fake homestead scam of Steunenberg and Barber Lumber, but it known that some of its holdings in the general area of the Payette River was obtained in this manner.
Up until the 1880s, logging had been powered by the muscles of horses, oxen or men. Two inventions appeared almost simultaneously in 1881 to revolutionize the industry. One of them was the Dolbeer engine, more commonly known as a “donkey engine.” John Dolbeer, a California logging magnate, invented the device named after him in 1881. The original model was a single-cylinder steam engine that powered a rope winch. (Rope soon gave way to steel cable.) The engine was so small that loggers thought it shouldn’t be rated in “horse” power, so they started calling it a “donkey” engine. The name stuck and was the common term for the machine from then on. The winch dragged logs to a central location (landing) where they could be loaded on wagons or rail cars. The engine and winch were mounted on heavy skids to make it moveable to different landing sites.
Donkey engines were often positioned on a ridge top where logs were decked (piled) at a landing. From there, the logs were slid down long wooden chutes to a river, or where they could be loaded onto rail cars. Sometimes gravity was all that was required to move the logs down the chutes. Often the chutes were greased to reduce friction. On less steep ground horses or oxen were required to pull logs along the chutes. Although this was much more common before the advent of the donkey engine, the Boise Payette Lumber Company was still using teams for this purpose.
95214L—Logging the way it used to be before the age of trucks. Clarence Scroff driving a team owned by S.P. Wilson. This load of logs contained 2,940 board feet of lumber.
95304—A team of horses pulling logs along a crude log chute. Date and location unknown.
7-10-08
I’m continuing this week with excepts from the logging chapter of the upcoming book about the Idaho Northern Railway that ran between McCall and Nampa.
The other invention that transformed the timber industry was the Shay steam locomotive. It was an engine that was custom-designed by Ephriam Shay specifically for logging. “Shay” logging came to be the generic term used to describe timber harvesting using a train to haul logs out of the woods. Although other makers copied Ephriam Shay’s original design, the name “shay” was applied generically any engine used to pull log trains. Shay type engines were smaller and lighter than most locomotives, were gear driven (multiple drive wheels all turned at exactly the same speed), giving them better traction on steep tracks. They had a lower center of gravity for negotiating rough tracks and sharp turns.
Spur lines into a timbered area to be harvested were branched from a main line. Shay lines often used a narrow gauge track, making it necessary to reload logs at the main, standard gauge track. Boise Payette Lumber’s tracks were standard gauge. Like many other logging outfits, BPL continued to use shay steam locomotives, even after newer oil-fired engines came into use. Although most of the Shay logging in this part of Idaho was practiced in Long Valley, some was done along the Weiser River using the Pacific & Idaho Northern line.
In June 1915, Boise Payette Lumber established logging headquarters about a quarter mile north of Cascade. It contracted with the fledgling Morrison-Knudsen Company to build grades for its shay line toward the Crawford Nook. Before the line could be completed, snow brought the project to a halt. Barton had his crews spend the winter of 1915-16 trying to haul logs out to the Idaho Northern tracks with horses and sleds, but the snow was too deep. When spring arrived to Long Valley, logging operations went into full swing.
By 1916, BPL had managed to buy out the White Pine competition at Nampa, but Michigan-Idaho Lumber remained a thorn in its side, holding a lease on John McNish’s Emmett mill and running logs down the Payette River. Unbeknownst to Michigan-Idaho Lumber, BPL had been negotiating a deal with McNish. Suddenly in June, McNish informed Michigan-Idaho that BPL now owned the sawmill. Adding insult to surprise, BPL insisted that Michigan-Idaho remove the seven million board feet of logs that were in the mill’s log pond. Michigan-Idaho Lumber attempted to establish another mill two miles away, but failed and admitted its defeat by selling out to Boise Payette Lumber in November.
Within days after acquiring the McNish mill, BPL was erecting a new and much bigger sawmill on the site. As the cement foundations for the mill were being poured, Emmett citizens considered the project a cause for joyous celebration. The Emmett Index said, “With ringing of bells, blare of bands, shooting of anvils and fireworks, honk of several hundred motor cars and wild cheering of a delighted people. From 8 o’clock, when the auto parade started, until well high midnight, Main street was filled to its capacity with a crowd of happy people.” In a day when cars were still relatively rare, the celebration featured an estimated 100 automobiles. Brass bands from Boise and Emmett played rousing numbers in the parade between the horse-drawn floats, and local dignitaries made extravagant speeches about the economic advantages the new mill would bring.
Most of the front page of the June 15, 1916 Emmett Index shouted the news about the new sawmill. Charles A. Barton announced, “The sawmill building will be 72 feet by 196 feet with a sorting shed 256 feet long. The mill will contain three 9-foot single cutting band mills of the latest type. The carriage will have 54-inch openings with steam set works and be operated by 14-inch steam feeds. There will be one 96 inch double edger and one 60 inch single edger and a 24 foot trimmer of modern construction.” This machinery would be powered by a 600 horsepower steam engine that would also drive a 750-kilowatt power generator. State of the art automatic machines would sort, stack, move and unstack lumber. The mill would turn out 200,000 feet of lumber in a ten-hour shift.
Photos:
96028—This huge load of firewood on Andy Anderson’s number 3 truck was raffled in Council at a “scrap rally" in 1942. One story says the logs came from Crooked River; another says from Lick Creek. The load was 30 feet long and 20 feet high and contained 27,800 board feet! This picture was taken at Lafferty Park on Council-Cuprum Road. The first man on the left is unidentified. The others are, left to right, Luther Taylor (scaler), Owen Smith, Art "Curly" Smith (driver), Andy Anderson, Pug Bowman (top loader) and Charlie Fry. Paul Phillips later drove this truck.
The raffle raised $850 for the USO. A Mrs. Nickels bought the winning ticket, but kept only the four bunk logs. The rest were auctioned and bought by Andy Anderson for $340.
05062—One of Boise Payette Lumber’s portable houses about to be loaded onto one of Andy Anderson’s trucks to be moved to a new camp in the 1930s.
7-17-08
Challenges & Changes
I’m continuing this week with excerpts from the logging chapter of my upcoming book about the Idaho Northern Railway that ran between McCall and Nampa.
In spite of the legal challenges to how they acquired timberland, Boise Payette Lumber wound up with large tracks of timber scattered across central Idaho. Much of it was gained by purchasing it from homesteaders. To just what extent these purchases were legal may never be known. The Emmett Index noted that Boise Payette Lumber owned 200,000 acres of timber—5,000 of which stood on State land—along the North and South Forks of the Payette River. It said the timber would be enough to supply to new Emmett mill for the next 40 years.
The new mill, which the company christened “Plant B,” was officially completed on May 1, 1917. That summer the crews in Long Valley fell behind in building shay lines and supplying the new mill with logs. To make up for lost time, Barton worked the logging crews all through the winter of 1917-18. By the spring of 1918 the mill had enough logs to hire a second shift.
Meanwhile, at Cascade, the town couldn’t resist annexing the BPL headquarters to boost its tax base in 1918. The company’s center of operations was virtually a town in itself, with 110 buildings and a population of 126. Charles A. Barton was furious and moved the community seven miles south, establishing “Cabarton,” a name derived from Barton’s name, “C.A. Barton.” On March 15, 1919, the community was granted a post office, and the name Cabarton gained official status.
Until Charles Barton chose his son, Everett, to manage Plant B at Emmett, J.P. Dion had held that position. Dion left BPL feeling very resentful about his dismissal. In 1924 he started settling old scores by starting a sawmill at Cascade and competing with BPL for timber. He tightened the screws the next year by bringing in a partner, the W. H. Eccles Lumber Company, which was an archrival of BPL in Oregon. Cascade hadn’t forgotten the snub from Barton when he had moved company headquarters, and the town made Dion and William Eccles feel very welcome. Eccles underbid BPL and generally made life difficult until he sold out in July 1927 to another bitter BPL rival: Denver based Hallack & Howard Lumber. The two adversaries worked feverishly to outdo each other, but the contest ended in a tie for all practical purposes when the Great Depression hit; both companies shut down operations in Long Valley in 1930. BPL consolidated its efforts into its Boise Basin timber operations.
The late 1920s saw an odd hodgepodge of equipment in use by logging operations. BPL hired a contractor who used a few trucks to haul logs in 1922, but it’s primary method continued to be shay trains. The company bought its first two crawler tractors in 1926. These Cats, donkey engines and horses were all skidding BPL logs off of mountainsides at the same time during that unique period.
In 1934, BPL closed down its operations in the Boise Basin and returned to Long Valley. Cabarton was uprooted and moved to a site two miles south of Donnelly in 1936. The name for the new company town was “MacGregor” after Edgar C. MacGregor, BPL’s logging superintendent. Edgar MacGregor died while the company headquarters were located here. His son, Gordon, was a timber cruiser for BPL, and went on to buy out Andy Anderson’s logging outfit. He left logging about 1960 and bought he Triangle Construction Company, which he renamed MacGregor Triangle Construction.
BPL also established a new sawmill in 1936. In order to reduce the costs of shipping so many logs all the way to Emmett, the company built “Plant C” on the South Fork of the Payette River near Banks. It lasted only three years, and was dismantled in 1939.
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Captions for photos:
99440—A Boise Payette Lumber Company Caterpillar tractor pulling a LeTourneau JR8 carryall scraper, grading a logging railroad grade in 1938. This early Cat burned just over four gallons of diesel per hour.
05052—Pug Bowman atop a truck being loaded by a jammer in the late 1930s. This would have been state of the art equipment in those days. I think this is a Boise Payette Lumber Company operation in the Council area.
7-24-08
Andy Anderson
When the Boise Payette Lumber Company started logging in Long Valley in 1918, trucks were still in their infancy. With their wooden spokes, weak axles, feeble engines and brakes, and hard rubber tires, trucks of the day were grossly inadequate for heavy hauling. This was an era when people did big jobs with steam power.
But steam power had serious limitations. One of these became apparent in freezing temperatures. Basically, steam engines were a big metal container full of water. In cold weather, operators had a choice between laboriously draining all the water from every reservoir and pipe every night, or a fire had to be maintained in the firebox 24 hours a day. It was more practical to do the latter.
Even when logging trucks came along, there was no such thing as antifreeze. What's more, the old trucks had water-cooled brakes which meant a water tank and lines full of water. When not in use during freezing temperatures, these trucks had to be drained, run continuously or put in a heated building. Most people just put their cars or trucks up on blocks, drained them for the winter, and went back to horse power.
In a remarkably short time, during the 1920s and early ‘30s, trucks evolved into much larger, stronger machines with steel wheels and pneumatic tires.
Hallack & Howard revived itself in Cascade in 1936, using trucks exclusively, and abandoning its shay lines. At about the same time, BPL also started seriously using trucks to haul logs. It continued to use shay locomotives as well, but horses were completely replaced by crawler tractors.
It was about this time that one of Boise Payette Lumber’s chief contractors made logging history. Anders “Andy” Anderson came to work for BPL in 1923 as a subcontractor. He soon displayed a unique knack for new logging technology. When the company wasn’t able to use a shay line to log a steep stand of timber near High Valley, the job was handed to Anderson. Using parts from several different trucks, he devised one that could haul surprisingly big loads and navigate an unheard of 40% grade. (A 100% grade is one in which the vertical rise is 100% of the horizontal distance, which would be 45 degrees. A 40% grade would rise 2 feet for every 5 feet of horizontal distance.) After inventing a creative layout of one-way roads, the construction of which was exponentially faster with crawler tractors, Anderson was able to move so many logs so quickly that he caught the attention of two national magazines. Pictures of his trucks appeared on the covers of both the Timberman and Motor Transport Magazines in 1936. He was also elected President of the Pacific Logging Congress.
But Anderson was not done yet. He replaced the standard gas engines in his Kenworth trucks with big diesel engines. This worked so well that it was copied by others and quickly became the industry standard. In those first inventive days at High Valley, Anderson improved truck loading and unloading methods and sped up operations even more. His trucks started to dominate national advertisements for Kenworth, Cummins, Beall and Firestone. At the end of 1937 he was lauded in West Coast Lumberman Magazine:
Loggers throughout the West have heard of Any Anderson who operates a truck logging camp in the pine country near Smiths Ferry, Idaho just south of Cascade. “Andy” startled some of the loggers at last year’s Logging Congress when he recited some of the things he was doing in his Idaho camp. Since last year’s Congress, “Andy” has been logging harder than ever and has established a reputation for having one of the smoothest running, progressive, successful, truck logging camps in all the west.
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Photo captions:
lined up.jpg—Andy Anderson’s trucks lined up. I should know the location, but I don’t. I’m pretty sure it’s in Long Valley someplace. His trucks didn’t seem to have the water tanks (for cooling the brakes) on top the cabs until they came over to the Council area.
early 40s—An Anderson truck coming down a mountain logging road. Location unknown. Although all three of the photos this week (and several from previous columns) are from the museum collection, they originally came from Jim Camp.
Frank Hall early 40s—Driver, Frank Hall, watching his Anderson truck being unloaded at the main Idaho Northern tracks. This looks like Long Valley near Cabarton.
7-31-08
Moving On
By 1939, Boise Payette Lumber Company’s timber holdings in and around Long Valley were depleted, and it was time to move on. The whole operation, including the town of MacGregor, was loaded onto rail cars and moved northwest into the Weiser River drainage and headquarters at New Meadows. To accomplish this, they built a rail line that branched from the Idaho Northern mainline at the bottom of the grade just south of McCall. The route followed an old survey from the days of the Hill-Harriman railroad wars that was never built. There are some who claim this line connected the Pacific and Idaho Northern at New Meadows with the Idaho Northern for a brief time, but this is not true. BPL lacked enough rails to accomplish this. After all of the company’s buildings and equipment were on or cached along the new track, three miles of rails were taken up behind them and moved to the front to make the last stretch to New Meadows in 1940. Last year when I was interviewing retired Union Pacific regional accountant, Fred Hallberg, he clearly remembered being in the UP office and hearing it discussed when the line to New Meadows was built that there were not enough rails.
Illustrating his opinion of shays compared to trucks, Andy Anderson once bragged, “They never connected up the railroad; I hauled those steam engines over here on my logging trucks!”
As BPL was building the line to New Meadows, Metero-Goldwyn-Mayer was filming the movie “Northwest Passage” starring Robert Young, Spencer Tracy and Walter Brennan at nearby Payette Lake. Every time a BPL locomotive approached the one road crossing on the route, it would sound its whistle to warn automobiles. The sound of the whistle didn’t quite fit with the soundtrack of a movie set in an 18th century wilderness. The solution was an MGM employee silently waving a warning flag whenever a BPL train approached the crossing.
At New Meadows, BPL made no attempt to escape taxation, and became a vital part of the town. The 400 people from MacGregor almost doubled the population of the town. Many of the portable houses were planted permanently in the southwest part of town where they remain today in “Morgan Town,” named after BPL’s Chief Master Mechanic, John Morgan. These houses had been built at Cascade when BPL established its first Long Valley headquarters.
The town of Council benefited by the move as well; a big sawmill—Plant D—was erected there. The mill, and intensive logging by BPL in the whole area, and became a staple of the economy for the next half century. A number of BPL portable houses were moved to Council as well, and planted on the southwest part of town. When Gordon MacGregor (BPL timber cruiser and son of Edgar C. MacGregor) bought out Andy Anderson’s logging outfit in 1944, he also bought several of the portable houses at Council and moved them to the old site of Cabarton where he used them for ranch buildings. When the company moved on in 1940, BPL didn’t want to continue paying taxes on its 250,000 acres of logged over land in Long Valley. It put Gordon MacGregor in charge of selling it for $3.50 per acre. He only managed to sell one parcel besides the Cabarton town site, which he bought himself and established a cattle ranch there. His son, David MacGregor, still lives at Cabarton.
Soon after its move to the Weiser River drainage, BPL stopped using locomotives to harvest timber and went exclusively to hauling with trucks and skidding with Cats. It was also the era of power equipment in general, when chain saws took over for the old crosscuts and axes.
The loss of BPL’s log traffic was as serious blow to the Idaho Northern’s pocketbook. The P&IN however, was suddenly flooded with logs (40 to 45 carloads every day by the late 1940s), beginning a new era for the line. The shipment of logs from along the Weiser River to the Emmett sawmill created a unique situation in American rail history. After reaching the main OSL line at Weiser, the logs traveled on 14 miles of UP track, and then on to Emmett via the Payette Valley line. It was said to be the only run in the U.S. that started and ended on different branch lines while holding a mainline in-between.
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Captions:
99534—The Boise Payette Lumber Company sawmill—plant D—built at Council in 1939-40. This steam-powered mill burned in 1958. The log pond is just out of sight to the right. This photo was taken in 1942 when the mill was new.
05017—Cabarton in its heyday. This picture shows a number of the portable housing units. Some of them have a little cupola with windows on top.
96033—Bill Wortman guiding a log onto one of Andy Anderson’s trucks. In the original 1940s photograph you can clearly see “Andy Anderson” printed on the side of the jammer, just in front of the open door.
8-7-08
The End of an Era
This is the last installment of sections taken from my upcoming book about the Idaho Northern Railway.
When the Idaho Northern Railway reached McCall in June of 1914, the Hoff sawmill was its chief customer. After Theodore Hoff partnered with Warren Brown, they bought a sawmill at Horseshoe Bend in 1926. In 1930 the partnership dissolved; Hoff left to run the Horseshoe Bend mill, and Carl Brown continued as the Brown Tie & Lumber Company. These two mills, plus Hallack & Howard in Cascade, kept the Idaho Northern in the black from 1940 to 1953.
The Idaho Statesman newspaper printed a review of Cascade’s contribution to the INRR business during 1947:
Twenty-two million board feet of finished and rough lumber were shipped from Cascade.
Fourteen million log scale feet of wood were received at the sawmill.
Forty rail cars of ore concentrates (primarily antimony and gold) passed through the Union Pacific station en route to California for smelting.
500 to 600 carloads of livestock that summered in Long Valley were shipped out.
100 carloads of oats were shipped.
Boise Payette Lumber returned to Long Valley in 1953, bought the Hallack & Howard mill at Cascade, labeling it “Plant E,” and restarted logging operations. In 1957, the Boise Payette Lumber Company merged with the Cascade Lumber Company of Yakima, Washington, and adopted the name by which it became known around the globe: the Boise Cascade Corporation. During the 1950s and 1960s, the Boise Cascade sawmill at Emmett was the third largest in Idaho and the fifth largest in the world.
The Boise Cascade Corporation eventually owned all the sawmills along the Idaho Northern, buying Brown’s McCall mill in 1964, and Hoff’s at Horseshoe Bend in 1975.
The logging industry all over the West started to decline in the 1980s. One by one, sawmills in west central Idaho began to close. The McCall mill was ahead of the trend on that score, closing in 1977. The Horseshoe Bend plant was next, in 1998. The Emmett and Cascade mills held out until 2001. The loss of these mainstays in the INRR’s income was like breaking one of its backbones after another, and eventually caused the death of a large section of the line. Today, the old Idaho Northern tracks, coming north from Nampa, end not far past the sugar factory. The line is intact from Emmett to where it comes to an abrupt end at Cascade. Several miles of the old grade south of McCall is now non-motorized trail, and more sections are in the planning stages for trail use.
I’ve been very negligent in keeping my readers up to date on the museum situation, and I apologize for that. The building is not for sale, and the museum will continue to occupy it. A few of us on the museum board met with the City Council on July 8 and agreed to look into ways for the museum to help pay for some of the building’s expenses. The City Council members made it clear that it was never their intention to get rid of the museum. I think things just got very disorganized and off on the wrong foot. At the next City Council on August 12 there will be more discussion on the issue of expenses and how to pay for them.
Photo captions:
99582.jpg—Arley Duval (facing camera on far side of log) and an unidentified man bucking a log, probably in the early 1940s. They are using an early chainsaw that took two strong men to operate. The end with the engine had two handles—one on each side of the huge engine—and there was a single handle with a small chain guard bolted to the end of the bar for the second man to hang onto. The teeth on these saws were about twice as big as today’s saws, and the bar was about six feet long. Notice they have two wedges in the top of the cut to keep the saw from binding. (It would have been extremely difficult to start a cut from the bottom side of the log.) According to the caption, these men were working for Brown's Tie & Lumber Company on the Idaho National Forest.
Emmett BP mill 1918.jpg—The new Boise Payette Lumber Company sawmill at Emmett in 1918.
8-14-08
A New Era for Council
I’m going back to quoting my Landmarks book again. In my last column before detouring to include sections of the upcoming Idaho Northern book, I was writing about how the Boise Payette Lumber Company had come to Council in 1938-’39.
Some old time loggers claimed that Andy Anderson brought the first chainsaw to this part of the country. It is said to have weighed 180 pounds, and took three men to operate. Another story says the first chainsaw was a two-man "Maul" owned by Toad Russell who worked for Gordon McGregor. (I featured a picture of a couple guys using one of these last week.)
For generations, lumberjacks had used axes and crosscut saws to fall and buck trees to length. The first power saws were "drag saws." They had a gas or kerosene engine mounted on a heavy frame. The engine was attached, by means of a pitman arm on a flywheel, to a saw very much like a one-man crosscut that moved back and forth. These saws were set in a stationary position across a log, and held there by "dogs" (metal spikes on the underside of the frame) as the saw worked its way through the log. Most drag saws could not be used to fall trees, only to cut them to length, so they were mostly used to cut sections of logs for firewood or fence posts instead of logging.
In 1943 the Boise Payette Company brought two interesting chainsaws to this area. One was a big, awkward contraption weighing 80 pounds that sounds very much like the two-man saw mentioned above. It was probably operated by a man on each end-a handle being mounted to the bar for the man on the end opposite the engine. The editor of the Leader had evidently never seen a chainsaw before, and reported, "The saw itself is a wicked looking creature with removable teeth pieced together into a continuous chain which moves along a groove cut into the edge of the blade. The teeth operate toward the motor in one continuous motion, piling out the sawdust with unbelievable speed." The other saw was smaller and lighter, with an electric motor powered by a generator mounted on a D2 Caterpillar tractor.
By the summer of 1940 the Boise Payette Company mill at Council was in operation. The mill, the new technology, and the aggressive logging activity of the company brought a growth spurt to Council. The population expanded as many new families moved in. About a dozen "cabins" were moved to Council from the camp at Old Davis to house these new arrivals. The cabins were put on land the company bought on the west side of the railroad tracks where some of them continue to be used today. That part of Council became known as "Milltown."
Mechanized logging had started in the 1930s, but the Depression had put a damper on many business ventures. In spite of shortages of manpower and other basics during World War II, the demand for lumber and the momentum of the Boise Payette Co. was high enough to sustain a boom in the Council area. After the war, two critical factors came together to start a new era in logging.
First, the housing boom that followed World War II created an unprecedented demand for lumber. Second, by that time chainsaws, logging trucks, crawler tractors and other machinery needed for modern timber harvest had become fairly dependable and available. In the old days it had been a monumental task to build a road into the mountains to harvest timber. With "cats" (crawler tractors) miles of roads could be built with relative ease, even into the most remote areas. Cats and other machines also made it much easier to skid (drag) bigger logs to landings where they were loaded onto trucks.
Because logging had been on a comparatively small scale up until this time, there were vast roadless tracts of virgin timber on every side of the Council Valley. Within only four decades after 1940, most of the Payette National Forest (except for Wilderness Areas) was logged at least once, and the majority of the roads now in existence on the Forest were built.
As modes of transportation improved and the area centralized, the timber industry followed the same trend. Most of the small sawmills scattered around the region disappeared as it became more practical to haul logs to big mills like the one in Council.
8-21-08
Continuing with excerpts from “Landmarks—A General History of the Council, Idaho Area.”
The Council sawmill, and its associated logging operations, quickly became a vital anchor of the local economy. In 1957, the Boise Payette Company merged with the Cascade Lumber Company of Yakima, Washington, and adopted the name by which we know it today: the Boise Cascade Corporation.
In 1958 the fire siren sounded in Council, and local citizens were stunned when they peered out their windows. The sawmill was engulfed in flames! The loss of this prominent part of the community was unthinkable. A new mill that sported all the newest technology arose from the ashes, and it became even more of a source of pride than the old mill.
To people in Council, the background sounds of clanging machinery and the mill whistle announcing breaks or shift changes was comforting reassurance that the anchor of the local economy was running smoothly.
By the 1980s, several factors combined to bring a decline in the timber industry in the West. The end of an era for Council came when the Boise Cascade mill closed permanently on March 31, 1995.
The factors that brought about the decline of the timber industry are representative of the forces that continue to challenge the Council area in general. Among these are changes in supply and demand, global competition, environmental regulations, and competition for use of public land.
Underlying many these is the continuing trend in American society away from an agrarian culture toward an urban one-with a shift toward service industries and an increasing intolerance for practices that even appear to damage the natural world.
The museum and the community suffered a tragic loss on Saturday night (August 16). Someone demolished the back door of the museum to break in. They broke open the donation box and stole the cash, including the change. But the real loss was 16 old pistols that Bill Winkler had collected over his lifetime. One was reportedly the outlaw Hugh Whitney’s. This has been a concern of mine forever. Besides the locks on the building, the guns were in a locked case that was bolted to the wall, and each pistol was wired to the back of the case. Of course anyone determined enough to rip open a two-inch-thick reinforced door that had heavy metal clamps holding it closed was not going to be stopped by those measures.
It’s anybody’s guess as to whether the scum who did this will be caught. Thanks to the paranoid folks who brandish the second amendment, there is no central stolen gun database in the U.S. It is even prohibited by law. So, if the thief is not caught, depending on whatever records individual police units keep, or depending on whether pawn shop owners follow the law, or if the guns are taken to a gun show where regulations or records are pretty much non-existent, these guns may never be returned to us.
If anyone has any information, or even small clues, about this theft, please let the sheriff’s office know.
The museum will continue to be open through August 31.
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Photo captions:
95110—The classic shot of the Boise Payette sawmill at Council that burned in 1958—looking across the millpond, which still there but empty.
95485—A picture of the not-quite-completed rebuilt sawmill in 1960, showing the burner.
8-28-08
Outlying Communities
I’m starting on the section of Landmarks that is about outlying communities around Council. Before centralization started with the advent of cars, the area had many, scattered small communities that had their own school, and often a general store.
Middle Fork
There is some evidence that the area near where Highway 95 crosses the Middle Fork of the Weiser River was called "Shaw" for a time because there were so many members of the Shaw family living there. The area has been known as "Middle Fork" for most of its history.
Before a new school was built at Middle Fork in 1905, children in that vicinity walked to a log school near present-day 1665 Highway 95, just north of what would later be the Mesa siding. By 1912 there were 28 students attending a school at Middle Fork. The school was discontinued about 1940, and the students were bused to Council.
Like many other communities, early Middle Fork had its own baseball team, and played against other teams in the area.
In 1937 the largest Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) camp in the Council area was built west of the Middle Fork School, east of the highway. Unlike other local camps this one had frame buildings instead of tents. The CCC boys constructed much of the road up the Middle Fork as far as Bar Creek. While the CCC was building the road in 1940, Thomas Fletcher was killed in an accident. He fell and hit his head on a rock. Fletcher, like most of the young men at that camp, were from Louisiana. A plaque in his memory is bolted to a rock near the place he was killed, about seven miles from the highway. The camp closed shortly after 1940, and the buildings were moved to other locations. Today almost nothing remains to mark the former location of the camp.
Goodrich
According to historian, Frank Harris, the name Goodrich "gets its name from an early pioneer of that section, who took his departure for other parts many years ago." This may or may not be true, but that name wasn't associated with this community until 1912.
In 1890 a petition was presented to the County Commissioners to build a road from the Middle Fork of the Weiser through "Bacon Valley" to Salubria. Evidently this was a name for Goodrich, or that general area; Bacon Creek enters the Weiser River just south of Goodrich. Both names (Bacon Valley and Bacon Creek) came from Andrew J. Bacon who was an early settler in that vicinity. Bacon died in 1900 at the Soldiers' Home in Boise.
Some other early settlers at Goodrich were Mr. and Mrs. John Rosti, who came here from Switzerland. John wrote home to his nephew, Adolph Grossen, and persuaded him to come to America in 1899. "Grossen Canyon" just northeast of Council is so named because the Grossens homesteaded there. After Grossen came to the Council area, he wrote to Abraham and Anna Schmid and Abraham's brother, Alfred, and persuaded them to come to Goodrich in 1900. The Schmids later operated the post office and store at Goodrich from about 1918 through about 1941. Another early settler was Earl Gallant who arrived in 1909.
Elmer Milligan established a post office in 1901 along the newly-built railroad near the point where Goodrich Creek joins the Weiser River. This post office and community was known as "Milligan," and Elmer was the mayor. The post office was discontinued in 1906 when Elmer Milligan moved on to become the postmaster at Cambridge. The Milligan post office reopened in 1910 under the management of Milford Hopper. In 1912 the name was changed to Goodrich.
Sometime around 1910 the community had enough families to warrant a school. By 1912 there were 20 students in attendance. The school was replaced by a new one in 1915. Goodrich soon had a baseball team, and its own "orchestra" that played all around the Council area. About 1956, the Goodrich school was closed, and the children were bused to Council. The Goodrich post office closed when the last postmaster, Fred Roeder, died in 1957.
Photo captions:
Middle Fork school—This blurry shot of the Middle Fork School comes from Dr. Alvin Thurston’s 8mm movie film footage taken in the late 1930s. This is looking southeast; Mesa is to the right out of sight.
05037--The Goodrich store and the Schmid home. The Crossley house sits at this approximate spot today. The shot is looking north or northwest, and the railroad tracks are visible going across the photo.
9-4-08
FRUITVALE
The Fruitvale area was called "West Fork" in the very earliest days because it was where the West Fork of the Weiser River entered the main Weiser River. The more general area was also called "Upper Council" or the "Upper Council Valley."
Glenns
It is hard to say exactly who established the first permanent home at Fruitvale, but the first patented (proved up) homestead was that of William D. Glenn.
William D. and Rebecca Glenn had ten children while living in Arkansas. Several of their sons figured prominently in the settlement of Fruitvale: Frank, William M., Joel and Tom. There were three other sons and four daughters.
The Glenn family came west and apparently settled at the present location of 2657 West Fork Road in 1883. One of the first things the Glenns did was dig a ditch to their homestead from the West Fork in 1884. This ditch is still in use, and is known as the T.J. Glenn ditch, taking its name from Tom Glenn. William Sr. died in 1893, and Tom subsequently took over the homestead. Some of the subsequent owners of this ranch: James Finn (1915-1920s), Bolan Abshire, Tony Schwartz (until c. 1990), Doug Scism
Joel Glenn, known as "Joe," homesteaded the next farm down the road toward Fruitvale about 1903. In 1910 he built the house that is still in use at 2202 Ridge Road . (My house.) Joe Glenn was known in the area as a very good singer. His deep, rich voice was featured at many social gatherings. Joe sold this place to Jim Fisk in 1924 and moved to Toledo, Oregon.
Because he moved back to Arkansas, Frank Glenn's descendants were better known in the Fruitvale area than he was. Frank's son, John Emsley Glenn, was born in 1878 in Arkansas before the family came west. He was always known by his middle name, Emsley. He, his brothers, and his sister, Walsa, attended the White school on Lappin Lane in the late 1880s and early '90s. They walked about five miles to attend this school. Classes lasted three months each summer. The general vicinity of the school, including Fruitvale, was known as the "Glenn District" for a time.
Although it would seem very late in the century for Indian warriors to travel freely off of a reservation, the following story has been handed down in the Glenn family. One day, while Emsley and the other Glenn kids were making the five-mile walk home from school, several Indians in war paint came riding by, going very fast. The warriors paid no attention to the kids, and acted as though they didn't see them. It was later learned some whites had stolen horses from them, and the warriors were in pursuit. Some time later the Indians came back through with their stolen horses. They had caught the men starting to swim the horses across the Snake River near the mouth of Wildhorse and killed the men.
On the Emsley Glenn homestead there was a deep hole in the river. (The Emsley Glenn homestead was at present-day 2679 Fruitvale-Glendale Road.) Several rock circles once lay beside the river where Indians were thought to have built sweat lodges. It is said that the natives would use the sweat lodges and then dive into the cold river water here. This hole was a good place to spear salmon. One weighing 25 pounds was speared there in about the 1930s.
When the railroad came through Fruitvale in 1905, it is said that Emsley Glenn met the workers who were preparing the grade, with rifle in hand. He would not let them set foot on his land until he was paid for the right of way through it.
Emsley Glenn’s branch of the family is the most numerous around Council today. Emsley’s son, Fred Glenn, later owned his father’s place—where Doug Scism now lives. Fred married my dad’s sister, Amy Fisk. Their children are Tom, Nelma Green and Maxine Nichols.
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Photo captions:
95274—At the Emsley Glenn place at Fruitvale about 1920. Left to right: Emsley Glenn, Albert Robertson, Millie (Robertson) Bethel with her son Willard, Mary (Robertson) Glenn with her son Fred.
72009--William D. and Rebecca Glenn who came to Fruitvale in 1883.
95365--Beth Roberston and Fred Glenn about 1949. Beth’s oldest sister, Mary Robertson, married Fred’s father, Emsley Glenn.
9-11-08
William M. Glenn homesteaded about a mile southeast of Fruitvale. William Glenn's house was northeast (across the creek) from the present house at 2514 Fruitvale-Glendale Road (the old Ike Glenn place, just north of the Parker house). He and his wife, Martha (Mattie) Hinkle Glenn had two sons, Isaac (Ike 1896 - 1975) and Herbie (c. 1894 - 1950).
Ike said when he was just "old enough to run around" (probably about 1900), he sometimes saw Indians ride into the valley near their ranch. They rode single file, in a line about a half-mile long, and sometimes made camp down by the river. They usually followed a trail that came down Fort Hall creek and went up the first canyon south of "McMahan's Bluff," the bluff that overlooks Fruitvale on the south. When the Indians came through, they used to buy squash and other vegetables from the Glenn family. On one occasion an Indian woman wanted more than vegetables. She tried to trade some beads and other things for Ike because she liked his pretty blue eyes.
Another of Ike's first memories was of a cougar hunt. A mountain lion had been killing livestock in the Fruitvale area, so one morning after fresh sign was found, the settlers got together to hunt it down. They spread out in a semicircle to the north of where they thought the cat was, and methodically closed in. Ike remembered seeing the lion cornered in the rocks on the steep, east-facing hillside just south of McMahan's Bluff where the men shot it.
Ike told another story that illustrates a common form of recreation for young men in the 1920s and '30s: fist fighting. One winter Clifford McMahan was in Council, and some of the boys there challenged the Fruitvale boys saying, "Bring your boys in and we'll look 'em over." A bunch of Fruitvale boys went down that night, including Ike, and Emsley's son, Fred Glenn. At some point, one of the Council boys took Ike's overshoes. When Ike tried to take them back, the fight was on. The only memory that stands out from what must have been a wild free-for-all was that Ike pinned a Council boy's head between the spokes in the wheel of a snow grader, and then started punching him.
Georgiana Parker is Ike Glenn’s daughter.
Robertsons
George and Martha Robertson arrived at Fruitvale in 1885. They had come west in the same wagon train as the Copelands, Winklers and Keslers in 1878. The Robertsons homesteaded land just north of the future town site of Fruitvale and west of the Fruitvale Glendale road. The Robertson house was at the present site of 2617 Fruitvale-Glendale Road—Amy Glenn’s house today.
In 1894 George Robertson and Loring Sevey dug the Robertson-Sevey ditch that is still in use today. The men had no transit or sight level to guide them in the project. They turned in the water as they went along, and used it as a guide as they worked.
Harps
Another family that came West in the above-mentioned wagon train with the Robertsons was the Harps. The Harp family was a large one, and most of them didn't spend much time in one place, so it is hard to pin down just where and when they first lived at Fruitvale. They are said to have been some of the earliest settlers here. Lewis and Emily Harp lived at the foot of Fort Hall Hill north of the highway where no house or remnant remains today. My dad remembered Emily smoking a corncob pipe and spitting chewing tobacco with the best of the men.
95231—Ike and Lillie Glenn in front of their house at present-day 2824 Fruitvale-Glendale Road where their daughter, Georgiana Parker, still lives. This house originally stood about a quarter mile east of the Parker house and belonged to a man with the last name of Lymph. Ike dragged the house to the location of the present house, using a big block-and-tackle stump puller. When this house was replaced by the current Parker house, this one was moved to its present site, just west of the high school.
95294—Two Fruitvale Landmarks standing by a local institution--Sterling McGinley (left) and Ike Glenn. Sterling got tired of people stopping at his Fruitvale store asking, “Is this Fruitvale?” He had a sign made to answer the question before it was asked, and a similar sign still hangs over the old home/store/post office where Sterling’s daughter, Anna Kamerdula, still lives.
Two things stand out in my memory of Ike Glenn—his rich, deep voice that must have resembled his uncle Joe’s, and the way he began every other sentence with “By Gosh…”
9-18-08
Miles Chaffee
Another arrival at Fruitvale in the 1880s was Miles Chaffee. After originally settling at Indian Valley, he came to Fruitvale and homesteaded 160 acres south and west of the little hill that sits just west of "downtown" Fruitvale. The log barn that Chaffee built there in 1894 was use until it was torn down in 1996.
Chaffee had been a cavalry soldier for 18 years, serving much of this time involved in the Indian wars of Idaho Territory. The Aug 7, 1931 Adams County Leader contained Chaffee’s obituary, which said he had served 18 years in the military. An undated (about 1930) Statesman article said he retired "after 13 years of `hunting the Indians." My dad told me Chaffee used to impress the Fruitvale kids by rolling up his pant leg and showing them a scar on his shin that had been inflicted by an Indian arrow or bullet. Chaffee had been a wagon master under Col. Nelson Miles, served under General O.O. Howard, and was a sergeant in Company G under Captain R.F. Bernard during the Sheepeater Campaign of 1879. When Private Eagan was wounded in the Sheepeater Campaign, Chaffee assisted in amputating Eagan's leg. Eagan died a short time later from loss of blood.
The little hill west of Fruitvale was on Chaffee's homestead. There was a story that outlaws came through the valley before anyone lived there, carrying a load of stolen gold. The outlaws supposedly buried their loot somewhere on that hill, and never returned for it. Chaffee dug holes in the hill for many years, looking for the buried treasure.
Chaffee was a bachelor, and never married. He lived out his elderly years with the Roy Bethel family at the present site of 2608 West Fork Road (the old Ward Fry house, now Helen Glidden’s place). Just weeks before his death in 1931 at the age of 82, Chaffee sold his ranch to J.H. McGinley (Sterling’s father). Chaffee's place was later owned by Mel Ryals until about 1980. At this writing, it belongs to John Elsberry.
Mel Ryals grew up at Fruitvale and knew Miles Chaffee quite well. When he acquired the place, he said Chaffee had carved the year the barn was built—1894—on a beam in the barn. Mel saved that beam when he torn down the barn, but I haven’t been able to find out what happened to it.
Wilkies
The beginning of a community at Fruitvale is inseparable from the story of the Wilkie family. Frederick Wilkie settled on Hornet Creek in 1882. He and his sons established one of the first sawmills in the Council area in 1884. Two of the older sons, Arthur (Art) and Richard (Rich), soon stood out as two of the most hard-working and ambitious businessmen in the region.
After the railroad came through Council in 1901 the Wilkies wanted to be able to utilize this better means of transporting and marketing the lumber from their sawmills. But the road between Council and the areas where they milled timber in the head of Hornet Creek and Crooked River was an inadequate dirt wagon trail, and they could get little support for improving it. After the railroad was extended up the Weiser River toward New Meadows in 1906, their nearest access to the tracks was at present-day Fruitvale. Within the next couple years, Arthur Wilkie built a planing mill beside the railroad here.
At that time the wagon trail to the West Fork of the Weiser River branched off of a crude wagon trail that only went about a mile farther north toward Starkey. The mill was probably built on the flat between the railroad tracks and the lone hill at the present site of Fruitvale.
In 1908 the lumber operation was in full swing, and things were looking good. The P&IN Railroad even built a siding at the mill. But that fall, sparks from the steam engine that powered the planer started a fire which destroyed the mill, the lumber yard, and the engine itself. Undaunted by what would have seemed to be a major setback, the Wilkies immediately built another, even bigger mill on the same spot.
For reasons involving the ongoing investigation, I can’t say much about this, but there have been some VERY positive developments concerning the pistols stolen from the museum.
Photo captions:
72025—Miles Chaffee, one of the earliest settlers at Fruitvale.
72005—Frederick Wilkie, patriarch of the Wilkie family.
9-25-08
The Ambitious Wilkie Family
When the Wilkies established their planer mill along the railroad at Fruitvale, they needed a way to get their rough lumber to it. Under the name "Wilkie Traction and Transportation Company," they built a road from Hornet Creek over "Pleasant Ridge" (commonly known simply as "the Ridge") to Fruitvale. The original road left what is now the Council-Cuprum Road near the Peck house (2730 Council Cuprum Road—now John Brown’s place, which was the old Bill Hanson/ Dick Armacost place) and went east across the hills. The remains of this old road is still very visible on the hillside just south of the above-mentioned house. The road went across to North Hornet Creek, and on east up (or near) what is now known as "Traction Gulch" to the present end of the North Fork of the Ridge Road.
From here, it followed or paralleled the route of the present Ridge Road. The Wilkie road mostly followed the creek bottom instead of the side hills as the present road does. The change to the side of the hill was made because the old route was an almost impassable mud bog in wet seasons. Some of the road remained along the creek bottom until the 1940s.
Because the Wilkies used a steam traction engine (steam-powered tractor) to build the road and to haul lumber on it, the road was called the "Traction Road." This is undoubtedly the source of the name given to Traction Gulch (which comes into North Hornet Creek from the east), even though it is not clear whether the road actually went up this gulch or just near it.
Sometime between 1909 and 1912, farmers on the Ridge built a shorter road connecting the Council - Cuprum road to the Traction Road. This new, connecting road started near the Lower Dale School, went northwest up what was then known as "Warner Gulch," and connected with the Traction Road where the road now tees at the cattle guard (the intersection of Ridge Road and North Ridge Road). This Warner Gulch road, along with the Traction Road that went on to the present site of Fruitvale, became the county road now called Ridge Road. (The Warner Gulch portion of the Ridge road was probably built in the latter part of the 1909 - 1912 time frame, since there were more homesteaders later. The April 24, 1912 issue of the Fruitvale Echo newspaper reported that this part of the road was being accepted as a county road, so it was probably fairly new at this time.)
At the time the Traction road was built, there were five homesteaders living on Pleasant Ridge. By 1912 the Ridge had become a booming homestead area with about 26 families on scattered dry-land farms across the rocky hills between Hornet Creek and Fruitvale.
An Exciting New Project
People have been collecting Indian artifacts, such as arrowheads, in the Council area for many years. But the amount of actual archaeological study here is severely lacking. Although the Forest Service has documented the location and nature of artifacts on Federal land, many of the old Indian campsites are on private land. In cooperation with the Idaho Stare Historical Society, the Adams County Historic Preservation Commission is starting a study that will collect and organize information about archaeological sites in Adams County. A number of local people know about various Indian campsites, but this information has never been documented for future generations or for serious study.
A couple issues come up since this survey will involve private land. First, the specific locations of sites will not be made public. This information will only be made available to serious scholars. Information as to general locations and the nature of what is found will be made public because it’s of interest to all of us.
Next, if landowners volunteer information about sites on their land, this does not surrender any rights to anyone. The landowner retains all rights to their property, including any artifacts found there. The one exception to this is Indian grave sites, in which case the human remains belong to the relevant tribe.
At some point, we will have a public meeting or two at which State Archaeologist, Ken Reid, will be explaining the program and what to look for at potential archaeological sites. Ken was up here recently and we walked across a local field. Ken picked up several rocks that looked unremarkable to me, and pointed out that they had been cracked by heat--a sure sign that they had been used as part of a fire ring. We can look forward to learning more clues like this.
Right now, we need to start collecting a list of potential sites for inclusion in this important study. If you would like to take part in this project, and especially if you know of a place in Adams County where artifacts (such as arrowheads) have often been found, please contact me at 253-4582 or dafisk@ctcweb.net or PO Box 252, Council, ID 83612.
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Photo captions:
84010 & 84030--Richard Wilkie at the throttle of a steam-powered traction engine in 1909. The engine is pulling four trailers loaded with 20,000 board feet of lumber bound for the Wilkie planer at Fruitvale. One picture was taken on the Ridge Road; the other (with trees in the background) seems to be closer to their sawmill. I’m not sure why there are boards sticking up at the rear of each trailer load. Maybe some way they maintained tension on the binders?
10-2-08
Traction Engines
The Wilkies were some of the first people to use traction engines in this part of the country, possibly buying their first one in 1907.
The first such steam-powered tractors appeared in the eastern U.S. about 1855, and were used only for plowing fields. Until a practical steering mechanism was developed in the 1870s, they did not come into widespread use. Stationary steam engines had been in use for some time in applications such as the Seven Devils mines since the 1880s, but traction engines seem to have appeared in the Council area some time after 1900.
The most common use of traction engines here seems to have been to power threshing machines and sawmills. The Wilkies used their engines to power several sawmills and planing mills that operated all over this area. Prior to these portable steam engines, sawmills were often limited to locations where water power was available, such as at the original Wilkie mill site on Hornet Creek. (This was just south of the old Hornet Guard Station.)
Old newspapers mention threshers operated by Jackie Duree, the Winklers, and Press Anderson before the turn of the century. These were almost certainly horse-powered threshers. A few horse-drawn combines seem to have been used in this part of Idaho, but very few. It isn't clear just when people started using steam engines to power stationary threshers, but this was common by the 1920s. Many of the farmers would cooperate to jointly use the few available threshers. Pug Robertson of Bear, and Jim Henson of Pleasant Ridge were two men who traveled this area at harvest time, pulling a thresher from farm to farm behind their steam traction engines.
The thresher was set up in a field, and power was supplied to it from the traction engine by means of a long belt. Before the thresher arrived, the grain had been cut, bundled and tied into sheaves. The sheaves were hauled to the thresher, and thrown into a feeder opening. The cleaned grain came out a chute and into sacks. Each sack was sewn closed by hand, with string and a special needle which was usually about 3 to 5 inches long. Sack sewers became very skillful, and took pride in the speed and quality of their work. The straw and chaff came out of the thresher through a long pipe or conveyer, making a big pile on the ground.
Great care had to be taken that sparks from the steam engine's smoke stack didn't land on the straw pile, as it was extremely flammable. The loss of the straw and chaff would not be the problem; an entire grain field could turn into a raging inferno in a matter of seconds.
In addition to the crew directly involved in threshing the grain, it sometimes took two or more men to operate the steam engine, including one to haul wood (or coal) and water. One of the motivations for developing gas-powered tractors, aside from reduced fire danger, was to reduce the number of men needed to run a threshing operation.
There are two traction engines in the town square (downtown) park in Council. The Case engine is a 20-horsepower model, patented in 1899. It may be one that the Wilkies bought in the summer of 1910. It is said that this engine was used later by Jim Hensen to power the thresher that he operated on the Ridge and in the Fruitvale area. It may also have been used there for plowing.
I still can’t say much about the stolen gun situation, except that we will be getting some, if not all, of them back. The investigation is encumbered by the fact that it involves a number of legal jurisdictions and the need to keep things confidential until all the crooks have been flushed from the brush (so to speak).
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Photo captions:
95068L--Pug Robertson's steam traction engine pulling a threshing machine.
98347---This picture shows the long flat belt that ran from the traction engine the threshing machine (out of sight at left). This may have been in Meadows Valley.
72064—The Winkler threshing outfit in 1899, in front of the Cox & Winkler Blacksmith Shop (where the WICAP building is today). Horses powered this thresher.
10-9-08
Fruitvale Established
Art Wilkie went into partnership with several other men in 1909 and organized the lumber operations at the future site of Fruitvale under the name "Lincoln Lumber Company." The general area had, up to this time, been called "West Fork." On January 25, 1909 a post office was granted to West Fork and officially given the name "Lincoln." Almost immediately it was renamed "Fruitvale." Lucy McMahan proposed this name. It may have come to mind because the fruit industry was then the rage in the Council area. There was also a section of the town of Weiser called "Fruit Vale" at the time. Fruitvale was never a major fruit-growing area.
A young man named Andy Carroll became the first Postmaster. Carroll, a friend and sawmill employee of the Wilkies, was also Secretary and Treasurer of the Lincoln Lumber Company. The post office was probably in the Lincoln Lumber Company store which records show was managed by Carroll in April of 1910. Andy's father, Joseph Carroll, may also have been involved with the store at this time.
At some point, the Wilkie brothers began to form a plan to make Fruitvale the hub of the local universe. Aside from serving their own lumber shipping needs, they realized that, with their new road, Fruitvale would be the nearest railroad point to upper Hornet Creek and all of the Seven Devils mining area. It was also very near the resort at Starkey Hot Springs, which, since being reached by the railroad, was becoming a very popular tourist destination.
In October of 1909 Rich and Art Wilkie, along with J.L.B.(Joseph) Carroll, Isaac McMahan, Fred Brooks, George Robertson, Vollie Zink and Miles Chaffee formed a public corporation called the "Fruitvale Townsite Company Limited." The company bought 80 acres of land at Fruitvale, and had streets and lots surveyed for a new townsite.
Rich Wilkie built and owned the first store, sold fire insurance, was a notary public, and helped publish a newspaper called the "Fruitvale Echo." Art Wilkie owned and operated the Fruitvale Hotel. He was also involved in logging operations at Tamarack during this time.
By 1910 things were going so well that the Wilkie brothers found the traction road inadequate to handle the demands that lumber and freight traffic placed upon it. They made plans to build a railroad line between Fruitvale and Crooked River, and organized a stock company to sell shares in the venture. The planned route was to parallel that of their traction road, but the rail line was never built.
The Fruitvale Echo began publication in April of 1912. The new publication was almost immediately a thorn in the side of its rival, the Council Journal. The publisher was listed only as the "Fruitvale Commercial Club," but public perception seems to have been that its editor was Rich Wilkie. The Echo was a convenient vehicle for his ambitious plans.
More about Fruitvale next week.
Idaho Governor Butch Otter has declared October 2008 “Idaho Archives Month.” The Idaho State Historical Society has a wonderful collection of articles, and much more, that can be accessed on line. To search their collection, go to idahohistory.net and click on the “Research & Collections” link. The site also has a search feature that is very handy. There is a link to it at the very bottom of the first page, or you can add “search.html” to the idahohistory.net address like so: idahohistory.net/search.html. One of the new additions to their on-line archives is a complete list of people who were incarcerated in the old Idaho State Penitentiary between 1864 and 1947. The records include the prisoner’s legal name and aliases, prison number, crime, county or jurisdiction, age, year of birth, year of incarceration, and provides cross-references to establish the identities of inmates for whom individual case files have not survived.
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Photo captions:
72085---This is a special picture to me since I’ve lived most of my life with this approximate view to the north. This photo was taken in 1910 about ¾ mile west of Fruitvale, not far past my house where the Ridge Road takes a little drop down off the bench. Harold and Lorie Hoxie now live on the ranch whose buildings are just visible beyond the lead team. This is the old Tony Schwartz place, and it was probably owned by James Finn (Ralph’s father) at this time. The info for this picture says this is “Uncle Bill Harp” hauling lumber for the Wilkie Sawmill.
82003—This is another special picture, taken in 1907 at the same spot on the Ridge Road, only this time looking south southwest. Rich Wilkie is the man on the far right (marked with X). The other men are unidentified. According to what is written on the face of the photo, they were “taking engine on around from Fruitvale to saw mill in 1907.” At the time, Joe Glenn owned the field and haystacks in the background. My grandfather, Jim Fisk, bought him out in 1924. Notice that the rail fence in the background on the south side of the road was replaced by a wire fence by the time the 1910 photo was taken.
00214---Andy Herbert Carroll, about 1906. In 1909, the same year that Fruitvale was established and he became the postmaster, Andy married Olda Davis, the daughter of Byran and Nancy Davis. Tragically, Andy died of pneumonia only four years later (2-13-1912), at the age of 26. He is buried in the Hornet Creek Cemetery.
10-16-08
Choosing a County Seat
After Adams County was created in 1911, Council was designated the temporary county seat until the next election, which would be in November of 1912. During the short life span of the Fruitvale Echo, Rich Wilkie waged an incessant, unrelenting, almost religious crusade to make Fruitvale the county seat instead of Council. Among other virtues, he proclaimed the central location of Fruitvale to be the pivotal crossroads of the new county.
For months after the Echo first appeared in print, the new Council Leader editor, Fred Mullin, patiently ignored the soapbox editorials in the Echo as one would the tirades of a younger sibling. His only comment was the veiled reference when the Echo first began publication, "It was only an 'Echo' drifted down from the hills." Finally in September, Mullin reached his breaking point and cut loose with a scathing front-page attack, responding to a comment the Echo had made about an article in the Leader. In one of the three separate shots at the Echo, Mullin said, “ . . . the poor thing does the baby act by crying that we abused it. If you can't stand it why don't you get a man in your place?" In another issue, he referred to the Echo as "a dispenser of lies and libels with an anonymity as editor."
Rich Wilkie spent a great deal of time and energy traveling all over the new county, including the Seven Devils district, gathering 506 signatures on a petition to put Fruitvale on the upcoming ballot as an official candidate for county seat. When the deadline for filing the petitions had passed, Wilkie went to court to bar New Meadows and Council from appearing on the ballot. Represented by well-known attorney Frank Harris of Weiser, Wilkie claimed that Council and New Meadows didn't gather the number of signatures required by law. Wilkie contested 73 of the signatures on the New Meadows petition; he must have gone through them with a fine-toothed comb.
The controversy dragged on for months. Only a few days before the election, Judge E. L. Bryan ruled that the law didn't outline requirements for inclusion on a ballot in such a case, and that the contested towns could appear on the ballot.
At this time, some Meadows Valley people were still steaming from the fact that the railroad had been built to New Meadows instead of the established town of Meadows. They felt that land investors at New Meadows had pulled strings in order to make themselves wealthy. Some thought that Wilkie's motives in his lawsuit were suspiciously similar, as he and his family had much to gain from the success of Fruitvale.
When Election Day came, the weather was miserable. A blinding storm with a mixture of rain and snow plagued the region all day. The weather proved to be an ill omen for the dreams of the Wilkie family. Council won the county seat election by a landslide, with a total of 919 votes. To add insult to injury, voters from the Fruitvale precinct gave 76 votes to Council--a number almost equal to the total number of 87 votes that Fruitvale received from the whole county! The Seven Devils towns proved to be the most supportive of Fruitvale, but only by a narrow margin.
When it became clear that Fruitvale was not going to become what the Wilkie family had hoped, they seemed to lose interest in this area, and left for greener pastures. Rich found his way to Idaho Falls, Idaho where he practiced law until his death in 1925 at the age of forty-nine. Art also practiced law in the eastern part of the state, at Ashton and Idaho Falls. He moved to California in 1946 and died there in 1949.
I’ll have more on Fruitvale next week.
I’m still looking for information about Indian artifact sites. Nobody has contacted me so far. The Adams County Historic Preservation Commission will be working with the State Historical Society and the State Archaeologist to document Indian sites, and we need area people to help identify them. Please contact me at 253-4582 or dafisk@ctcweb.net or PO Box 252, Council, 83612.
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Photo captions:
84011—Workers at the Wilkie sawmill in 1908. Those identified are Craig Wilkie, Frank Lauzon, Art Wilkie, Harry Gowen, Ralph Wilkie and Andy Carroll.
82002-- The Arthur and Lillian Wilkie home on Hornet Creek, located about 12 miles from Council where Mill Creek enters Hornet Creek, just south of old Hornet Guard Station. Taken about 1908, those in the photo are: 1 & 2 -Harry and Dora Whiffin 3- dog 4- Bernie (?) 5- Adrian (?) 6- Libbie (?) 7- Lillie (Lillian Whiffin Wilkie) holding Audrey Wilkie, 8-Waldo Wilkie on the step without a hat. The foundation of this house is still visible just south of the junction of the Council-Cuprum Road and the road that goes up on Cuddy Mountain.
10-23-08
Fruitvale Founding Families
The Carrolls
Joseph L.B. Carroll and his wife, Miranda, hopscotched up the valleys along the Weiser River, operating successive general merchandise stores at Middle Valley (Midvale), Salubria , and Council between 1899 and 1901. The Carroll family bought the Lick Creek Hotel and ranch in 1903, and Miranda became the postmaster at the Bear Post Office in 1905.
Sometime between 1905 and 1910, the Carrolls moved to Fruitvale, as one of the founders of the townsite. They lived on Monroe Street. Joseph was the teacher at the Glendale school in 1911. He was later elected Probate Judge for the Fruitvale Precinct on the Socialist party ticket.
Tragedy struck the Carroll family twice in the next few years. Andy, died of pneumonia when he was not quite 26 years old. Just two years later, Miranda died at the age of 53.
The McMahans
Isaac and Lucy McMahan were true Landmarks of the early Council and Fruitvale areas. Isaac and his brother, Jonathan, came west with their parents in 1876. Jonathan settled in the Meadows Valley and ran a store there. The story of Isaac and Lucy's mercantile business in Council is covered earlier in this book.
By 1903 Isaac was ready to retire from the merchandising business. He traded the store to Joseph Whiteley for Whiteley's ranch about a half mile southeast of Fruitvale. The Isaac McMahan house was at the present site of 2542 Fruitvale-Glendale Road. It burned down sometime around the 1930s. Earl later lived at 2554 Fruitvale Glendale Road, and one of the other sons lived at 2303 McMahan Lane. Judging from old photographs, it appears that the store was one of the buildings that burned the next year, in the 1904 fire in Council.
At Fruitvale, Isaac went into the cattle business in a big way. His cattle had the run of the land on the Ridge before homesteaders took up most of the open range, and he ran cattle on the area between Fruitvale and Lost Valley before the Forest Reserve was established. After several of his animals were stolen and slaughtered just east of the present site of Lost Valley reservoir, the drainage where the crime occurred was named "Slaughter Gulch." After the Forest was established, McMahan held a grazing permit for 375 head of cattle. This permit was later sold to the Circle C ranch. That permit was probably even later split up among a few Fruitvale ranchers, as the Circle C has not owned it for decades.
In 1917 the McMahans bought the hotel building in Fruitvale (which had by this time become a Grange hall), and converted it into a store. [Now the Joslin house at 2592 Fruitvale-Glendale Road.] My dad (Dick Fisk) remembered riding in a wagon with his father as a young boy as they traveled up the old road that came into Fruitvale along the eastern foothills. That road is still very visible above the ditch when you look east from the Fruitvale-Glendale Road south of Fruitvale. The road entered Fruitvale from the east on what is now Rome Beauty Avenue. Dad said they stopped at the McMahan store to get their mail.
In 1924 Isaac and Lucy moved to Portland, Oregon, leaving their sons to run the ranch. They came back to Fruitvale in 1934. Isaac McMahan died in 1936 at the age of about 77. Lucy died in January of 1956.
Isaac and Lucy had four sons-Earl, Ernest, Rollie and Lester-who lived at Fruitvale for many years. The road that ran through the original McMahan ranch is now named "McMahan Lane" although--to the chagrin of the McMahan family and those of us familiar with them--it is misspelled on the road sign as “McMahon.”
95469—The Lick Creek Stage Station/Hotel about 1900, very much as it looked when the Carrolls ran it a couple years after this photo was taken. At this time was operated by Al Jewell of Salubria, and the sign on the front of the veranda reads. "JEWELL HOUSE." This now the location of the OX Ranch Lick Creek headquarters.
99282—Earl and Irene McMahan in the 1960s. Photo by Gene Camp in the Museum collection.
10-30-08
A Horsehide Legend
The following is a fictionalized and expanded version of a story that Ernest McMahan to Dick Parker.
It happened one summer day, probably between 1903 and 1907. Baseball was the rage, and almost every community had a team. That summer a young man from Weiser was working at a sawmill somewhere near Fruitvale. His name was Walter, and he wanted to play baseball. He was supposed to be able to throw a pretty mean pitch, so he was given a chance on the Fruitvale team. Everybody got into position for a game, and Walter began to fling the horsehide. The first batter swatted fiercely as the ball went zipping past him, but the wood caught nothing but air. Two pitches later, he was out. The next batter did no better, nor did the next. As the game went on, it became predictable--almost to the point of being monotonous. Whenever Walter was on the mound it was practically certain that no batter would make it to first base. Ernest McMahan, who stood idly at second base, later said all you needed to win a game of baseball was Walter and a catcher because the ball almost never went into the field when Walter was pitching.
The Fruitvale team soon defeated every team up and down the P&IN Railroad line. Looking for more of a challenge, they took on a team from Boise. The Boise team probably thought this was some kind of a joke. Fruitvale was just a few houses along a rough wagon trail in the middle of nowhere. It wouldn't acquire a store, or even an official name, until several years later. In spite of the Boise team's expectations, they left the field on the short end of a lopsided score.
Whether the above story is completely true or not, Walter Johnson's talent soon attracted the attention of scouts from the big leagues. In 1907 he was signed to pitch for the Washington Senators professional baseball team. He stayed with this team for the next twenty years, striking out over 3,500 batters. To this day some people say that he was the best pitcher that ever lived, and that his pitch was "the most dangerous weapon ever unleashed on a ball field."
Charlie Cox
C.E. "Charlie" Cox was operating a blacksmith shop in Fruitvale as early as 1908. The Cox house was at the present location of 2605 West Fork Road. This was later the Lorne Rice place, and much later belonged to Gary Ringering. Cox’s blacksmith shop was just north of the north end of Monroe Street.
Cox was experienced in all kinds of blacksmithing, but was especially renowned for his skill as a wheelwright. This specialty involved anything to do with making or repairing wagon wheels.
Charlie Cox was the postmaster at Fruitvale during the 1920s. In 1930 the Cox family moved to Payette. The old blacksmith shop was purchased by "the union Sunday school" for their activities in 1938. Later, the shop was converted to a house. The last people to live there were Arlie and Betty Duvall. After both of the Duvalls died, the house was torn down about 1980. There’s nothing there today but a patch of dense brush and trees.
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Photos and captions:
95511—A Council baseball team posing in front of a store, about 1915. The store is unidentified, but notice the “foundation.” The people are identified on back of the original picture as: "1-Howard Rush, 2-Geo Winkler, 3-Lee Zink, 4-Marion Lee, 5-Charlie Winkler, 6-John Piper, 7-Billie Brown, 8- Lincoln Mitchell, 9-Jeff McMillian (McMillan?), 10-Fred Mitchell, 11-Ed Burtenshaw, 12-Bud Sunday, 13-Jack Gibbs. (There are only 11 people in the photo, numbered 1 thru 11, but there are 13 names on the back. I think #8 is the boy in the center.)
95271-- The Fruitvale store, possibly when Charlie Cox owned it in 1923. There is a sign over the porch that reads, "Post Office." This store was later owned by Everett Ryals in 1924. The people may be Pete Robertson and his car, and members of the Ryals family.
99246—Arlie Duvall in the 1960s. Arlie was a fixture at Fruitvale when I was growing up. He was a slow-talking old guy who rolled his own cigarettes.
11-6-08
I’m going to interrupt my series about Fruitvale from my Landmarks book and write about subjects related to the archaeological survey that the Adams County Historic Preservation Commission is undertaking in cooperation with the Idaho State Historical Society.
The name for the town of Council came from the fact that large numbers of Indians gathered here for what early pioneers thought were “council” meetings. State archaeologist, Ken Reid, sent me a thesis written by Spike Ericson as part of Ericson’s requirements for getting a Master of Arts in History degree from Boise State University in 1994. This thesis is about the Indian gatherings in the Council and Indian Valley areas and the trade network that led to them. I will be taking much of my information here from that thesis.
The main tribes that gathered in the Council Valley in the 1870s were the various branches of the Shoshoni tribe (Bannock, Lemhi, etc.), Nez Perce and those from the Umatilla Reservation (northeastern Oregon), but a number of other tribes also participated at various times. Over 2,000 Indians would meet here, sometimes coming from hundreds of miles away. Observers noted that the vast horse herds brought by these natives outnumbered the people at the campsites. What an incredible sight that must have been! One witness said the teepees and horse herds covered the valley just northwest of the present town “like a blanket.”
The white people who witnessed these gatherings did not understand their purpose and misinterpreted them as council meetings. European-oriented culture didn’t understand the social structure (among other things) of native cultures. I guess they assumed that any large gathering of Indians had to have some organizational purpose. Early inquiries into Shoshoni social structure—on the subject of chiefs and leadership of various groups specifically—got an interesting response from the Indians. They didn’t seem to understand what the whites were asking them about. Ericson said: “The Shoshoni in this example answered inadequately to questions about leadership probably because the questions didn’t fit their experience. The researchers may have asked for descriptions of structures that were unrecognizable to the Indians.” Shoshoni social organization was very flexible, and leadership roles were not necessarily seen in terms of wealth, power and authority, as in white culture.
The meetings in the Council Valley were more about trade than anything else. A native trading network that covered much of the West had existed for untold centuries. Before the white invasion of Idaho in the 1860s (after gold was discovered) the Indians had gathered to trade and harvest salmon in the area along the Snake River west of Boise. In that area, five major rivers join the Snake: the Boise, Payette and Weiser Rivers from the east and north, and the Owyhee and Malheur Rivers from the west and south. Erikson called this area the “Six River” area. In the Shoshoni language, the area was known as “Sehewoki’i.” (It would be interesting to know exactly how that was pronounced.) In English the term means “willows standing in rows like running water.” Historian, Sven Liljeblad, said that after the acquisition of horses (around 1750), the Sehewoki’i “became the most important center of intertribal horse trade west of the Rockies.”
Bison (American Buffalo) once roamed southern Idaho, and were hunted by Indians. By sometime around 1840 these herds had disappeared, and buffalo were only found east of the continental divide after that. Some Idaho Shoshonis traveled over the mountains to hunt buffalo, and in doing so met, traveled and traded with other tribes--Nez Perce, Flathead, Crow, Pend d’ Oreille, Kootenai and Coeur d’ Alene. Some of these tribes traded with the Mandans of the upper Missouri River.
According to Erikson: “Some prominent Idaho Shoshone-Bannock groups adopted a huge annual migratory circuit of over 1,200 miles to accommodate buffalo hunting and trading on the Northern Plains, root gather at the Forth Hall bottoms and Camas Prairie, and fishing and trading at the Sehewoki’i area.”
More on this subject next week.
Photo caption:
Shoshoni_tip
11-13-08
Shoshoni Expansion
It’s interesting to note that Europeans had changed the lives of the Shoshoni and other tribes in the West long before Lewis & Clark came in contact with them. For instance, smallpox devastated the Shoshonis in 1781.
Shoshoni culture had a significant influence on other tribes. The Shoshoni came to the Idaho area from farther south, and according to Ericson, “were expanding out of the northern Great Basin into the great Plains when they acquired horses from Spanish settlements. The Shoshoni-Comanche then distributed horses to many of the Plains and Plateau tribes. [Plateau tribes being Nez Perce, Umatilla, etc.] It may be suggested that the expansion of the Plains culture (featuring equestrian buffalo hunting) which affected tribes of the Eastern Woodlands, the Columbia Plateau, and the Great Basin, actually began with the expansion of Shoshoni culture.”
It has even been theorized that the Shoshoni moved into what is now Idaho about a thousand years ago and dominated a group of people who were already living here. The Shoshoni brought more advanced technology, such as the bow and arrow, where only hand-thrown projectiles were in use before this. The atlatl was the most advance method of throwing a projectile until the bow and arrow. The projectile points for the atlatl was generally larger than those used for arrows. Many of us use the term “arrowheads” to refer to projectile points from both the atlatl and arrow, but atlatl points were usually bigger than arrowheads. Hopefully State Archaeologist, Ken Reid, will give a presentation here on this and other subjects early next year.
By the way, the Shoshonis made a short, fast bow that was very much in demand. It was made in some way from the horns of mountain sheep. The only one I’ve seen was on display in a museum in the Grand Teton National Park.
The location of the Shoshoni between the Plains and Plateau tribes put them in a good position to facilitate trade in the Northwest. The people living here before the Shoshoni arrived became intermediaries in substantial trade system an estimated 4,500 years ago at least, and of course their later acquisition of horses made travel for trade much easier, faster and more widespread. Trade along the Snake River increase dramatically after horses came into use.
Their geographic position as intermediaries resulted in the Shoshoni being multicultural to some extent. They adopted some of clothes, customs, language use and even lifestyles of the tribes they mingled and traded with. In analyzing the artifacts we study in our upcoming survey, it might be interesting to see how many of them came from outside the Shoshoni home area. For instance, beads made from seashells were common, and catlinite (hard clay from which pipes were made) came only from Minnesota, South Dakota or Manitoba, Canada.. The Shoshoni also had early connections with Spanish settlements to the south.
The local Shoshoni had one item that wound up being distributed far and wide. They had one of the few sources of obsidian—the best material for projectile points and cutting tools—at Timber Butte, which is up in the mountains west of the community of Banks, Idaho. Experts can determine which one of the known sources of obsidian that a particular piece came from.
I’ll have more on this next week.
The City has said that the museum can take over the little building that sits just south of the museum entrance. At one time, it was Council’s City Hall. We need to get information as to where, when and how it was used. Is that metal siding original? I would appreciate it if people who know some of this would contact me.
11-20-08
Trade & Trouble
In last week’s column, I worded one sentence poorly when writing about the Indian trade network in the West. Some may have misunderstood and thought I was saying that Indians acquired horses 4,500 years ago, which of course would have been long before Columbus. I was trying to say the trade network involving the Shoshonis existed at least that long ago.
Speaking of horses, Ericson wrote an interesting passage:
“A century after the Shoshoni distributed horse among their Plateau and Plains neighbors, they were still heavily involved in a wide-ranging horse trade. In the fall of 1821, for example, a large Shoshoni band traveled hundreds of miles to meet Kiowa, Arapaho, Cheyenne, and Comanche groups at the confluence of the Arkansas and Apishapa Rivers, just east of present-day Pueblo, Colorado. This huge intertribal gathering of over seven hundred lodges brought various nomadic horse-trading tribes to one large distribution point. The total number of horses at this even may have reached more than 20,000. The Cheyenne took horses northward to the upper Missouri and beyond, and the Shoshoni were middlemen taking horses back to the northwestern Plains, the Rocky Mountains, and the Columbia Plateau.”
According to prominent Idaho historian, Sven Liljeblad, the big trade rendezvous in the Six River a.k.a. Sehewoki’i started early in the summer when this area was one of the earliest locations of salmon runs. He said the Nez Perce came with their famous horses to trade. The eastern Shoshoni, who hunted buffalo, came “loaded with supplies of dried meat. The Paiute brought “neatly flaked arrowheads from the famous Glass Buttes.” Glass Butte is about 60 miles west of Burns, Oregon. Liljeblad said these gatherings occurred in connection with salmon fishing and harvesting camas, and added, “For a month or two, peaceful and busy trading alternated with ceremonial dancing, gambling, and merrymaking.”
The Weiser was one of the best salmon spawning streams in the region. One of the reasons the Indians may have moved their annual meetings to the Council Valley was that the intense gold mining in the Boise Basin so badly polluted the Boise River that salmon stopped spawning in that river.
[Council tree, Council trees]
Another thing I found interesting is that the big annual gatherings in the Six River/Sehewoki’i area may have completely stopped during the latter half of the 1850s and about all of the 1860s. It was a time of so much conflict between whites and natives that the Indians may not have been able to do much but survive. Ericson said:
“During this time, peaceful Boise Shoshoni were hunted down and slaughtered by white civilian volunteers and the military alike. Local newspapers incited violence toward natives. Militia groups made up of amateur and professional Indian hunters engages in extermination of natives wherever they could be found. On one occasion, a bounty was offered on Indian scalps: $100 on men or ‘bucks,’ $50 on women, and $25 on children. [Source: Owyhee Avalanche newspaper, 2-17-1866] The situation was so desperate for the Boise Shoshoni that some of them were actually safer seeking refuge among the white population in Boise City. The white frontier attitude characterized by intense hatred of Indians was not often acted upon as long as the wretched ‘Lo’ remained within the city limits. Perhaps this was because atrocities were less likely to be carried out in front of large groups of witnesses. So, ironically, the safest place for many Boise Shoshoni was to ‘hang around town,’ as the newspapers often put it.”
It must have been during this period that Craig “Uncle Pinkie” Baird earned a reputation as an Indian killer. Baird claimed that he had shot and killed a local Shoshoni Chief named Eagle Eye someplace on Squaw Creek. (Squaw Creek runs south into the Payette River between Emmett and Horseshoe Bend.) This claim was false, but he may have killed a man he thought was Eagle Eye. He gave Bill or Charley Winkler a pair of moccasins that he claimed Eagle Eye was wearing at the time he killed the chief. These moccasins are now in the Council Valley Museum.
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72018.jpg – Craig Baird. Indian killer.
11-27-08
First Council Gatherings
After 1869, the outright wars between Indians and whites pretty much wound down for a while. A reservation had been established at Fort Hall in 1868, and people in Boise acted insulted that the natives would leave it for any reason. Never mind that the Indians had no way to survive there. The Shoshoni also paid annual visits to Boise out of respect for their ancestors. Ernest Eagleson, Idaho’s Surveyor General in 1900, said that, “from Cottonwood Canyon below Table mountain, to the Boise river canyon above it, are still many signs of one of the larges prehistoric burial grounds in the northwest.”
Partly because they couldn’t survive on the reservation, and partly because they were not willing to give up their culture, Indians continued to travel to their traditional food sources such as Camas Prairie and the salmon-spawning Weiser and Payette Rivers.
In 1870 there was a relatively minor gathering of Indians near Middleton, but the next year complaints of roving Indians were reported all over central Idaho. There is some evidence that 1871 may have been the first year that Indians resorted to holding their annual trade meetings at Council.
Even though settlement up the Weiser River had reached Indian Valley by 1868, the river from there north was still unsettled. The Indians were in desperate need of salmon to get them through the winter. An indication of how much salmon they harvested comes from a report of that time about the Lemhi Shoshoni of eastern Idaho. Their traditional salmon spawning streams—the Lemhi and Salmon Rivers-- had been so “blocked off by whites” that they were only able to stock about one-third of their usual supply of dried salmon—only 10,000 pounds.
By the first week of July 1872, about 1,000 Indians were known to have traveled from Camas Prairie to the Council Valley. At this time, Milton Kelly--about whom I’ve written in my Landmarks book because of his involvement with the settlers at Indian Valley during the Nez Perce scare of 1877--was a retired Idaho Supreme Court Justice and the new editor of the Statesman. He wrote that the Indians “have no right to travel through here or congregate on the Weiser,” and that “They have no right off their reservation.”
Kelly was also alarmed when he learned that 600 Indians from the Umatilla reservation were traveling to the Council Valley as well. According to Council pioneers like Bill Winkler, these groups arrived here via the Brownlee Trail, which pretty much followed the general route Highway 71 between Cambridge and Brownlee Dam. The Shoshoni, and others from points south, arrived by way of Squaw Creek (goes north between Horseshoe Bend and Emmett), Crane Creek and Indian Valley.
In his July 11 [1872] edition Kelly wrote: “Altogether they will number over 2000. The principle object of this meeting is to have horse races, swap horses, trade squaws, gamble, and have a big pow-wow generally. Of course they will catch salmon and hunt a little . . . There is no safety for the Weiser, or any other neighborhood with such an army of savages.” He said in a subsequent issue, “The case that these Indians want to trade [with] the Umatillas for horses is not sufficient” cause for their presence in western Idaho, and that the citizenry should ”rise up and drive them back to their reservation.”
Idaho governor Bennett personally traveled toward Camas Prairie to try to stop the Indians from going from there to Boise or Council. It didn’t work. The Indians just kept coming.
That August [1872] the Statesman received a letter from the “upper Weiser,” which most likely would have meant Indian Valley. It said about the Indians, “If they attempt another raid through here we will give them some passes that will do them for all time and insure their safe transit to their happy hunting ground. We are a highly favored community, taxed by two counties, and burned out every fall by Indians! No wonder our country is sparsely settled.”
The Indians would have traveled along a trail through Indian Valley, coming north from Squaw Creek through the Crane Creek area. I’m not sure what being taxed by two counties meant; Adams County wasn’t split from Washington County until 1911. [Council Valley was in Ada County at the time] Mention of being burned out every fall must refer to the native’s practice of setting the country on fire as they left in the fall. Since these and other fires were frequent and no attempt was made to put them out, they had less fuel and burned with much less intensity than modern forest or range fires, and probably actually helped the ecosystem.
12-4-08
The Biggest Council Gathering
The native gatherings at Council may have peaked in 1872. It certainly seems to be the most documented. According to the Statesman, about 800 Umatillas (Cayuses), 500 Nez Perces, 75 Klikitats, and 1,125 Shoshoni and Bannocks -- a total of about 2,500 Indians -- gathered here.
The editor of the Statesman, Milton Kelly, and others, continued their diatribes against Indians traveling off the reservations:
“A large body of armed Indians, well supplied with ammunition, with bad ones amongst them known to be on the rob and murder, with fresh blood upon their garments, and no object in their mission except to meet another lot of scalawag Indians for the purpose of gambling, trading and running horses, is enough to strike terror into a defenseless neighborhood of women and children, and the sycophancy of those who preach good Indians and the policy of permitting them to prowl around these settlements, meets a just condemnation from the people.”
A man named Jack Dempsey (obviously no relation to the boxer) was married to a Bannock woman and sent a description of the Council gathering in 1872 to the Statesman. Kelly, however, was so wrapped up in his indignant ignorance that he shrugged off Dempsey’s report, saying he did not “think it would interest our readers very much.” How priceless that description would be today.
The one scrap of Dempsey’s description that the Statesman did print gives us an interesting clue as to what may have been the nearest thing to a “council” meeting at the Council Valley. Dempsey said the Nez Perce and Bannock delegations made some kind of “treaty of peace, and hereafter each are to have the right to visit the other, . . The treaty was celebrated with great pomp and parade.”
This treaty probably involved a Nez Perce leader named Eagle From The Light. Ever since E.D. Pearce had started a mining invasion of Nez Perce land in 1860, Eagle From The Light had advocated war against the whites. When the majority of the tribe rejected war in an 1863 meeting, Eagle From The Light left in disgust, traveling to the Council area to join Chief Eagle Eye’s band of Shoshonis. (Eagle From The Light and his non-treaty group apparently stayed in the general area of the Weiser and Salmon Rivers until 1875 when he moved to the Flathead Reservation in Montana.)
In the summer of 1872, Eagle From The Light’s band had little but bad luck when they traveled to Montana to hunt buffalo. They got into a scrape with the Sioux in which they were on the losing end and lost many of their horses. In attending the trade gathering at Council Valley, Eagle From The Light’s band would have been able to replace some badly needed horses, plus gain some support in opposing white oppression. The treaty that Dempsey reported very well may have been an effort by Eagle From The Light to form such an alliance.
The only other non-treaty band of Nez Perce was the Wallowa band, of which Chief Joseph was one of the leaders. They were having their own problems with whites, which of course would have a disastrous result in 1877. There have been apocryphal accounts of Chief Joseph showing up in the Council/Cambridge area--such as a story of his visiting John Cuddy’s flourmill near present-day Cambridge--but whether he or his band ever attended the Council Valley gatherings, I don’t know. It’s probably doubtful, as the Commissioner of Indian Affairs seems to have kept pretty close tabs on various Indian groups during this period.
The Umatilla Reservation agent, N.A. Cornoyer, made note of the Umatillas that came to Council in 1872. If 800 Umatillas did attend the Council gathering, considering the fact that the reservation only had a population of 837 Indians, practically every resident must have left the reservation to attend. Cornoyer said:
“…a small party of the Bannock band of Snake [Shoshoni] Indians. . . paid a visit to these Indians, for the purpose of inviting them to come and see them, and make arrangements to trade with them. . .believing that much good would result from the restoration of peace and harmony between the tribes. I gave my consent for them to go. It being impossible for me to leave at the time, I sent my interpreter in charge of our Indians, with instructions to keep me advised in case any difficulty should arise. These Snake Indians procure large amounts of buffalo-robes, which they are anxious to trade with our Indians for horses, and our Indians took with them considerable number of their ponies for the purpose of making a trade. Our Indians have all returned much pleased with their visit, and although they did not trade to a great extent, I am satisfied that it has been productive of great good; and I have received letters from white citizens residing in the Snake country, who say that the good advice given by our Indians to the Snakes to remain at peace with the whites will no doubt have weight with these people.”
Apparently he had no idea what Eagle From The Light was up to.
12-11-08
The Last of the Big Indian Gatherings
Last week I was writing about the 1872 Indian rendezvous in the Council Valley. Lemhi Shoshonis attended this gathering from eastern Idaho, led by Chief Tendoy. An important part of their trip was to trade for salmon. According to one estimate, they went home with as much as 10,000 pounds of dried salmon.
When Idaho’s Territorial congress convened in January of 1873, fear of natives was on the agenda. It passed an official Council Memorial, “Praying that a provision be made for the protection of the people of Idaho Territory from the Indians.” It said that during the summer, Boise, Ada (Council Valley was in Ada County at the time), Owyhee and Alturas counties were:
“…. infested with roving bands of Indians of the Shoshone, Bannock, Boise, and Umatilla tribes, and fragmentary bands of other tribes, and that the combined aggregate number of Indians who thus come into the above named counties each year will not average less than three thousand; that, while thus traversing, hunting and fishing in these counties, (as it seems by the treaties made with them they have the right to do,) no agent or authorized person claims the right to or exercises any control over their movements whatever. . .”
It went on to “pray” for a “grant of arms” for Fort Boise to be used by volunteer militias. Governor Bennett sent a copy of this memorial to the Secretary of the Interior with a letter in which he mentioned that every summer Idaho Indians, “ go to Camas Prairie in full strength, and there leaving their old men, and old women to dig roots, the others to the number of 1200 or 2000, including their young men, and warriors pass on into the white settlements in the valleys of the Boise, Payette, and the Weiser, and remain there for several months….” Bennett asked that a special commission be sent to the Indian gathering the next summer to re-negotiate the treaty and revoke Indians rights to hunt on unoccupied lands of the U.S.
Interior Secretary Curtis responded by sending “500 breech-loading Springfield rifled muskets, and also 25,000 rounds of metallic cartridges, with complete sets of accoutrements” to be distributed to the sparsely populated areas of Idaho after local volunteer militias were organized. Curtis said this shipment of guns was to “conserve the peaceful relations between the citizenry of the Territory and the Indians.”
Settlers at Salubria had heard about this request for weapons, and had already requested some of the guns because, “Indians congregate here in very large numbers every summer.”
Curtis also formed the special commission that Governor Bennett had requested, to convince the Indians to take up “pastoral pursuits.” The commission carelessly scheduled a meeting with the natives in July 1873—just when the Indians would be gathering at Camas Prairie and the upper Weiser. Some of the Indians stayed on the reservation to meet with the commission, but when the commissioners didn’t show up at the scheduled time, the Indians left for their usual haunts. The commission rescheduled for August at Camas Prairie, but arrived after the Indians had left. Another reschedule resulted in a meeting in October at Fort Hall at which a treaty was drafted that would take away the Shoshone-Bannock rights to hunt on unoccupied lands. The agreement was never ratified. Nevertheless, many whites considered the agreement a done deal and were indignant when the Indians continued to travel and gather.
One Indian Valley settler wrote to the Statesman in September of 1873, “They have been making up the case now for six or seven years, and it looks worse every year. If our crops are not burned up by the red devils, we will gather the most grain that ever has been gathered in one year here.”
The Statesman reported an interesting group of Indians that traveled through Boise in the summer of 1874. It consisted of 25 men and one woman from the Umatilla reservation. They had an estimated 1,200 horses with them. They were probably on their way to Camas Prairie. That summer, Indians were so numerous on the upper Weiser River that settlers formed a militia and once again requested guns to protect themselves from “the tamahawk [sic] and scalping knife of the murderous savage.”
There is evidence that the 1875 Indian trade gathering was held in Long Valley instead of the upper Weiser River.
Whites kept a cynical eye on Indian trade in the summer of 1876 after the Custer disaster that June. The residents of the Umatilla reservation had 7,000 horses, and the agent had given them permission to sell them wherever they could. Many speculated that the horses were going to the Sioux in Montana, who of course were responsible for Custer’s demise. The statesman’s editor, Milton Kelly, reported that “hundreds of Indians from Montana, Nevada, Oregon, and other portions of Idaho” are again on the Weiser and Payette River areas, that they “continue to fish,” and “they will not give up these lands.”
1876 seems to have been the last year for Idaho’s big intertribal trade gatherings, and even for intertribal cooperation. When the Nez Perce War broke out in 1877, fear and old rivalries won out. Bannock warriors scouted for the Army against the Sioux and Nez Perce. The next year (1878) the Umatillas double-crossed the Shoshoni in the Bannock War, and basically precipitated a massacre of the Shoshone-Bannock forces.
For many years after the big gatherings ceased, small groups of Indians ventured off the reservations. There are numerous reports of them coming through the Council and Meadows Valleys selling gloves and other handmade items as late as the early 1900s.
I’d like to thank Otto Davis for a generous donation to the museum in memory of his late wife, June. June was a regular volunteer at the museum and is truly missed.
If anyone else out there would like to make a year-end donation, Idaho has a generous tax credit; you get half of your donation to an educational entity such as the museum taken directly off of your state tax. If you donate $100, you will get $50 off. The maximum qualifying donation is $100.
The need for funds will be especially acute in the coming months, as the museum’s oil furnace heating has been replaced by electric heat, and the museum is now responsible for paying the electric bill. Checks should be made out to the Council Valley Museum and mailed to PO Box 252, Council, ID 83612.
12-18-08
Histories of the Council Valley in the past have pretty much made it sound as if this place was a center of native gatherings for untold centuries. And although it is probably true that Indians met here in small numbers, the large trade festivals that the early pioneers saw, and named the valley for, seem to have been very short lived. The original trade gatherings were held near the mouth of the six rivers that enter the Snake River between present-day Weiser and Caldwell until about 1860. The 1860s were so fraught with fighting between whites and Indians that there was little opportunity for such gatherings. The facts seem to indicate that the first big trade gathering in the Council Valley came in 1871, and the last was 1876. The 1875 gathering seems to have been held in Long Valley, so that leaves only five years in which Indians gathered in large numbers in the Council Valley. Even then, it isn’t clear that every one of these gatherings was held at the same spot. Except for a few exceptions, old accounts tended to refer to the “upper Weiser River” not Council Valley in particular, much less any exact location in the valley. In Ericson’s thesis, he generally referred to the gatherings as having occurred at “Council or Indian Valley.”
Even though the big Indian meetings here may have been brief, that by no means makes them insignificant. What may be even more important than the big gatherings are the many sites around the area where Indians left signs of their presence for us to find even today. Quite a bit of archaeological research has been done on National Forest land here, but on private and state land, little or no effort has been made to document such sites. Knowing the locations and nature of enough of these sites might yield some important insights into how the natives of this area lived and traveled. That’s why the Adams County Historic Preservation Commission is trying to document such places. So far, almost no one has come forward with information. One landowner expressed concern that the government would somehow put limits on his land if the site turned out to be historically valuable. An example of what is probably the most significant archaeological discovery in this region should illustrate that such fears are unfounded.
In September of 1985 Craig DeMoss was digging out a spring a couple miles southeast of New Meadows. When he got down to a depth of about seven feet, he was startled to see human bones come up in his backhoe bucket—a lot of them. There were also stone tools. Craig stopped digging and called the Anthropology department at the University of Idaho. The university called the state archaeologist, and he spent the next two days supervising the removal of skeletal material and artifacts from the spring. It was hardly a traditional “dig.” The spring was a muddy mess, and a three-foot-diameter tile had been put in place. The tile filled up with water in a matter of minutes, so it had to be pumped out, and then someone would climb down into it to remove things for 5 or 10 minutes at a time before the water got too deep. The tile was even removed once to search through the surrounding fill. In a mess like this, it was impossible to know exactly at what depth each artifact came from; besides, the ground had probably shifted several times over the years since they were buried.
About 60 individuals were buried here. Initial study of the remains indicated that most were over 10 years of age at death, three were between 2 and 5 years old, and at least one was a baby. The graves were estimated to be between 5,000 and 6,000 years old. One bone was radiocarbon dated at 5965 years old, plus or minus 60 years. A 1993 publication said that the DeMoss site is the oldest directly-dated burial site in western Idaho. 460 of the stone artifacts found there were complete or nearly complete.
Even though the DeMoss site is about the most significant discovery in this part of Idaho, the DeMoss family legally owned of all of the artifacts. Any that were given to researchers were surrendered voluntarily. The human remains are another matter. These had to be returned to the Indian tribe of the region. The government has no claim or rights to the land whatsoever.
12-25-08
Fruitvale Businesses
I plan one or two more articles about Indian artifacts sometime before spring, but in the mean time, I’m going back to my Landmarks book where I left off.
The retail businesses at Fruitvale were all located on the east side of Main Street (now the Fruitvale Glendale Road). There was a dirt road bank in front of these stores in the early years, and steps led up to them from the street.
The building that still stands at 2592 Fruitvale Glendale Road (Joslin’s) was originally built as a hotel. It must have been erected sometime around 1909 or 1910. Art Wilkie owned and operated the hotel for a time. He also lived there when he first moved to Fruitvale. In 1913 the Fruitvale Grange bought the hotel and turned it into their meeting hall. They raised the ceiling and did some other repairs, and held dances there in addition to their meetings. In 1917 Isaac and Lucy McMahan re-entered their former profession when they bought the building and converted it to a store. The post office was in this building (C on map) for at least part of the period that the McMahans ran the store. In the 1920s the building again became a home, and has remained so ever since.
The first store at Fruitvale was owned by the Lincoln Lumber Company, and managed by Andy Carroll. It was probably established in 1909, along with the post office it undoubtedly housed, since Andy was also the first postmaster. In 1910 Joseph Carroll (Andy's father) built a new store building. The Lincoln Lumber Company store was discontinued, and its stock of goods, along with manager Andy Carroll, moved into the new store in July. In September of that year Carroll sold the store to Elbert E. Cook. The location of either of these two early stores is uncertain, but the one Carroll built and sold to Cook was probably in the center of the "block" (store B on map).
Also in 1910, Rich Wilkie opened the "Fruitvale Real Estate Agency." (Store C on map.) In the terminology of the day, he advertised that he did "conveyancing," which meant he drew up deeds, leases and other documents concerning the transfer of title to property. He also sold fire insurance and was a notary public. Although he is not on record as such, Wilkie was apparently the editor of the "Fruitvale Echo" newspaper, which was printed in this building.
In 1912, Frank Harp opened a confectionery with a lunch counter in a room of Wilkie's real estate building. Harp's most recent claim to fame had been accidentally shooting himself with his own pistol three years earlier. While driving a wagon, he had left the pistol in his coat pocket beside him on the seat. When the coat bounced off the seat, the pistol discharged, wounding Frank--apparently not seriously. In the fall of 1912, Phillip Walston bought Harp's confectionery business. Walston was a Union soldier during the Civil War, and told stories of his adventures under General Sherman in the infamous "march to the sea."[Walston's house was at 2651 Fruitvale Glendale Road] Business in this building apparently ended not long after this, and it was later converted to a house. [My mother, Alma Merk (Fisk) was born in this building in 1927.]
Also in 1912 another store was built by O.C. Selman. (Store A on map.) The post office immediately moved into this building. Perry McCumpsey rented the store that summer and sold groceries and dry goods. That fall the store was rented by W.T. Walker. No sooner had Walker taken over the store than Selman sold it to Albert Robertson. The post office had continued in that store through these changes, and when Robertson bought it, he became postmaster.
Meanwhile, in January of 1912, C.G. Nelson (or Nielson) had set up shop in the Cook store (B), selling candy, nuts, cigars, tobacco and stationary. In March, while Nelson was cleaning up after a small fire in his store (A), W.T. Walker was building a blacksmith shop on the corner of Main Street and Jonathan Avenue. Not one to let grass grow under his feet that year, Walker was also helping Dr. Starkey install his electrical power plant, and later briefly operated the Selman store, as mentioned. After McCumpsey's short stint at the Selman store (A), he jumped to renting the Cook store (B). Once again, Walker followed McCumpsey, buying out McCumpsey's stock and running the store until at least 1913.
The ownership of the Cook store (B) is unclear after 1913, but it appears that Charley Cox bought it from Clarence and May Hull about 1920. The post office must have moved to Cox's store, as he became postmaster about this time.
In 1920 Henry Reams bought the Robertson store (A). Reams had the first radio in that community. My father said that it had no speaker, only headphones, and the only station that it could receive was KGO from San Francisco.
In 1924 Jim Ward bought Ream's store (A), remodeled it, and added living quarters onto the back. Ward was a renowned sawmill man in the Council area, having built and operated a number of them.
The next year, Charlie Cox resigned as postmaster and sold his store (B). The post office was taken over by Jim Ward in his store (A). Ward's store seems to have been the only business in operation at Fruitvale from this time on.
By 1925 the State Highway passed right in front of the store, and Jim Ward capitalized on this by installing a gasoline pump out front. Later that year Ward turned the store and post office over to his stepson, Everett Ryals and his new bride.
In 1928 Oliver Robertson (Albert's brother) bought, or at least assumed management of the store. In July of 1929 the Leader said that Robertson was selling groceries, men's furnishings, confections [candy], tobacco, cold drinks, tires, tubes, gas, oil and grease.
Photo is map of Fruitvale and needs no caption.
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2009
1-1-09
In 1929 at Fruitvale, Everett Ryals and Jim Ward went into what was a popular business at that time: raising foxes for fur. That fall, the Fruitvale store was purchased by Ray and Anna Sailor.
Everett Ryals bought the store again in 1931, and ran it through most of the Depression. In 1932, the Leader contained this note:
"Everett Ryals, Fruitvale merchant was in town Thursday attending to business affairs. He says the depression hasn't hit Fruitvale community noticeably except that people have no money. Of course money isn't much of an object now days anyway-things to eat and wear is the important problem. Everett furnishes those items so why should the folks worry."
The 1920s had been so difficult for rural folks (there was an agricultural depression most of that decade) that my dad said his family hardly noticed a change when the Great Depression hit in the ‘30s.
S.E. McMahan (Ernest, also known by his nickname, "Peck") took over the Fruitvale store and post office in the fall of 1937. He sold out to Robert and Josephine Caseman the next year. Josephine ran the store and Post Office while Robert continued as Adams County Assessor. They changed the name of the business from the "Fruitvale Cash Grocery" to the "Fruitvale Mercantile," the name by which it was known for the rest of its existence.
There had been a telephone in one store or another at Fruitvale, probably since before 1920. It was the first, and only, telephone in the area for some time. The store was also one of the first Fruitvale buildings to acquire electricity. Bob Caseman rigged up his own generator in 1940, but it was superseded by a power line that reached the store that winter. Several nearby homes were also wired at this time.
Josephine Caseman's brother, F.S. (Sterling) McGinley, and his wife, Alma, took over the store in 1946, and ran it until they retired in 1964. All of the other small stores in Council's outlying areas (Mesa, Cuprum, etc.) had closed by then. The Fruitvale store was the last holdout-- the last vestige of a bygone era. The McGinley's daughter Anna Kamerdula and her husband, Henry, kept the store running until it closed in the 1970s. The post office continued to operate with Anna as postmaster until she retired on December 27, 1996.
In 1930, stockyards and loading docks were built along the railroad northwest of the Fruitvale store. That soon became a busy year for the loading docks. In two days in February, sixty-five gallons of cream were shipped out. In a one-week span that fall the train took on sheep, apples, and sugar beets.
Sterling McGinley was the principle sugar beet grower, with Jim Fisk producing lesser amounts. McGinley was getting a twenty ton per acre yield at one point. In October of 1931 he shipped out eight train carloads, each containing forty-four tons. Wielding a hoe in McGinley's beet fields provided employment for a number of Fruitvale youngsters during the early years of the Depression.
Another crop that was grown in the Fruitvale area in the 1930s was peas. In an attempt to generate more business for the railroad, LeGrande Young, the general manager of the P&IN, convinced the San Diego Fruit and Produce Co. to rent ground and grow peas in the Meadows Valley, beginning in about 1927. In 1936 the company planted about 100 acres on the Abshire place (the old Tom Glenn ranch) on West Fork. The house there now is 2657 West Fork Road (Harold Hoxie’s).
The pea harvest supplied a certain amount of local employment, but the company also brought in outside help. Some of the migrant workers that came to pick the peas introduced another previously unknown plant product to Fruitvale: marijuana.
Since working on my Idaho Northern Railway book, I’ve learned that a significant amount of peas were grown in Long Valley during that time. The big pea packing plant at Donnelly is now a hardware store. I’ve heard it said that these projects to grow peas in higher elevations was to avoid a disease or pest that was plaguing the crops at lower elevations, but I can’t document that.
I would like to thank several people for generous year-end gifts to the museum: Steve Schmoeger and Linda Barrett, Pete & Elaine Johnston and Shirley Wing. Their generosity and support are very much appreciated. I’ve been remiss in not thanking Mr. & Mrs. Rocky Byers for their help and support awhile back when it looked like the museum was in danger of losing our building. I apologize for the oversight. The museum’s situation with the city of Council has been resolved. The city was mostly concerned with the outrageous fuel bills from last winter. The museum is now paying the power bill for electric heat, which we keep at the minimum level needed to maintain the building and artifacts. The lower part of the building, where the fire department is housing their equipment until the new building is completed, is still being heated with the old oil furnace.
99501.jpg--L to R: Albert Roberston, Everett Ryals, Bertha Spears Ryals (Everett's wife)
98020.jpg--Robert H. Caseman—Fruitvale store owner (1938-‘46) and Adams County Assessor 1935 - 1941 and 1947 – 1949.
96170.jpg-- Alma and Sterling McGinley inside the Fruitvale store, about 1955.
1-8-09
This month begins my 16th year of writing this column. As we begin a new year, I can’t help but reflect on the passage of time. After all, history is pretty much the story of the passage of time and how things change. I never ceases to amaze me how much Council, and the world in general, has changed in just the past 100 years. In 1909 there were very few cars in the area; only a handful of wealthy local people had one. No one here had electricity, except for a few people with small gas or water powered generators. Other changes in technology—in medicine, communications (telephones), travel (airplanes), and more, have made this an entirely different world.
Many of us remember the Viet Nam War and the 1960s. People in 1909 looked back the same amount of time to the Civil War. In other words, the memories of that war were fresh. There were many Civil War vets around—many with missing limbs, since just about the only treatment for a serious wound to an arm or leg was amputation. Also, the worst of the horrible Indian wars of the 1860s would have been very well remembered as well.
People in 1909 would have remembered the Custer defeat of 1876 as well as we remember 1976. 1876 was also the year that Council Valley’s first family, the Mosers, arrived. People would have remembered the fort in which they retreated from the 1878 Bannock war just as well as we remember 1978. So in thinking about how long ago the ‘70s seem to us now, we can get a sense of now recent the first settlement was to people in 1909.
Council was in its adolescence, so to speak, in 1909. It’s infancy had passed, and it was still in the middle of a boom period of rapid growth. The fruit industry to just taking off with lightening speed, with hundreds of trees being planted. Homesteads were still being taken up. In some ways, things have come full circle in that regard. Many he old homestead sites that were abandoned in the 1920s and ‘30s are now occupied with homes once again. Hopefully we have started to learn that growth is not the panacea we once thought it was, and we are beginning to understand that sustainability is the only alternative.
OK, back to my Landmarks book.
Fruitvale Churches
In the early days of Fruitvale, church services were sometimes held in the McMahan schoolhouse or the Grange hall. There was an upsurge in interest in churches here in the 1930s.
In 1934, Reverend F. D. Brown moved to Fruitvale to start a Nazarene church. At first, the Nazarenes held meetings in the school. The next year, they bought the abandoned Methodist church in Council. They dismantled it and used the lumber to build a small church at the east end of Jonathan Avenue at Fruitvale. It seems ironic that the Methodist church did not sustain a following in the Council or Fruitvale area. My mother’s great grandfather, James Baker, who settled on Fort Hall hill around 1900, was a renowned Methodist minister who had established a number of churches in the West, including the one at Council in 1911. His biggest success in this area was at Cambridge where he pastored a thriving congregation.
In 1938 the Nazarene congregation built a new church on the southeast corner of Dartmouth St. and Illinois Ave. in Council. The Fruitvale church was converted into a house where Fred and Irene Burt lived for many years (2272 Jonathan Avenue). In the 1960s a new Nazarene church in Council replaced the one built in 1938. The old church was used for Sunday school classes until it was demolished in the early 1990s.
The first LDS church in the Council area was also located in Fruitvale. Beginning just after 1930, services were held in private homes there for a year or two. In 1932 Elder J.L. Sandidge began holding services in the Legion Hall in Council. In 1934 construction of a log church was started just south of Jonathan Avenue in Fruitvale (2263 Jonathan Ave). It was wired for electricity, as Fruitvale was expected to be connected to a power line before long. The building was completed and dedicated in 1935, but was formally opened on Sept. 11, 1937. After the current LDS church in Council was built in the 1960s, the old log building was used for a garage and storage. Pete and Chris Friend converted the old church into a home in the 1970s. They tore down the building about 1992.
I’ve been forgetting to mention that wrote an article about Council and its history that is in the current (January) issue of Idaho Magazine. Issues are available by subscription or at the City Market in Cambridge, and at McCall Drug.
Picture captions:
99528,jpg—The Mormon Church at Fruitvale as it looked before an addition was built onto it. This is now the site of Pete & Chris Friend’s garage.
95532.jpg— My great, great grandfather, James Baker, was a pioneer Methodist preacher in the Council-Cambridge area.
1-15-09
Fruitvale Schools
The children of early residents of Fruitvale had to walk all the way to the White school, three miles north of Council. About the time that the Fruitvale townsite was established in 1909, Fruitvale built its own school on land donated by Isaac and Lucy McMahan. This was about a half mile southeast of Fruitvale. The "McMahan" school, as it was called, was very up to date, being a frame structure set on a cement foundation. It measured 24 X 36 feet. By 1911 there were 40 pupils enrolled.
The teaching profession in general was not held in high esteem by many in that day, although female teachers were considered a good catch for a single man. If a teacher was disliked by the students, it was almost traditional for them (especially the older boys) to make her life as miserable as possible. Turnover in the job was often rapid, and it was not uncommon for a community to need to hire more than one teacher during a given year.
One incident involving a Fruitvale teacher occurred in the spring of 1917. The teacher, W.E. Tyson, arrived at the school about 8:30 am, and started a fire in the stove. He carried in a load of wood, turned to go for another load, and had almost reached the door when "an explosion occurred that broke the stove into small pieces, scattering the wreckage, including stove pipes and contents of stove all about the room." Fortunately, Tyson was not hurt. Sheriff Ham was called to investigate, but evidently no one was arrested.
My dad told a story about throwing the base of a shotgun shell into the school stove. If I remember right, it had no powder in it, so it would have just been the primer. Even so, when it exploded, I think the teacher had just opened the stove door, and it scared her half to death.
During school hours, a barn was provided at the McMahan School in which to keep and feed the horses that students rode to school from more distant points. The school board provided the hay. The teachers also sometimes rode horses to school. One of them was Irene White. She often boarded with local families. When staying with the Emsley Glenn family, their son Fred, rode double on the horse with Irene. He took a lot of ribbing about this from the other students, but he didn't mind because she was so well liked by all the kids.
Irene began teaching here in 1923 at the age of 19. She had a kind way of maintaining discipline that earned respect and love from her students. She was full of fun at times too. In the winter she used to sled and ski down the hills with the kids during recesses. About the only time anyone remembered her losing her temper was once when Carl Finn hadn't attended to his studies. When Irene asked him about it, he made some smart aleck remark that made her angry. She drew back her hand as if she were going to hit him. In an effort to dodge a blow that was not delivered, Carl ducked his head sideways and hit his head on a nail that was sticking out of the wall. Apparently Carl was not seriously hurt, but the kind-hearted Irene felt bad about the incident.
Irene married Fred Burt in 1924, and lived the rest of her life in Fruitvale. She became a life-long friend of many of her former students. Irene White Burt died in 1973.
I would like to thank Brian and Carrie McMahan of McCall for a generous donation to the museum. It is much appreciated. Brian is a nephew of the McMahans who settled at Fruitvale. The road named after the McMahans is misspelled “McMahon” Lane, and I’ve been working on getting that corrected for several years. If this is done, it will make Brian, and other members of the McMahan family--as well as those of us who knew the families who lived at Fruitvale--feel like the world is just a little better place.
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95282—This picture has a little bit of a mystery in that it lists “Irene Burt” as one of the students. It was taken at the Fruitvale School in 1928.
Here are the names listed for the photo. Top row: Georgia Jacoby, Hazel Elkins, Lillian Sailor, Clarcia Ivey, Miss Gertrude Brandau (teacher), and Billie Thompson. Second row from the top: Maynard Burt, Edna Hulse (Rice), Harold Burt, June Bethel (Childers), Robert Thompson, Myrtle Elkins, and Bill Spear. Third row from the top: Merrill Bethel, Marion Crowl, Freddie Thompson, John Fisk, Robert Caseman, and Fred Yantis. Front row: Lee Garcia (almost out of sight), Cleon Burt, Frank Yantis, Irene Burt, George Spears, Tessie Elkins, Albert Garcia, and Bud Caseman.
Now, Irene White was born in 1904 and became Irene Burt when she married Fred Burt in 1924. In 1928 she was 24 years old. So who is the girl in this picture who is identified as Irene Burt?
1-22-09
Katie Marble
The next teacher at the Fruitvale school was a woman who became a local legend: Katie Cole Marble. Raised in Missouri, Katie began teaching in 1907. She came to Idaho in 1913 at the age of 24, and taught at the Lower Dale School on Hornet Creek.
Katie filed on a homestead at Hornet Creek, eight miles from Council, and apparently did no teaching during this time. She was teaching again in 1916 at the school that had just been built the previous year at Pleasant Ridge. After proving up on her homestead, and a short teaching jaunt in Missouri, Katie came back to Idaho and married Guy Marble in 1918. They lived on his homestead on Pleasant Ridge, and Katie stopped teaching for a few years.
Beginning in 1923, Katie taught at Wildhorse, then Middle Fork (1924-25), Fruitvale (1926 - 27), Upper Dale (1928 - 29), Pleasant Ridge (1931), Upper Dale (1932), Middle Fork (1933 -1935), Indian Valley (1936 - 40), Crooked River (1941 - 42), Fruitvale (1943 - 53), and North Crane Creek (1954 - 57). At the age of 68, while doing janitorial work at the North Crane Creek School, Katie fell and broke her back. This ended her 45-year career as a teacher. Guy and Katie spent most of their remaining years living at Fruitvale.
At one time, almost everyone living in the Council area had once had Katie Marble as their teacher. During her career, she taught her own brothers, one sister, her cousins, nephews, nieces, school mates, and her own grandsons. At Fruitvale, she taught the grandson of a former student. Katie Marble, a true Landmark if there ever was one, died in 1963 at the age of 74.
The McMahan schoolhouse was in use up until the end of 1928, when a new school was built just up the hill, east of the Fruitvale store. For the next year the old school building was regularly used for dances until it was auctioned off to Lester McMahan for $80. About three years later the old building fell in under the weight of heavy snow. Lester said he had planned to tear down "the old shack" anyway. When Isaac and Lucy McMahan moved back to Fruitvale from Portland in 1934, their sons built a little house for them to live in on the old school's foundation.
Classes started in the new Fruitvale School after Christmas vacation ended in January of 1929.
One notable luxury came to the school in 1945 when a new well was drilled. The water was pumped with an electric pump since Fruitvale now had electricity. Up until this time, water had been carried to the school from the store.
When area schools began to consolidate in the late 1950s, the Fruitvale School was closed, and children from the area were bused to Council. Marvin and Lillian Imler converted the school into a home that is still in use by the Justin Getusky family. The building was rotated slightly when it was converted to a house. The address is 2594 Fruitvale-Glendale Road.
I got a call from several people about the picture with Irene Burt in it. Turns out there were two Irene Burts. Charles Burt had a daughter, Irene, who is the girl in the picture with last week’s column. It’s nice that some historical mysteries can be solved; so many seem to have no answers. I also heard from my cousin, Randy Fisk, who is a teacher in Caldwell. He met the teacher in that picture, Gertrude Brandau, a few years ago. She married Clifford “Nip” McMahan, and died just a couple years ago. She was very young (as you can tell by the picture) when she started teaching at Fruitvale—maybe only 17 or 18 years old. Her son, Rob King, lives in the Caldwell area.
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Photos:
07280—Guy and Katie Marble in the early 1960s.
99523—The Fruitvale School, built in 1928, and now the Justin Getusky home. Comparing the building in this position to how is sits now, one can easily see how much it was rotated. I would assume this was to put it on a new foundation and allow for new plumbing, etc.
1-29-09
Pleasant Ridge
The area between Hornet Creek and the Weiser River was named "Pleasant Ridge" and soon became known among locals simply as "The Ridge."
The earliest settlers to set foot on the Ridge made note of a pile of rocks about five or six feet high that sat on top of a bare basalt knob. Nobody knew who put the rocks there, or why. The spot became known as "Eagle Point" because eagles were sometimes seen there. The location is about a mile and a half west of Fruitvale and east of the Ridge Road. Many of us have wondered what the pile of rocks was all about. Was it some kin of “Indian post office” or cache marker? A couple of young guys took the pile apart years ago to see if anything was under it. Nothing.
What may be the most plausible explanation for the rocks may be related to early surveying methods. The Council area was surveyed in the 1880s, using a method of surveying that incorporated line of sight calibration with telescopic instruments. On selected hilltops that could be seen for miles in many directions, rocks were piled around the base of a long pole with a big, white flag attached to it. These flags served as reference points for determining survey lines. Ervin Bobo told me the he Ervin worked with a crew that used this same type of surveying method in the 1950s. The rock pile at Eagle Point sits on a bare hilltop that can be seen from many miles in several directions, and may be the remains of one of these flagpole supports. The Fruitvale area was just barely starting to be settled in the 1880s, and Pleasant Ridge was homesteaded after 1900, so the pile could have been made by surveyors before anyone lived in the vicinity.
In the early years of homesteading on the Ridge, many people came and went. Some stayed for only a short time before moving on without obtaining ownership of their homestead claims. One of the first to establish a home there was Albert Lewis about 1902.
In 1905, the Weiser Signal reported:
“Albert Lewis, who lives on the bench between Hornet creek and the Weiser river, ... threshed 650 bushels [of grain] to the acre. Mr. Lewis has lived on his place three years and took the land as a homestead. Besides the grain, he has succeeded in raising a splendid crop of vegetables without irrigation and is making of what was three years ago a piece of supposed worthless sagebrush land, a beautiful and profitable home. There are several sections of government land yet subject to homestead entry in the vicinity of his place, . . . .” The "650 bushels to the acre" has to be a misprint. Fifty bushels per acre would be more believable.
Later that year (1905) the paper said that there were ten homestead claims made on the Ridge within a two-week period.
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Football 1920s---In cataloging photos recently, I ran across a couple showing football teams. This one shows the Council High School football team in the 1920s. I added the two guys at the right side: team captain, Joe Hancock, and Dick Mink. I don’t know if they are in the main picture, or if they are from slightly different years.
Football squad—I think this picture of Council’s football team dates from the 1930s. The helmets hadn’t changed much. The team is standing in front of the same grandstand as is at the left side of the other picture. I think this old grandstand is the same one shown in a photo of the baseball team in the early 1900s. I also think I remember this grandstand was still there in the late 1950s. Notice the old courthouse in the background in this photo.
2-5-09
The Fisk Family
Between 1909 and 1921, twenty-five homesteads were patented on the Ridge. Some of the ranchers at Fruitvale and Hornet Creek were not happy to see "their" spring range fenced off by the newcomers.
My grandfather, E.F. Fisk (known always as "Jim"), and his wife, Mary, homesteaded on the ridge in 1912. They took over part of the Albert Lewis place, and lived in the former Lewis house. The house was about a quarter mile southeast of the summit where the Ridge Road from Fruitvale tees into its North Fork. My father, Dick Fisk, was born in the old Lewis house in 1913.
Around 1920 Jim Fisk shot what was believed to be the last wolf in the Council area. Early one morning the wolf was howling on a hillside not far from the Fisk house. Jim stuck his rifle out through a window and shot it. No wolves were ever seen in the area after that.
All the homesteaders planted wheat, barley or oats, and the crops were bountiful. They didn't know how to rotate crops, or what else would grow on the Ridge. During the very dry year of 1922, grain crops were almost a complete failure on the Ridge. That year Jim Fisk tried planting some Siberian Cossack alfalfa on his homestead. It turned out to be a big success, growing to a height of four feet in some places. After that, other Ridge farmers started growing alfalfa as a hay and seed crop, rotating grain for a year or two when the alfalfa started decreasing production. By the 1930s alfalfa was the principle crop on the Ridge. Often the seed yielded higher profits than the hay.
Homesteads were often abandoned or sold in the Council area, but the Ridge was notorious for defeating anyone making a home there. Lack of water was one of the biggest problems. There were, and are, only seasonal creeks here, and only a few scattered springs that last into the summer. During the agricultural depression of the 1920s and the Great Depression of the 1930s, most of the homesteaders sold out or simply left before obtaining a patent on their land.
My grandfather was able to hang on to his homestead, and expanded it into a successful ranch by buying up several places from people who gave up and sold out. He bought the Joe Glenn place on West Fork in 1924, but also maintained his Ridge land.
About the only other survivor on the Ridge after the 1930s was Jim Henson. He said that if he had had a wife and even one child to support he would have had to sell out sooner. In later years Henson also lived on part of the old Albert Lewis place, and eventually sold out to Fred Glenn. Fred’s daughter (and my first cousin), Nelma Green, recently put a home on that land.
For many years no one lived on the Ridge. About 1980, Vernon and Grace Thompson built a house on one of the old homesteads and installed a power line to it from Hornet Creek. Now there are several other homes along that power line or an extension of it.
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Photo captions:
95526---This picture was taken about 1936, looking west, near the spring and water trough along the Ridge Road. Dad always called it “the Phann Place,” but apparently Lester and Mona Marks lived here at this time. The people are, left to right—my uncle, Hub Fisk; Mona, Loretta and Lester Marks; my dad, Dick Fisk. Lester was the only Marks boy, and his five sisters all married sons of Robert Harrington.
image039—My grandparents at the old Lewis place on the Ridge, about 1918. Grandma is holding Sam. Standing are Amy (Glenn), my dad Dick, and Hub. John would be born in 1919. Sam was run over by a wagon and killed in 1924 when he, Dad and Uncle Hub were moving furniture down to the place they had just bought from Joe Glenn (the place where I live now).
2-12-09
The Ridge School
In 1915 a schoolhouse was built on Pleasant Ridge due to the influx of new homesteaders. At its peak the Ridge School had just over 30 students in first through eighth grades. As people moved away the school became obsolete. It closed in 1935. The Ridge school district (#16) officially lapsed in 1941, and the building was sold to W.J. Wilson the next year for $50. Over the next 50 years the old school sat empty, except for when it was used as a storage shed for machinery. One wall was removed for this purpose, which weakened the structure. During the late 1980s, it began to lean more and more. Finally, it met the same fate as the old McMahan School. It collapsed under the weight of heavy snow on the night of December 8, 1992.
Along the West Fork
Settlement along the West Fork of the Weiser was more sparse than in many places. Some of the more notable homesteads were those of William Ryals, Benjamin Dillon, the Farliens, and James Finn.
William and Laura Ryals had a log house across the river from the mouth of Rocky Gulch just after 1900. Laura was a daughter of George Robertson. The Ryals' son, Everett, was born at their homestead in 1904. William died about 1908, and Laura later married Jim Ward.
Benjamin J. and Lena Dillon homesteaded on a flat along the river near the southern boundary of the Payette National Forest. B.J. Dillon was known to have been a schoolteacher in Council during at least 1908 and 1909. He also taught at the White School in 1910. The couple lived in Cambridge for a short time after that, while Mr. Dillon apparently moonlighted as a preacher in the Council and Cambridge areas. By 1911 the Dillons were again living in the Council area. As an attorney, Dillon was once described as "one of the ablest speakers in the county." In 1912 he was elected Adams County Prosecuting Attorney. He resigned from this office in 1921.
Lena Dillon was a schoolteacher, and taught at the McMahan schoolhouse, at least during 1911, 1912 and 1922. Her maiden name was Wiffen, and her sister, Lillian, married Art Wilkie.
Jacob Farlien and his sons Dan, Hank and Bill, lived on a piece of land that is now surrounded on at least three sides by the National Forest. The Farliens were well known builders in this area around 1900, constructing houses, barns, and bridges.
The most remote homestead up the West Fork was that of James Alexander Randolph Finn. This prodigious moniker was the target of the caustic wit of young Fruitvale boys who enunciated it as "James Alexander Ranned-Off-Again." Finn and his family homesteaded land along Lost Creek, just upstream from where that creek enters the West Fork, about 1913. To reach their place they built several miles of road around the steep, wooded hillsides along the east side of the West Fork. The Finns felt somewhat resentful when later homesteaders, cattlemen, fishermen and firewood gatherers took advantage of their hard-won thoroughfare for their own purposes. This was the only road up the West Fork until the present road was built in 1956.
The Finn homestead had a garden, a berry patch and a few fruit trees. They cleared several acres of land on which they grew millet, oats, wheat and corn. One of the less desirable crops on the place was rattlesnakes. About twenty-five or so were killed there every year. One even made it into the house once. The biggest one was six feet long and as big around as a man's arm. There’s still a rattlesnake den about half way up the mountainside north of the old Finn homestead.
The Finn family later moved to the old Tom Glenn place and lived there until about 1928. One son, Ralph, became an Adams County Probate Judge for 13 years, and was a prominent citizen and merchant in Council area for many years. Ralph’s sporting goods and shoe-repair shop used to sit where the Adams County Real Estate office is today. Seems to me it disappeared around the early 1970s or so.
In more recent years the old Finn house at Lost Creek was burned down by the Forest Service. Finn Creek, a small tributary to Lost Creek at the homestead location, is named after the family.
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Captions:
98141---The Ridge School in the 1980s. One window and some of the siding is now on display in the Council Valley Museum.
72075--- Benjamin Dillon with his students at the White School in 1910. Some kids walked several miles to reach this school. Left to right, starting with the top row: John Harp, Frank Hahn, Ernest Winkler, Alex Harp, Oliver Anderson, Myrlle Poynor, Millie Anderson, Elsie Anderson, Eula Middleton, B.J. Dillon (teacher). Front row: Joe and Harvie Hahn, Joe McMinnmon, Ike Harp, John McMinnmon, Celia Poynor, unknown, Elsie Hahn, Renie Harp, Ivie Poynor, Grace Hayter, unknown, Charles Winkler, and Dewey Harp.
97002--Benjamin J. Dillon and his first wife, Lizzie Maud Cortner, in 1888.
2-19-09
Lost Valley
About 1884 John Hancock and a friend drove some cattle west from Salmon River into the Seven Devils. It was a common for cattle and supplies to be brought into the mining towns there from Salmon River, especially before a road was built from Council. After spending some time looking for stray cattle in the direction of the Snake River, the two men headed back east toward the Salmon. There were few trails, and they simply trekked in the general direction.
When it got dark they made camp without really knowing where they were. When Hancock and his companion got ready to build a campfire they discovered they only had one match. After carefully preparing the tender and kindling, they struck their one and only chance at a warm supper and camp. The match flared up and promptly went out.
Soon they heard what sounded like a cowbell in the distance. Following the sound, they found the camp of an old man who was in the area trapping beaver. The man invited them to stay for the night, and they gladly accepted. During the course of the evening, they asked their host where they were. He said, "About six miles west of Price Valley." Since Hancock and his companion admitted to being lost, they called the place "Lost Valley."
Back in the 1990s, when I was researching my Landmarks book, I was told about a Federal judge named Harold Ryan in Boise who’s father had homesteaded at Lost Valley. I was a little intimidated about contacting a stranger of such status, but when I called his office, he was very willing to talk to me. When I showed up at the agreed-upon time (January 18, 1994) at the Federal court building on State Street in Boise, I was confronted just inside the entrance by a stern security guard. He noticed I had a camera and asked me if I planned on taking a picture of Judge Ryan. I said, no, but the guard told me I would have to leave the camera there with him. This was long before 9-11, and I imagine the security there is even tighter now.
Judge Ryan’s big corner office high in the building had huge windows overlooking the north end of Boise. He proved to be a very, down-to-earth guy, introducing himself as “Hal.” Even though he must have had more important things to do than shoot the breeze with me, we talked for what seemed like an hour. He told me that his father, Frank Ryan, had practiced law in Weiser and knew Council attorney Luther Burtenshaw quite well. He told me how Burtenshaw had a unique filing system involving impaling papers on nails driven along the wall of his office. Burtenshaw’s office building now sits south of town near the cemetery, but originally stood just west of the current bank.
Judge Ryan pulled out a couple of big photographs of his father and uncle, and told me the whole story of how they had come to Lost Valley. He had my camera sent up so that I could copy the pictures; they are the ones accompanying this column. Below is the story as I wrote it in Landmarks.
About 1900, two brothers, Frank and Colonel Ryan, came west from Kansas, intending to take up land near Walla Walla, Washington. Near Payette, they were told there was good homestead land available near Council. While investigating this vicinity they found themselves in Lost Valley, and liked the place well enough to lay claim to homesteads there. Frank built a cabin in the middle of the Valley, and Colonel erected his more toward one edge.
Both brothers studied law during this time. Frank got his law degree in 1905. Toward the end of that decade, the Weiser Valley Land & Water Company made plans to create a reservoir at Lost Valley as part of their plan to get water for Mesa Orchards. This didn't coincide very well with the Ryan boys' homestead idea. A lawsuit followed. While the dispute was making its way trough the courts, the reservoir was built in the fall of 1909. The lawsuit was settled the next year. The Ryans proved, ironically, that the highest and best use of the land was as a reservoir site. They established that they should be paid for their homesteads on the basis of this value, and were paid $16,000 for the two homesteads--a substantial sum in those days.
Colonel went back to Kansas and practiced law. Frank moved to Weiser, and built a house at 747 W 2nd Street. He practiced law there, and was one of the directors of the Weiser State Bank when it failed in the late 1920s. Frank Ryan died in 1956.
My dad told me that one of the Ryan cabins could be seen floating in Lost Lake as late as the 1920s, drifting near the east side of the lake, just south of Slaughter Gulch.
Just a few years after talking with Judge Harold Ryan in Boise, I heard that he had died.
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95509—Frank and Colonel Ryan with a team and wagon in front of Frank's cabin at Lost Valley.
95510--Frank Ryan on skis in front of his cabin. According to his son, Federal Judge Harold Ryan, these homemade skis were 9'6" long by 5" to 6" wide
2-26-09
Starkey
Hot water gushes out of the ground on a rocky bench, across the river and about a quarter of a mile north of the present pool at Starkey. Before the arrival of settlers, the crusted minerals on the rocks around what later would become known as Starkey Hot Springs provided a well-used deer lick.
Hot water disolves minerals faster than cold water and leaves deposits on surfaces that it contacts. These deposits often attract wildlife that have a taste for them. Because of this, Indians found good hunting near hot springs. (Charlie Winkler said in the early days, anyone could find deer at the hot springs if he just waited around that area.) Indians
also used hot springs for food preparation and bathing. Some hot springs were regarded as important ritual sites.
Dr. T.J. Sherwood, an elderly man, was the first known owner of the hot springs property, in the 1890s. Sherwood, and his son Tom, built a large wooden "bathtub" and set up a tent around it for use by the few patrons who risked driving over the rough wagon trail to get there. The trail forded the Weiser River at least nine times between the hot springs and the West Fork (Fruitvale).
The first newspaper mention of Sherwood's hot springs was in 1894: "The Hot Springs are getting to be quite a health and pleasure resort."
Dr. Sherwood gave medical treatments of some kind that probably involved the natural hot water. In those days people believed in the curative powers of the mineral waters from hot springs. Many Council Valley people journeyed as far as the Hot Lake Sanitarium near La Grande, Oregon for "treatment." The hot water especially brought temporary relief then, as it does now, to sufferers of rheumatism and arthritis.
Dr. Sherwood died in 1898, and sometime later Tolbert Biggerstaff managed the hot springs. The first recorded mention of "The Biggerstaff Hotsprings" is in 1902, when the Council Journal reported that eight-year-old Ernest McMahan was taken there to be treated for rheumatism. Biggerstaff didn't actually own the property until he purchased it from the U.S. Government in January of 1904. It would appear that Dr. Sherwood had made an effort to homestead the site but died before he could get a patent on it. It must have then reverted back to the government, and then was sold to Biggerstaff.
Biggerstaff sold the hot springs to George Steward of Indian Valley in 1904. In the contract, Biggerstaff retained ownership of the 100 X 100 foot piece of land from which the hot water flowed. Whatever the reason for this, his plans went awry after Biggerstaff died and his heirs neglected to pay the taxes. The small piece of ground then reverted to being a part of the original property.
Immediately after buying the hot springs from Biggerstaff, Steward sold out to Dr. Richard S. Starkey, M.D., and his wife Anna, of Spokane, Washington. Dr. Starkey was a graduate of both medical and dental college. His specialties were "the treatment of private diseases, all pulmonary affections, and alcoholic and drug diseases." He had practiced in Philadelphia and Spokane before coming to Idaho.
Dr. Starkey immediately set about to turn the hot springs into a true "health and pleasure resort." On a terrace on the hillside about fifty feet south west of the main spring, and about 200 vertical feet below it, he built a 40' X 60' "sanitarium." While it was being built, the Council Advance newspaper reported:
“When finished, each room will be equipped with electric lights, and hot and cold water, giving to every guest the conveniences of a metropolitan hotel while enjoying the rustic delights of life in the heart of the forest-far from the mad swirl of the busy world. Below the sanitarium, five terraces are being built which will be filled with flowers and shrubbery irrigated from the springs above. Below the terraces is the main plunge through which a living stream of water continually flows. Below the plunge the river runs-a helter skelter, mad-cap stream that's filled with gamey trout.”
More on Starkey next week.
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Captions:
72201—Dr. Sherwood, the first owner of Starkey Hot Springs.
72091—Dr. Richard Starkey, who developed the hot springs into a resort.
3-5-09
Starkey Improvements
In the first few months of work, Dr. Starkey spent $10,000 on his resort. The sanitarium had twenty rooms and three stories, with an "open ward" on the top floor. Electricity was not yet one of the hotel's amenities, but it did have the very rare luxury of hot and cold running water. The "plunge bath" measured about 20' X 40' with sides consisting of a horizontal logs, lined on the inside with vertical tongue and grove boards. At the north end of the pool was a small log building with several dressing rooms.
Most of the improvements to the resort were to be financed by selling lots in a townsite that Dr. Starkey platted on the hillsides around the sanitarium on either side of Warm Springs Creek and Cold Springs Creek. Other sources of income were outlined in the December 1905 issue of Idaho Magazine:
In connection with the Sanitarium, the doctor will organize an association whose object will be to furnish recreation and pleasure during the summer months. The membership fee of this organization will be $1.00, and for the rental of ground for camping purposes, for fuel and the use of the plunge bath, $1.00 more per week only will be the assessment. Meals will be served to such campers for 25 cents each. If the members sleep and dine at the Sanitarium, the rates will be but $1.00 per day, bathing privileges included.
Starkey petitioned the Postal Department and was granted a post office at the sanitarium. It was called "Evergreen" when it opened in February 1906. Dr. Starkey was the first postmaster. The name for the new office didn't last long. That May it was renamed "Starkey." When the P&IN Railroad extended the rails north from Council that year it named this spot along the tracks "Hot Springs." Railroad surveyors had used the meadows along the river as a campground when they laid out the path for the railroad grade in the fall of 1905.
More amenities of civilization appeared at Starkey in 1906. Frank Harp opened a barbershop at the Sanitarium, and a dance pavilion was built. Dr. Starkey was busy enough with other work that he turned the post office over to Hannah Ketcham. Hannah had only recently taken charge of the Council post office, but resigned to take over the one at Starkey.
By that fall Dr. Starkey was already thinking about building a hotel on the south side of the river, closer to the tracks and more easily reached than the lodgings at the hillside sanitarium.
The public records of the events concerning Starkey between 1906 and 1912 are sorely lacking. The next indication of the stirrings there is in March of 1912, when an electric generation plant was being installed. A thirty-foot-wide dam was built across Warm Springs Creek to power the generator. The Council paper reported: "The buildings, bath rooms and plunge are wired for light; will have electric heat . . . ." It is interesting to note that electric lines didn't reach Council until three years later (1915), and didn't reach Starkey until at least the 1940s.
That same year (1912) Dr. Starkey started digging the first version of the present pool on the south side of the river. It was to measure 40' X 80' and be 14 feet deep at the deeper end. In 1913 a big, new, two-story dance pavilion was constructed a short distance south of the pool, and dances were held every Saturday night during the summer.
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Captions:
00147—Looking north at Dr. Starkey’s sanitarium in 1911. The hot water gushed from the ground on the hillside beyond the hotel.
00148—Forest Service employees enjoying the hot water in the log pool.
95466—The dressing rooms at the north end of the log pool.
3-12-09
More Changes at Starkey
Regardless of the improvements made at the hot springs, people would not flock to it if they could not easily travel to the resort. The railroad was the favored means of getting there, partly because the only wagon road was still the old trail that criss-crossed the river by means of fords that were very rough and not usually passable until almost mid summer. By 1912 there was a demand for a means of access for wagons and the few automobiles then in the region. It was then that Dr. Starkey began a campaign to get a decent road built to his establishment. He fought the county commissioners for several years to get the job done. He even hired contractors and paid to have part of the road built himself.
On September 1, 1913 there was a big Labor Day celebration at Starkey, with music by the Council Concert Band, shooting matches, a big barbecue, a bucking contest, and a dance in the new pavilion. It was that winter that Dr. Starkey started using the natural hot water to heat the hotel by installing steam radiators.
In 1914, two years after it was started, the new pool was completed. It was twelve feet deep instead of the planned 14 feet, and was made with cement. It opened in September of 1914. That fall the County finally started construction of a new road to Starkey, beginning at the end of the county road at Emsley Glenn's ranch (now Scism’s) about a mile north of Fruitvale. It was finished in the summer of 1915. Another addition to Starkey that year was a 12' X 12' railroad depot.
One serious hitch in the arrangement of the Starkey property was that the hotel was still on the hillside north of the river, apart from all of the new attractions. Fate would soon intervene to resolve this problem.
For some reason, after ten years of working to improve the resort, the Starkeys decided to sell out in 1915. The buyer was Reinhold Kleinschmidt (Albert's brother). In late July, just days after the sale was made, Kleinschmidt and Dr. Starkey went to a big, public meeting in New Meadows. The meeting was to discuss building a railroad from New Meadows to Grangeville, and the Governor himself was scheduled to speak. In an effort to increase attendance at the meeting, the P&IN only charged half the usual fare to New Meadows. When the pair arrived back at the hot springs late that night, they met with a grim sight. The hotel had burned to the ground, along with all of Kleinschmidt's luggage.
Leaving Kleinschmidt to carry on the dream in which they had invested so much, the Starkeys moved to Seattle where the doctor returned to a more traditional medical practice. (At Seattle, the Starkeys moved into a new, seven-room house at 4243 Seventh Street NE.)
Kleinschmidt built a new kitchen, and set up a makeshift dining room on the dance floor at the pavilion to feed his guests. Before long he built a new hotel building at the south end of the pool. I didn’t realize this when writing my Landmarks book, but after examining the photos of the dance pavilion and the hotel, I’m convinced that they are the same building. The location and the roof of each are identical. I think Kleinschmidt remodeled the pavilion and turned it into a hotel. The hotel was later turned into a home, which mostly burned and is now a greenhouse.
Kleinschmidt announced plans to rename the resort "Medicinal Hotsprings," but the title didn't stick. The name "Starkey" had become synonymous with the hot spring, and no other name has ever been accepted by the public. A pet peeve of mine is people who call Starkey “Starkey’s.” It’s not, and has never been “Starkey’s.”
In 1920, two Council businessmen bought Starkey from Kleinschmidt. One of the men was Leonard Griffith who owned the Council Pharmacy. The other was Dr. William Brown. I’ll have more on Dr. Brown next week.
On March 26, Gayle Dixon and I will be at the New Meadows Library to talk about Indian artifacts and collect information about ones found locally. The program will start at 7 PM, and we’re asking area people to bring in arrowheads and other Indian artifacts that have been found in the area. We will be photographing these items and recording the general area where they were found. This is part of a project that the Adams County Historic Preservation Commission is undertaking in cooperation with the State Historical Society and State Archaeologist, Ken Reid. We will be having a similar program in Council this spring (hopefully with Ken Reid present), so we hope people will bring artifacts to be documented here as well. Our goal is to learn more about the natives who once lived here.
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00099—Passengers waiting for the train at the Starkey depot. The dance pavilion is in the background at left.
00101—The hotel and pool at Starkey in the 1920s. This is one of the pictures that convinced me that the dance pavilion was converted into the hotel. The pool seems to be covered with tarps.
3-19-09
Dr. Brown & The Lindsays at Starkey
The other partner in the purchase of Starkey was Dr. William Brown who by that time was already a local Landmark. Brown arrived in Salubria (near present-day Cambridge) as a young man in 1892, with his bride, Emma, and their baby girl, Winifred. He was the 42nd doctor licensed in Idaho. In partnership with Eugene Lorton, he bought the Pioneer drug store from John Cuddy. The couple had another daughter, Mildred, in 1897. Brown soon sold is interest in the drug store to Lorton, and in 1899 the family moved to the new town of Cuprum in the Seven Devils Mining District. Dr. Brown had been hired by the railroad to tend to the men who were to build the expected rail line between the mines and Council. After the railroad's plans failed to materialize, the Brown family moved briefly to Decorah, and then settled at Landore.
At each town, Dr. Brown and Emma operated a combination drug store / general store. The doctor was a jack-of-all-trades. He was a medical doctor, licensed pharmacist (often concocting his own unique remedies), optometrist, postmaster (actually Emma officially held this title), and merchant. In 1912 Dr. Brown was elected to the state legislature for one term. In 1916 the Browns moved to Council and built the home that is still in use at 201 North Clarendon Street.
For a few years, Dr. Brown attended to his practice while Griffith ran the hot springs. Soon after Griffith and Brown bought Starkey they held a "Water Carnival." It featured "tub races, sack races, lighted candle races and water polo" and a "Jitney Dance" afterward.
Griffith apparently sold his interest to Brown about 1925. About this time, the Brown family started living at Starkey and managing the resort. The Doctor maintained his practice at his office in Council on Tuesdays and Fridays, and by appointment at the hot springs.
At least during the 1920s, Starkey was said to be the only resort of its kind in the state of Idaho.
By 1928 Dr. Brown was nearing the age of 70. After a long and illustrious career, he and Emma decided to retire. They started spending their winters in Phoenix, Arizona. Their older daughter, Winifred, and her husband took over ownership of the hot springs property. Winifred was about 18 years old when the Browns bought Starkey, but she had never spent much, if any, time living there until now. She had embarked on a teaching career until she met and married a man from San Francisco named Robert Lindsay, in 1922. They had made their home in California.
The Lindsays immediately set out to completely reshape the facilities. The first thing they overhauled was the public entrance to the pool at the north end. They built the present dressing rooms and lobby with a second story balcony for spectators. Before this, spectators used to sit on benches right beside the pool. The result, in those days in which the smoker was the epitome of social elegance, was cigarette butts, matches, used pipe tobacco and other trash, in and around the pool. More dressing rooms were built along the east side of the pool. They made the walls out of local rock instead of lumber. The old wooden walls had been damaged by early cars that, after flying down the steep entrance, didn't always have adequate brakes.
The remodeling progressed well until one day the Lindsays found out their bank account had been frozen. This was in the fall of 1929 when the stock market crashed and officially began the Great Depression.
More on Starkey next week. Copies of my book, “Landmarks—A General History of the Council, Idaho Area” (from which this column was taken) can be purchased at the Council Valley Library, or by mail by contacting me.
Don’t forget the Indian artifact program at the Meadows Valley Library Thursday night (March 26) at 7 PM. Craig DeMoss told me that he will probably bring some of the artifacts from the incredible discovery on the DeMoss Ranch that I wrote about a few weeks ago. Please, anyone who has arrowheads or other Indian artifacts that were found in the Meadows Valley (or in that area) bring them to this program. As I said last week, I’m planning another, similar program in Council for this spring, but this may be your only chance to see some of the DeMoss items.
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Captions:
00104—The north end of the Starkey pool in the 1920s before the Lindsays built the present lobby, dressing rooms, etc. Notice the barrel floating in the pool and the spectators sitting along the sides. The old lobby is visible beyond the pool fence, and in the distance is a structure beside the railroad tracks near the depot that seems to have been associated with the railroad. My speculation is that it is a covered platform for passengers and luggage.
00105—The south end of the pool in the 1920s, showing the hotel.
96150—Emma and Dr. William Brown. After reading a part of what I had written about the history of Starkey, their granddaughter, Drennan Lindsay (Robert & Winifred’s daughter), noted that Emma would have been upset to be referred to by her first name in a book instead of Mrs. Robert Lindsay.
3-26-09
Starkey’s Peak Years and Decline as a Public Pool
In spite of the setback of the Depression, the Lindsays continued to make improvements to Starkey, doing most of the labor themselves. They hauled rock for the walls from a short distance up the road, and bricks from the old smelter near Winifred's girlhood home at Landore. The problem of cooling the 135 degree water to a more comfortable ninety degrees was accomplished by a new method the Lindsays discovered: they sprayed the water out over the pool, and it was cooled by the air before it entered the pool.
Some of the work was done by students from Northwest Nazarene College in Nampa for $20 per month plus room and board and free swimming. A woodshed, several cabins and a tennis court were constructed during this time, and a great deal of landscaping was done. The Lindsays also remodeled the old hotel into a home for themselves.
The Lindsays hired a cook, and served meals at the hot springs. Starkey soon earned star billing in the national publication "Best Places to Eat" by Duncan Hines as the only restaurant Hines recommended in Idaho. Breakfast cost 50 cents, lunch was 60 cents, and dinner was 75 cents. These were not low prices during the Depression. In 1931 the legendary Senator William E. Borah stayed in the hotel and socialized over dinner with Adams County Senator, E.G. Van Hoesen.
During the Depression, the Lindsays were probably the only people in the country who had a heated chicken house. It was, of course, heated with hot spring water that was piped through it.
During the 1930s William and Emma Brown spent most of their time at their Phoenix home. The doctor didn't quite live to see the U.S. enter World War Two. Dr. William M. Brown, a true pioneer and Landmark, died in Phoenix in October of 1941, just a few days short of turning 81.
Because Bob Lindsay had been an officer in World War One, when the U.S. entered the Second World War he was put in charge of drilling the "Home Guard" volunteer reserves, a local paramilitary unit. They practiced every Friday evening at the ball park in Council, and those who wanted extra practice met each Wednesday to drill at Starkey. In 1943 Bob was sent to Portland for Army duty, so Starkey was closed and his family went with him. The post office at the hot springs was also closed at this time, and never reopened.
The Lindsays returned right after the war ended, and resumed operations of the hot springs. Winifred went back to her old profession, teaching at the high school in Council. When Bob died in the 1960s, Winifred was getting along in age, and didn't want to run the resort by herself. She put Starkey up for sale.
In an effort to keep the hot springs open to the public, a group calling themselves "The Starkey Recreational Association" was formed. They spent more than a year trying to come up with a way to purchase Starkey, but by 1968 it became evident that not enough money was available. During this time the Joseph Greer family managed the hot springs property. Finally in 1971 Chuck and Helen Lortz bought it.
Sometime in the 1970s the home that the Lindsays had converted from the old hotel burned down. The Lortzes built a green house on the old foundation.
The Lortzes opened Starkey to the public for a time, but encountered more problems than they wanted to deal with. Basically it was the old story of a few rude people who trashed the place with garbage and graffiti, depriving everyone else of the chance to enjoy what had become a local institution. At this writing Starkey is closed to the public except for summer swimming lessons and other very limited uses.
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Captions:
00109—The Lindsay’s house, remodeled from Starkey’s old hotel building. It burned in the 1970s.
98340—The lobby and observation deck that the Lindsays built looks very much like this today. This photo was taken before they installed the dressing rooms on the southeast side of the pool (at right), as this is the same wall shown in older photos.
99482—As I was growing up, my dad told me about a high diving platform at the south end of the Starkey pool that was twice as high as the high diving board I enjoyed (and thought was plenty high enough!) in the 1950s and ‘60s. (That ‘50s-‘60s high dive and its stone support structure are gone now.) Then, a few years ago, Galen York gave the museum a copy of this priceless picture that was taken during the 1920s – 1930s era. That’s probably Joe York who just jumped off the top. Do you think this would pass modern safety standards? Dad told me about one time when he landed wrong from this platform and how much it hurt from that height.
4-2-09
Glendale & East Fork
Glendale
This location, about two miles down stream from the mouth of the East Fork of the Weiser River, may have received the name "Glendale" when a post office was established here in 1895. The post office must have been in the home of the postmaster, George K. Boweing. The office was closed in 1904. The name was later used by the railroad to designate this place.
About 1910 a school was built at Glendale. This was a great convenience for local children who, until then, had to travel all the way to the McMahan School at Fruitvale.
By the way, the misspelling of the McMahan name on McMahan Lane at Fruitvale has finally been corrected! I called Brian McMahan at McCall, and he was delighted to hear this. He said he would tell all his relatives who will also be pleased to know that their family name is now properly applied to the road where the McMahans were such prominent pioneers.
By 1912 there was a railroad depot at Glendale, "almost at the front door of the school." There were eleven students that year, and that number didn't vary a great deal for the next thirty years. The school closed in 1941, and students were bused to Council.
Stevens Station -- East Fork
Elisha and Ella Stevens ran a stage station, on the bench just northeast of the mouth of the Weiser River’s east fork, at least as early as 1895. The station had a hotel, saloon, and stable.
Elisha Stevens had been a pony express rider, and an army scout in Utah. For his part in aiding the settlers at Monroe, Utah during the Black Hawk Indian war in 1866, Elisha Stevens's name is inscribed (along with a number of others) on a historic marker in the city park there. (This information comes from a book in the Monroe, Utah public library, "Sevier County Historic Sites,” and a historic marker erected by Daughters of Utah Pioneers July 24, 1937 commemorating the site of Fort Alma (Later Monroe) 1864-1867. Among the names of the pioneers inscribed on this marker are Elisha Stevens and Moses Gifford.)
While the settlers were fortified near Monroe during the Black Hawk war, Stevens became close friends with Moses Gifford who was a Captain in the Territorial Militia. Ella, the baby girl that was born to the Gifford's during that summer in the fort would eventually marry Stevens.
In 1884, Elisha Stevens and the Giffords moved to Vale, Oregon. Elisha and nineteen-year-old Ella Gifford moved on from Vale, and were married on December 29, 1885 in the Territory of Idaho. Whether or not they made their home at East Fork at this time is not clear. The first newspaper reference to them here is in 1895. The Stevenses had three sons, Henry, Claude, and Leo, and a daughter, Violet. Ella's brother, Morgan P. Gifford also came to this area, making his home near Council.
Elisha Stevens reportedly became wealthy by discovering gold in the Council area. About 1909, he moved his family to near Valles, Mexico, about halfway between Tampico and Mexico City, where he invested in 50,000 acres of land. When the Mexican Revolution broke out in November of 1910, the family had to leave everything they owned, including a crop ready to harvest, and run for their lives. Elisha Stevens died in 1926 at Redondo Beach, California. Ella died in Gardena, California in 1942.
Violet Stevens married Tom Estes, and they built a house on the bench across the East Fork, south of the old stage station. Later the Forest Service put a Ranger station (called "Stevens Station") here, using the Estes home as one of its buildings. The house was at that location until 1926 when it was moved to near the old Stevens Station. At this writing, it is in use as a home there. The house's address is 2810 U.S. Highway 95.
I think the old Stevens home stood at or near its original location until it was torn down around 1980 or shortly thereafter.
4-9-09
Evergreen
Evergreen was a very popular name for locations in the Northwest early in the twentieth century. For a time, the whole area between Starkey and Price Valley was called "Evergreen."1386 Later, this general area was known only as "the Canyon." When the railroad was extended from Council toward Meadows in 1906, it only went as far as a specific spot called Evergreen. This place where the tracks ended was in the first large flat down river from the present Evergreen Park.
The first newspaper reference to this vicinity as Evergreen was in January of 1907. Early that year, a hotel was built and operated at the end of the tracks by a Weiser businessman named Ernest Record and his wife, Addie. Eventually a livery stable, a freight house, and several other buildings were erected here. The stage line that operated from Evergreen ferried passengers between the railhead and points north, such as Meadows, McCall and Warren.
At 2:30 AM one September morning in 1909, residents of Evergreen awoke to the crackle of fire. The stables and sheds of the Idaho Stage Company were ablaze. Three horses were killed, and one stagecoach, five sets of harness and a quantity of feed went up in smoke. It was thought that a drunken sheepherder had been careless with a cigarette. The hotel and stage station was discontinued when the tracks were completed to New Meadows in 1911.
The present Evergreen campground was established by the Forest Service in 1923. The land there had been homesteaded by a man named Prell in 1903. In 1937, Marvin and Lillian Imler built a service station just south of the campground. This business continued in one form or another until the 1970s. The building (3100 U.S. Highway 95) is currently Lila Coates’s home. Power lines reached the homes in this part of the canyon in about 1950 or '51.
Tamarack
The Weiser River leaves the wide meadows of Price Valley at Tamarack and begins its journey down the narrow canyon. Before this region was settled it is said that Indians often camped here to hunt and harvest salmon.
The earliest recorded structure at Price Valley was a mail cabin, probably built in the early 1870s. Price Valley, and the mail cabin that was called "Fort Price," were named in honor of mail carrier, Tom Price. Price was born in 1836 in Arkansas, had been a California pioneer, and was a scout during the Indian wars. He was one of the early settlers at Indian Valley, and became the first mayor of that municipality when it was still known by the name Price originated: "Sour-dough." Price was said to have been "a sort of nomad, living in different parts of the country, and had a host of friends." About 1884, he ran a soda mill on Mann Creek, and he lived on Hornet creek at one time. Price died at Indian Valley in 1916.
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00253—The Evergreen store sometime before 1958.
95520—Although I didn’t write about it, here is a picture of the Pine Ridge store, just south of Price Valley. This is probably during the winter of 1948-’49, which was a record year for snowfall. The road to Lost Valley Reservoir has left the highway here (not shown, but would be just out of sight to the left in this photo) for as long as most people who are still alive remember. But the original road to the reservoir started from near the present sawmill at Tamarack.
4-16-09
Price Valley & Tamarack
Price Valley was a favorite camping spot for freighters. Good fishing holes provided their dinner, and there was plenty of grass for the horses. By 1904 there was a roadhouse here run by a man named Norton. It was a stage station and saloon, and evidently had facilities for overnight guests. The next year the station was taken over by Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Riggs.
In 1905 Weiser sheep man, A.G. Butterfield, had a ranch in Price Valley.
Sometime before1910, Steve Richardson established a sawmill here. In 1911 Richardson established the first post office in his store here, and named it "Tamarack." The Council Leader referred to Richardson in 1912 as "Tamarack postmaster, merchant, sawmill man and lawyer."
The vicinity had evidently attracted a number of residents by that time. Many were probably sawmill employees. In 1911 a school was built on land donated by Richardson. By the next year, the school had an average attendance of nineteen students.
After the railroad reached Tamarack in 1910, a depot, loading platform, track scale and siding were installed here. By the end of 1912 there were four sawmills operating at Tamarack. Richardson's mill sat right by the railroad depot. The Hawkeye Lumber Company mill was about a quarter mile south of Richardson's, and was managed by R.E. Shaw. The Nord & Co. mill, run by James O. Nord, was another quarter mile down the canyon. (Along with Richardson, Nord was one of the first Tamarack school trustees.) A Mr. Combs operated a mill about two miles north of Richardson's, at the edge of the valley.
A tragic accident happened to a Haweye lumberjack during a log drive in the spring of 1913. A young, educated, Swedish man named Carl Nelson was helping run logs down the Weiser River to the mill. Carl had never been on a log in the water before. His inexperience, combined with the fact that the river was still running high with spring runoff, proved to be fatal. He fell into the swift water and was drowned under the logs. His body was packed in snow until his brother arrived to bury him.
The Hawkeye mill continued to operate here at least until 1929, when it encountered financial problems.
The only remaining mill, that of Nord & Company, changed owners several times over the years, but continues to operate at this writing. The mill was originally on the east side of the highway to be near the river. It was replaced by a new mill and an electric co-generation plant on the west side of the highway in the late 1980s.
The post office and the sawmill at Tamarack closed for a short time during World War II when many people moved away. When the sawmill resumed operations in 1945, the post office was reopened and Tamarack experienced a small boom. Things had slowed down enough in 1958 that the post office was downgraded to a substation. This meant it had mailboxes and a slot to mail letters, but there was no window service. Finally in 1959 the office was replaced by a mail route out of New Meadows.
Beginning in 1920 a dam was planned across Price Valley to bring irrigation water to Council area farms. Meetings and planning sessions were held all during the 1920s. In 1931, test holes were dug to see if bedrock was close enough to the surface to make a dam there feasible. The idea was publicly promoted as late as 1937, but nothing came of it.
There was a Civilian Conservation Corps camp in Price Valley in 1933.
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Captions:
07053—Downtown Tamarack in the 1930s.
95244L—The Tamarack School in 1912.
4-23-09
Bear
The community of Bear sits along Bear Creek, about 30 miles northwest of Council. Bear Creek is the most common name for a stream in the State of Idaho. There is at least one in every county.
Bear was born with the mining boom in the nearby Seven Devils. One of the first businesses was a hotel called the "Elk House" run by George Patterson in 1885. Charles Morse operated another hotel, which featured a corral to accommodate the horses of the guests.
About five families lived in the area of Bear in 1890, but there were soon more as the mines attracted workers. Early settlers along Bear Creek made the trip to Council only once or twice a year for groceries and supplies.
Arthur and Rose Robertson settled on Bear Creek around 1890. Arthur was one of the first forest rangers in the Bear area.
Amos Warner was another homesteader to arrive at Bear in 1890. The Warner family soon comprised a good share of the population of the community.
Frank Smith married Amy Warner. They established a mail station at their homestead south of the present Bear Cemetery in 1890. In 1892 it became an official Bear Post Office. The Post Office was housed in the Smith's general merchandise store, which housed the Post Office. Beth Warner was the last Postmaster at Bear when the Post Office closed in 1972.
Frank Smith had the misfortune of helping to establish the Bear cemetery. In the summer of 1897, he got up in the middle of the night to give a bottle to their baby daughter. In the dark, he stepped on the head of a bisque doll. Sharp pieces of the bisque penetrated his heel. Within hours he showed signs of blood poisoning in his leg, but in the days before antibiotics there was little that could be done. Three days after this seemingly harmless incident, Frank was dead. His body was interred on the little ridge overlooking their homestead, becoming one of the first graves in what would become the Bear Cemetery.
Amos Warner and his sons-in-law, Frank and Cad Smith, organized a school at Bear in 1890. The first school was actually located on Steve's Creek. There have been at least three different school buildings on Bear Creek since then. As was the case in many other communities, the Bear schoolhouse was a center for much more than just the education of children. It functioned as the principal social center of the area, serving as a dance hall, public meeting place, theater (for plays, literaries and other programs) and church. After the 1967-68 school year was finished, the Bear school closed permanently, and the local children were bussed to Council. The old school is still used for occasional dances and other social gatherings.
At this writing Bear is still thriving as a community of private homes.
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00159—One of the earlier schools at Bear.
99456—Beth Warner at the Bear Post Office.
98131--Frank and Amy Smith’s place at Bear.
4-30-09
Cuprum
The meadows along the road up Indian Creek at present-day Cuprum became a favorite camping place for the freighters hauling to and from the mines in the Seven Devils. In 1897 Nels Swanson established a store here. Soon more structures were erected around Swanson's. On December 1, 1897 a post office was established with the official name, "Cuprum," which is Latin for copper.
The following spring (1898), the little town really began to boom. Cuprum soon had three general stores, two hotels, a hospital / drug store, a blacksmith shop, two livery stables, a newspaper (the Seven Devils Standard), an assay office, six saloons, a wholesale liquor store, post office (in one of the stores), a shoe repair & laundry, a barber shop, and several eating establishments. As was common in those days, several Cuprum businesses were sometimes housed within one building as illustrated by a sign on the front of "Shorty's" which read, "Barber Shop - Boots & Shoes Repaired - Laundry - Meals." Some have guessed the population of Cuprum at its peak (1898 - 1900) to have been as high as 1,000. One source says that there were about twenty-one homes in the town at one time.
One of the main reasons for the growth of Cuprum was a copper smelter that was built at one end of town in 1897. By August of 1898 three separate operators had tried to make the smelter work. They all failed, and the smelter was dismantled.
The community had a school at least by 1900. Attendance records are scarce, but in 1912, the school had eight students. When the mining boom ended, the population of Cuprum quickly decreased. By 1926, the school district was discontinued. The school may have closed before that.
Mr. and Mrs. John Darland were prominent citizens of Cuprum as early as the 1920s. John was the deputy recorder for the mining district, and his wife was the postmaster in 1929. The Post Office was probably in their hotel, "The Darland Inn." The hotel was spared in a fire that burned many buildings in the town in 1930. The Darlands brought the first electricity to Cuprum when they installed a generator that year. Power lines didn't reach Cuprum until about 1979.
John Darland and his son, Jack were representative of a small number of men who continued to run small mining operations in the Seven Devils mining district long after its hey day was over. Several of the old mines in the area have been worked and reworked numerous times by individuals with mixed results.
In 1947, the Darlands sold their hotel to Alice and Henry Petri. The Petris remodeled it, installing indoor plumbing and renamed it the "Copper Lodge". The lodge's claim to fame is that movie star, Gary Cooper, came there to hunt a bear, and stayed for two nights. He spent his time in the Cuprum area unsuccessfully hunting for a bear that had been killing George Speropulos' sheep. The Petris closed and sold the lodge about 1949.
At this writing Cuprum consists of a community of private homes. A few small businesses have come and gone over the years.
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Captions:
96173—Some of the first buildings at Cuprum, about 1897 or ’98. Although there is no sign, this could be Nels Swanson’s store. Notice the stumps in the street.
97008—This July 3, 1898 or ’99 photo shows an addition on the building in the earlier photo. The sign on the addition reads, “HOTEL.” The stumps are still there.
95155L – The classic postcard view of Cuprum, taken in 1910. The hotel, visible at left, became the Seven Devils Hotel some years before this photo.
72119 -- The Darland Hotel at Cuprum in the early 1940s.
95406-- The Copper Lodge in the late 1940s. Same building, same tree, different sign. Hugh Addington is the man on the left.
5-7-09
Seven Devils Ghost Towns
Decorah
The small town of Decorah sat between Cuprum and Landore, and only existed for about four years, from 1900 to 1904. As soon as Decorah started to boom, many Cuprum businesses moved there, evidently to be closer to the mines. Landore and Decorah quickly became rivals. Decorah catered more to pleasure-seekers, and Landore more to families. Decorah was the headquarters for the "Decorah" mining claims.
The town failed to compete with Landore and Cuprum, and was soon deserted.
Landore
In 1898, Thomas G. Jones acquired land here and divided it into lots for a townsite that he dubbed "Landore" after his hometown in Wales.
By the end of 1898 the little burgh had a population of 20 legal voters. In 1900 a road was built from Landore to Bear that made for a shorter trip from the mines to Council. The shorter route caused Landore to replace Cuprum as the dominant town in the mining district. A number of Cuprum and Decorah businesses moved to Landore as a result.
Landore grew rapidly, and by 1901 had a newspaper, a post office, several stores and hotels, and the luxury of long distance telephone service. The next year was a bad one in the Devils, and the area was very economically depressed as mining came to a standstill. The newspaper, the "Seven Devils Standard," which had only recently relocated there from Cuprum, packed up and moved to Meadows. Here, its name was changed to the "Meadows Eagle." One of the Standard / Eagle editors, Ben Edlin, later became editor of the Weiser Signal for a number of years.
Construction of a copper smelter at Landore in 1904 rejuvenated Landore and the mining district in general. In one month the population of Landore went from eight residents to nearly 200. At its peak, about 1,000 people may have lived here. It was said that between 5,000 and 6,000 people once lived within a seven-mile radius of Landore during the mining boom.
Landore rode the economic ups and downs of the mining cycles, but never recovered from the failure of the smelter and a major fire in 1916. By 1920 the town was virtually deserted.
For years the smoke stack of the old smelter stood beside the road, but it is now gone. There are still a few rotting logs lying where cabins once stood.
Helena
If you drive up the hill and west from Cuprum to the Sheep Rock viewpoint—which is very much worth the short hike out to the viewpoint—you will be very close to the site of Helena.
Helena was the first town in the Seven Devils Mining District. The town sprang up sometime between 1884 and 1890 beside the Peacock Mine-the claim discovered by Levi Allen in 1862.
According to one source, Helena once had a post office, three mercantile stores, six saloons, one brewery, two assay offices, two saw mills, and was served by two small dairies. By 1919 there was little left at Helena but about 25 deserted log cabins. In the late 1920s, the townsite was taken by Adams County for back taxes, and sold at auction.
In 1988 the Eagle Bar fire raged through the old townsite. For some reason that I can’t explain, that fall the outline of every former cabin was plain to see. By the time I got around to going back, with the idea of mapping the layout of the old town, the winter runoff had obliterated any trace of the cabin outlines. Since that time, the townsite has been logged over and there is almost nothing left. There is still a steam boiler and big winch at the Peacock Mine, which was right at the eastern edge of the town.
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Captions:
95339—Landore in 1908, taken from the hill southeast of town. The smelter is in the upper right corner of the photo.
95077L—Beautiful downtown Helena in 1907. Just who is who is not clear, but one of these men is Postmaster, Ferdinand Allers. Two others are a Mr. Arthur (last name unknown) and John L. Thompson
5-14-09
Other Seven Devils Communities
Gold claims at Placer Basin were worked from the 1890s through the early 1900s, then again from 1934 to 1942. At its peak the mine had a 600 foot inclined shaft, a processing mill, several mine buildings and a few cabins.
Mining operations began at Black Lake in 1900. A community called Black Lake had at least one store, which contained a post office. The most interesting feature of this operation was a mile-long tramway built to carry gold ore to a mill below the lake. A significant amount of gold was taken from the claims here, but expenses ate all the profits. The mines produced ore here until about 1914. One of the claims was reworked in the 1930s.
The two communities of Iron Springs and Rankin Mill lay in the rugged mountains north of Black Lake. Both were gold claims worked during about the same period as Black Lake. They yielded little if any good ore.
Well folks, this is the last of this series from my book “Landmarks—A General History of the Council, Idaho Area.” I hope you’ve enjoyed the additional remarks and photos. Remember, I still have the book for sale. Contact me, or buy one at the museum this summer if you want a copy.
Speaking of the museum, it’s almost time to open for another season. The museum will open on Memorial Day Weekend—May 23. We will be looking for volunteers to watch the place. If you can spare a three-hour shift occasionally or once a week, please let me know. (253-4582 or dafisk@ctcweb.net)
This year, the museum will display the cab from on top of the Peck Mountain Lookout. (They took it down last summer.) It has been quite a project putting it back together. The most interesting part of the exhibit may be the names and comments that are written inside the cab by people who manned or visited the lookout since it was erected in 1935.
I’m still trying to find fir timbers (or logs to saw them from) to mount the steam-powered sawmill on. If someone out there can help, please let me know.
While stealing sections of my book to serialize in this column, I’ve come up with a few ideas for more columns, and there are tons more interesting pictures in the museum collection to put here. For now, I’ll finish this column with a short history of the Cottonwood Cemetery, sent to me by Ruth Raney of New Meadows. It was apparently written by Eldora Peebles. I’ve made a few punctuation changes, etc.
“Mr. and Mrs. P.W. Higgins lost a baby girl. There being no cemetery in the community, they buried her under a pine tree on their ranch. Not many years later they lost a boy. This caused them to see the need of a cemetery. So they chose this hilltop as the best place for the burial ground. Thomas Higgins was buried there in 1884, Trapper John Anderson in 1896, and John A. Higgins in 1898. Several others followed. On December 15, 1909 Palmer W. & Alice M. Higgins deeded 1 acre of this hilltop to School District No. 20, located bout 3 miles south of Council and east of Highway 95, to be used for a cemetery only.”
“When it ceases to be used as such, it reverts back to the ranch. It was fenced the following year by the Community and particularly maintained by them for years thereafter. Bill Phipps made the coffins for all the graves for many years. Rough boards were gotten from the sawmills of this valley, hand planed by him with a Jock and smoothing plane. Black satin was used for the lining, gotten from the first store in Council.”
“In 1947 the community ladies formed the “Good Neighbor Club.” One of their projects was to have a clean-up day once a year in May for the cemetery, which was carried out very successfully. There were many unmarked graves. In 1955 John Shaw of the Middle Fork community made 51 stones for the unmarked graves. There are 70 graves in all; some are unknown. In 1958 a Cemetery District was formed in Adams County. Since then the caretaker is slowly making improvements.”
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96070—The Placer Basin ore mill around 1950 or before. It was a “ball mill” that used a tumbler containing baseball-sized steel balls to break up the gold ore. The skeleton of this mill stood on the site for many years.
00173—The community of Black Lake and the ore mill. A mile-long tramway stretched from the cliff above the lake to the ore mill shown here at the top of the photo.
98174—Peck Mountain Lookout. The cab at the top is now in the Council Valley Museum. Come see it. You won’t have to climb the stairs like you would have for the past seventy-some years.
5-21-09
Last year, I visited with Cheryl Weedon of Boise, and her mother, Genevieve Clabby Strait. Genevieve Strait is the oldest daughter of Genevieve Robertson Clabby and Robert Emmett Clabby. Cheryl gave me a copy of a memoir that her mother wrote. The following is the first part of this memoir.
The Clabbys moved from Nebraska to Weiser. They lived on a small acreage about three miles from town. After completing high school, Robert Emmett Clabby attended Utah Agricultural College in Logan where he studied forestry. In 1907, he began his work with the United States Forest Service as a Ranger.
During his years of service with the Forest Service, he acted as a Forest Ranger at Bear, Oakley, Boise, Indian Valley and Council, Idaho. In 1932, he was transferred to Malad and continued in this position until his retirement. He was a member of St. Marie's Catholic Church.
On April 18, 1915, he was married to Genevieve P. Robertson at Bear, Idaho. At the time of their deaths, they were the parents of seven children, 20 grandchildren and two great grand children. Mr. Clabby passed away.
Robert Emmett Clabby started with the Forest Service when it was first formed in 1905. He was a Ranger at Bear when he met Genevieve Robertson. Her parents owned the Post Office and store in Bear. They were married at Bear in April 18, 1915. They moved to Oakley where he was a Ranger until about 1916. Then he transferred to the District across from Arrowrock Dam. The only way to get there was to cross the dam in a boat. Two of his children were born while they lived there. Genevieve came to Boise, across the dam and then on down to Boise from Arrowrock, in a buckboard for the births of James and Louise.
In 1919, he was transferred to Bear where Marguerite was born in October 1919. They moved to Indian Valley in 1920 where Edward was born August 1921 and Don February, 1924. They transferred to Council in 1925. Inez was born September 1926 and Barbara April 1931.
The last move was to Malad in 1932. Emmett had to retire early because of ill health. He had a hemorrhaging ulcer, and as a result, had to have part of his stomach removed. In those days, it was a very serious surgery. He never really recovered from that. They continued to live there until they both died in 1969.
I’ll have another, more detailed section of these memoirs, and some very interesting pictures, in the coming weeks.
The museum will be opening on Saturday. Every year I get stressed just about to my limit trying to recruit and schedule volunteers, so if you can help watch the museum for a three-hour shift, either weekly or occasionally, please let me know. Your help is badly needed.
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RE & Genevieve Clabby m 4-15-1920.jpg—Robert Emmett and Genevieve Pearl Clabby. They were married April 15, 1915.
WT & Jessie Robertson house next to Bear store.jpg—William T. and Jessie Robertson in front of their house next to the Bear Store.
Bob Hancock 1920s.jpg—The most interesting part of this photo of Bob Hancock that Cheryl Weedon gave us is the sign behind him. In case you can’t read it, what can be seen says, “STRICTLY MODERN COUNCIL HOTEL—ONE BLOCK—and—Beds equipped with ___ springs—Furnished by G____ Co.” The sign on the brick building is advertising “OLD ___” cigarettes. The building may be the Merit Store. The Pomona Hotel was known as the Council Hotel for quite some time, beginning in 1928.
5-28-09
I’m continuing with the memoir written by Genevieve Clabby Strait—the oldest daughter of Genevieve Robertson Clabby and Robert Emmett Clabby.
I was two years old when we moved to Indian Valley. It was a two-story house, and as you came down the steps, the Victrola was right at the foot of the steps. Out in the back was a garden; a lot of chokecherries. Dad always had a cow.
Dad was gone most of the time in the summer. So we had a hired girl to help mom. She had a cow and chickens and a huge garden. Jim went with Dad quite a bit.
The things I remember about Indian Valley are playing in the ditch in front of the house and riding horses. (The reason I say riding horses and playing in the ditch is because there are pictures of Jim, Ed, Mickey and Muzzy sitting on a horse and of Jim and I playing in the ditch).
Jim and Mickey and I walked a half-mile to school with the Lindsay kids; the boys teasing the girls on the way to school. It was half-mile to school. You went through town; the school was right on down past the store. The school was a two-room schoolhouse. It seems like the teachers were a young gal and a guy.
I really liked Leslie Gray and was heart broken when he was killed. He was drug to death by a horse. [Born 1916, died 1925--buried in the Indian Valley Cemetery] One time at school they took Leslie Gray out and gave him a beating. I was really upset about that. After he was killed, I thought they must be awfully sorry now that they spanked him.
We would go in the General Store after school. It was exciting to go in the store. I remember going to the store in a sleigh. It was in Indian Valley when mom had to take Mickey to Boise at least two times to have surgery on her foot. They went by train. You traveled by train if you went to Boise or Weiser or went to Starkey.
We moved to Council in 1925. As I remember the house in Council, you would go in the door and there was some sort of a hallway. That is where Dad's desk was, where he did his office work. Then there were two bedrooms off the hallway. Mom and Dad's bedroom was on the left. Mickey's and my bedroom was on the right. Don slept with Mom and Dad. When Inez was born, she slept with Mom and Dad and Don. Then when Barbie was born, she slept with Mom and Dad and Inez. Don slept with me. Jim and Ed had their room upstairs in a loft; it was a small area.
We had a pretty good-sized porch, an ice house and then there was a barn. We had cows out in some pasture and Jim had to go and milk the cows. He hated it. There were probably just a couple cows.
I remember how embarrassed I was when we moved to Council and going to school wearing high-topped shoes when all the other girls had slippers. Mickey and I soon got our slippers (slippers with a button across -- Mary Janes -- sort of). I was in the second grade.
Grandma Clabby had the Blue Birds. It's like the Girl Scouts. She would take us to Starkey Hot Springs. In the Blue Birds, we mainly had fun and gathered flowers. We would camp. We learned how to sew and bake. I can remember the fun we had when she would pile us all in the car and take us to Starkey or somewhere. And then in the summer, we would go to Starkey with the tumbling class from Council when I was about 12.
------------------------
Photo captions:
james, marg, gen, indian v 1920.jpg— James, Marguerite and Genevieve Clabby at their home in Indian Valley in 1920.
present clabby home location.jpg—This is the present site of the R.E. Clabby place at Indian Valley. The family lived here from 1915 to the early 1920s. From Genevieve’s description, it sounds like the place was about a half mile north of the store.
re claby home, council 1920s.jpg—I believe this house is still standing, although very much remodeled, on California Avenue in Council. This picture was taken in 1956.
6-4-09
I’m continuing with the memoir written by Genevieve Clabby Strait—the oldest daughter of Genevieve Robertson Clabby and Robert Emmett Clabby.
We moved to Council in 1925. As I remember the house in Council, you would go in the door and there was some sort of a hallway. That is where Dad's desk was, where he did his office work. Then there were two bedrooms off the hallway. Mom and Dad's bedroom was on the left. Mickey's and my bedroom was on the right. Don slept with Mom and Dad. When Inez was born, she slept with Mom and Dad and Don. Then when Barbie was born, she slept with Mom and Dad and Inez. Don slept with me. Jim and Ed had their room upstairs in a loft; it was a small area.
We had a pretty good-sized porch, an ice house and then there was a barn. We had cows out in some pasture and Jim had to go and milk the cows. He hated it. There were probably just a couple cows.
I remember how embarrassed I was when we moved to Council and going to school wearing high-topped shoes when all the other girls had slippers. Mickey and I soon got our slippers (slippers with a button across -- Mary Janes -- sort of). I was in the second grade.
Grandma Clabby had the Blue Birds. It's like the Girl Scouts. She would take us to Starkey Hot Springs. In the Blue Birds, we mainly had fun and gathered flowers. We would camp. We learned how to sew and bake. I can remember the fun we had when she would pile us all in the car and take us to Starkey or somewhere. And then in the summer, we would go to Starkey with the tumbling class from Council when I was about 12.
I was the top/good player on the basketball team. Because I was tall and had those long arms. I think I was a guard. Occasionally we would stay over night at McCall--go on the train to play basketball. In Junior High we had a good team. We beat Cambridge. I think we went to Cascade once. McCall beat us.
We used to go out on May Day. We made May baskets with crepe paper around it. We had a Maypole dance at the school. We would go and pick wild flowers, put them in our May baskets and ring doorbells around different places.
The high school was all the classes together--freshman, sophomore, juniors and seniors--all upstairs. The teacher, E.P. Joyce, every time he went to the Court House, he would ask me to watch and keep order. So I'd look out the window every once in a awhile and say, "Look out. Here comes E.P." And everyone would be quiet. There were not many kids in the high school; probably about 50.
I remember once this science project that everybody was supposed to make something. My mind was a complete blank; I had no idea. So this Noel Hallett I think his name was, he made me a little engine thing and I didn't even know how it worked. I turned it in. I just know the teacher knew I didn't make it. I was probably a sophomore in high school.
Noel Hallett and another kid thought I was really cute. They would try to out-do each other. At Valentine's Day, they both gave me wooden valentines. I think I got more valentines than anyone. I don't remember the other kid's name.
I won the county spelling contest. I was probably a sophomore. I got a certificate and I was supposed to go to the state but I didn't go. I guess we didn't have any money. I was the valedictorian of the 8th grade. Grandma wrote my speech for me; I still have it somewhere.
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Photo captions:
95409—Council High School girl’s basketball team in 1927. Genevieve Clabby (born about 1916) would have been a little too young to be on this team, but the uniforms probably hadn’t changed too much by the time she played for CHS. If anyone knows who any of these girls are, please let me know.
72083—Built in 1907, Council’s Grade School and High School occupied this building until it was condemned in 1958.
00046—Council Elementary School children in the 1920s, about the time Genevieve would have gone to school here. The third boy from left in the top row is thought to be Jim Poynor. The last boy on the right in that group of boys may be Paul Phillips. The teacher is Olive Addington. Notice the shoes that many the girls are wearing. The ones with a strap across the top are probably “Mary Jane” shoes. The basic style of the shoe includes a low heel, a rounded toe, and a single strap across the foot. The name came from the character, Mary Jane, in Buster Brown cartoons. She was Buster’s sister, and apparently wore this style of shoe. In 1904, the Brown Shoe Company purchased the rights to Buster Brown, and created a Buster Brown line for kids that included Mary Janes. In the 1920s, patent leather Mary Janes were very popular. This style of shoe had existed for decades before they became known by this name, and are still being sold today as Mary Janes.
6-11-09
I’m continuing with the memoir written by Genevieve Clabby Strait—the oldest daughter of Genevieve Robertson Clabby and Robert Emmett Clabby.
We would go out to Link's Pond and build a fire. I never had skates but I would get out and skate around on the ice--kids of all ages. There was a vacant lot where in the summer we would play games--the whole town. Then we had the theater. We could go to the movies whenever we wanted to--go down town whenever we wanted to. It isn't like nowadays; little kids couldn't be running around like that.
On the 4th of July, everybody in town would go down in the big square. We would usually meet the Snows there. We would have fried chicken and homemade ice cream and raspberries to put on the ice cream.
One summer in Council we were quarantined most of the summer with chicken pox. We had to fumigate.
At Council, we played Post Office and wink eye. You would stand behind the guy and wink at somebody. The guy you winked at would try to get away before they could be tapped on the shoulder. In Post Office if you got a letter, you had to go in another room. He would give you a kiss.
Dad's ranger station was at Price Valley. Price Valley is between Council and New Meadows. He would be at the ranger station all summer. We always spent part of the summer at Price Valley and some of the time at Bear.
At Price Valley for our Saturday night baths, we would go up to the Indian Bathtub up by New Meadows. [I think she is referring to the hot springs near the bottom of Goose Creek grade, not Zim’s. If anyone knows differently, please let me know.] Probably once a week we would go shopping at McCall and then go down to the store at Tamarack to get most of our supplies. Driving there, you would look back and see dust just as far as you can see. Grandma Robertson took us out on a boat on Payette Lake at McCall, which was a big deal for us. It was a motorboat - a large boat because we could kind of walk around on it; probably a tourist boat. It was neat.
Before we had a car, we rode the train to Weiser, Boise or Starkey Hot Springs.
We went to Grandpa and Grandma's up at Bear for Christmas sometimes. It was 30 miles from Council. We went in a sleigh with straw in the bottom, lots of blankets and bricks. And we stopped at different places and have the bricks heated--one place was Hornet Creek. It was really fun.
Mom said that Dad was a very restless person and he liked to move on. So consequently, we moved a lot. We were all very upset when we had to leave Council to move to Malad. I never really did get adjusted to moving to Malad. I didn't want to make my home there; I wanted to get back up here. Boise was always the place if we could come to, we would come to Boise. I like Boise.
I liked Bear and Price Valley. I never did get into the country down at Malad like I did up here.
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95242L—The Price Valley guard station, date unknown.
00237b&w—This shot of Leek’s Pond was taken in the 1930s. This pond was created by water backed up by the railroad grade when it was built about 1901. It is located just
southeast of Council. It was a popular recreation spot for several generations of local kids.
robertsons at bear c 1925—The Robertson and Clabby families at Bear in 1925. I think Genevieve’s parents are in the back right. Jessie and W.T. Robertson are in the back center.
6-18-09
Memories of Bear
I’m continuing with the memoir written by Genevieve Clabby Strait—the oldest daughter of Genevieve Robertson Clabby and Robert Emmett Clabby.
Grandpa and Grandma Robertson [William T. and Jessie] moved to Idaho because Grandpa had a cousin at Bear Creek. Grandpa Robertson's cousin persuaded him to come out. Grandpa Robertson had hay fever and it was supposed to help him.
We were always excited about getting Grandma Robertson's package at Christmas. (That was after I found out there was no Santa Claus.) It was really great fun when we got to Grandma's. She had popcorn balls; I always liked the popcorn balls. And she would have chicken and the snow was very deep. The store had a side door; the snow would be up so high, you could not even get in the side door. Lots of snow. It seemed like we would leave in the dark and it would be pretty dark when we got there. It was fun for us, the kids.
Once in a while Grandma would let us go in the store and pick out a treat. In the summer when we were up there, we would go huckleberrying. Then we got to get whatever we wanted for lunch in the store.
Sometimes, Mick and I (we both couldn't go at once) would go up to Bear to spend some time to visit. Before they got cars, we would ride the motorized stage; it was kind of open, with cellophane instead of glass. The stage would go to Bear, deliver the mail at Bear and then go to Cuprum. The driver would stay all night in Cuprum. Then the next morning he would come back. It was really a big day when the stage came. We got to go out and watch Grandma unpack all the goodies.
Bear was mining and running cattle. [Albert]Campbell from New Meadows had a lot of cows. There were a lot of cowboys around. I liked the cowboys and cowboy music.
Grandpa fixed up a campground down by the creek. Lots of people from down below--from Boise, Caldwell, Nampa and Payette would come up in the summer. Every year, the same people would come up. Grandpa would take them down some cream. He had jersey cows--really rich cream. They would camp in their tents. It was always people that he got to know through the years. So when he moved to Boise, he knew a lot of people.
Grandpa had a farm. He had some cows, chickens and horses. There was a chicken house, a john and a big barn--like the old style barns. They stacked hay in the hayloft. He did not milk in there -- there was another little place where he milked. Sometimes they had a hired man.
In the summer, Grandpa would be out haying and doing that stuff. Mick and I would go up to help Grandma out in the store. We would not go together; one of us would stay to help Mom.
The buildings were already built when they moved there. They added on; put a porch on the store. They did a little improving. Their house was connected to the store. The store was a big barn. You could buy everything from soup to nuts and even clothes in the store. It was pretty rough inside. I don't think anything was finished--rough wood on the counters. They had some kind of soft drinks, candy, cigarettes, cheese and canned goods. It kind of seems like they had some saddles and blankets--a little bit of everything. Dry goods.
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Photo captions:
Jessie & WT Robertson, kids PO.jpg----The Robertson family in front of their Bear home/store, July 4 about 1915. Back row, left to right: Jessie Robertson, Genevieve Clabby, Wm. T. Robertson, Irma Robertson. In front are Jessie and William’s children, Gladys and Philip.
William T Robertson home, Bear.jpg—This is the left part of the building in the other photo. This was the Robertson home.
Barn at Bear store.jpg---This is the Robertson barn that Genevieve wrote about.
6-25-09
I’m continuing with the memoir written by Genevieve Clabby Strait—the oldest daughter of Genevieve Robertson Clabby and Robert Emmett Clabby:
They used to have dances up at the schoolhouse and on Saturday night we would all worry for fear that some of the drunks from the dance might come and cause trouble. Sometimes the cowboys would come by and bang on the door. Grandma wouldn't usually go out at night. Grandpa slept upstairs. I guess that was because he couldn't hear, I don't know--and Grandma had a cot right in the living room [to get away from his snoring]. In the daytime it was kind of like a sofa. She slept there and she had a gun by her side in case drunken cowboys came to the closed store from the dances. I don't know if she knew how to use it or not but she had it. Once and a while they did come after a dance. I don't think there was any trouble but we were always scared there might be; they didn't come very often.
The gypsies would come in several wagons; the same type of wagons that the sheepherders had. Grandma would have us all go out in the store and watch an area. When the gypsies came in we would keep an eye on them so they wouldn't rob Grandma blind. I was kind of scared of them. They had long skirts and bright clothes. They came through every few years not every year. They would pass through and probably go back towards Council. They were from everywhere; they just roamed. They were very good at stealing so you had to be very careful and keep an eye on them.
I never saw a bear in Bear. To my knowledge, I never heard anyone talk about seeing a bear.
Grandma Robertson had a friend from Boston, Mabel Sprouse, and her family was very well to do. She followed Franz Kleinschmidt out to Cuprum and lived with him. As far as I know they were never married. As far as I know she was still married to Sprouse. So Mickey and I went over on the stage and stayed over night with her. It was very pretty up there. Every day she would go down to the creek; she had a creek right down below her house. She would go down and get some water, heat it and take a sponge bath. She had a Boston accent. She was quite attractive; she was very large, not fat very tall and hefty. Franz, as I remember him, was not very big he was kind of slight. Franz's parents owned the copper mines up at Cuprum. The Kleinschmidt grade was named after their family.
The rest of this column is a note from Cheryl Weedon, Genevieve’s daughter:
“Mom said Mabel Sprouse was related to the May Department store family She was married to a Sprouse and that must have made quite a scandal when she came west with Franz Kleinschmidt. It also accounts for why she and Franz never married. Mom said she was a very prim and proper woman and a great friend of Jessie Robertson and the family. She said her older brother, James, used to laugh at Mabel’s Bostonian accent. She lived in a rough cabin in Cuprum and mom and her sister Marguerite (Mickey) used to ride the stage up there in the summer to visit with her. She had to carry water quite a ways uphill from the stream. It must have been hard for someone used to more civilized ways. In later years, Mabel moved back to Boston and Genevieve Clabby visited with her when she traveled there to visit her youngest daughter in Maine.
Mom said Arthur Robertson was William T’s cousin and that he was the one who convinced William to come West when his doctor recommended a change of climate for his asthma. She doesn’t remember seeing him or even hearing much about him when she was in Bear in the summers, even though he was William’s cousin.
Mabel Sprouse at Bear store.jpg—Mabel Sprouse standing in front of the Bear Store.
96174.jpg---A group relaxing at Black Lake during the mining boom. According to the information on the back of this Brown family photo, the people are, L-R: Priscilla Rugg, Winifred Brown, Mildred Brown, Franz Kleinschmidt and Mrs. Kleinschmidt. “Mrs. Kleinschmidt” has to be Mabel Sprouse.
7-2-09
I’m continuing with the memoir written by Genevieve Clabby Strait—the oldest daughter of Genevieve Robertson Clabby and Robert Emmett Clabby:
Mom and Irma [Robertson—her sister] would ride horses from Bear down the Kleinschmidt grade over to Halfway Oregon to visit their friends.
Mary Gaarden was quite a well-educated woman from Denmark. She was a good friend of Grandma Robertson's. She had a real neat home up past the schoolhouse. Neat, neat things in her home. She was real dark--a pretty lady. I don't remember her having any kids.
I remember the Smith girls. They were Mickey and I's age and they thought they were pretty cool. This was when we were older--high school. They had long blond hair. They were, of course, after all the guys. They didn't like it too well when we came up there because they had the cowboys and all the young boys up there to themselves. Then, of course, Mickey and I were working at the store so we could get acquainted with the boys. They probably had dances but we never went. Grandma would never have allowed them to go.
After moving to Malad, we traveled back and forth from Malad to Bear in the summer. Most of the time Irma and the boys were with us. The luggage was piled on the running board on one side of the car and on top of the car. Mom, Mickey, Irma and Billy sat in front and the rest in back and Jim would hitchhike. (I wish I could hitchhike too). We sometimes stayed overnight in Jerome with Aunt Bess, Dad's sister.
Notes from Cheryl Weedon (Genevieve’s daughter):
Mom said Irma Robertson went to Albion to college and became a schoolteacher. She taught at Hornet Creek School and that’s how she met Clifford Emery. Clifford worked for the forest service and they moved to Boise when Clifford was transferred there. Alta and John were the infants of William T. and Jessie Robertson. Their gravestone was in the Bear cemetery simply as “Robertson babies.”
This is the end of the part of Genevieve’s memoir concerning the Council area. I will have a related column next week.
To finish off this week’s column I have a couple thoughts. Once in a while someone comes through town who used to live here years ago. Of course they see all the changes in the place, and the things that haven’t change bring back memories. These people usually say that they don’t know many people here anymore. Sometimes they don’t know anybody at all. There is an old song, “Rank Stranger” that sums up the feeling pretty well:
I wandered again to my home in the mountains
Where in youth's
early dawn I was happy and free
I looked for my friends, but I
never could find them
I found they were all rank strangers to me
Everybody
I met, seemed to be a rank stranger
No mother nor dad --Not a
friend could I see
They knew not my name--And I knew not their
faces
I found they were all rank strangers to me
"They've
all moved away," said the voice of a stranger
"To a
beautiful land by the bright crystal sea"
Some beautiful day
I'll meet them in heaven
Where no one will be a stranger to me
Everybody
I met, seemed to be a rank stranger
No mother nor dad --Not a
friend could I see
They knew not my name--And I knew not their
faces
I found they were all rank strangers to me
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98316.jpg—The date of this gathering of Bear School students and others is not known, but it must be around 1912. Mary Gaarden is at the far right. The girl right of center, directly in front of the tree is Lois Smith. Teacher, W. H. Grant, stands in the rear at right. Grant also taught at Upper Dale and Fruitvale after his stint at Bear.
98320.jpg—Young members of the Smith and James families, around 1910-15. Lois Smith is at the far right. The others are unidentified. Some of you relatives who can identify them, please give me a call.
98296.jpg—A rare picture of a young woman with her hair down. This is Lois Smith, sitting on the porch railing of the Huntley house about 1910-15. In those days women let their hair grow long and wore it up in a bun or something similar, as in the other photos. My grandmother, May Baker Merk, wore her hair up in a bun. One evening when I was a kid, I saw her with her hair down. It was nearly as long as Lois’s in this picture. I was shocked because it never occurred to me that she had long hair. In the 1920s younger women began to cut their hair in short, “bobbed” styles. This, along with the tight, slinky, short (relatively), dresses they wore, was scandalous to the older generation.
7-9-09
I was going to write about Robert Clabby this week, but some exciting developments are taking place right now concerning our local history. I’ve written here about the archaeological project that the Adams County Historic Preservation Commission is undertaking. That project is moving forward rapidly, and in fact should be in full swing about the time most of you get this paper. The plan at the moment is to do a thorough survey of a local site where many Indian artifacts have been found. We have hired Jerry Jerrems, and archaeologist from Boise who is very enthusiastic about the project.
What has excited all of us the most is a projectile point found by a local man a few years ago while digging a ditch. We are not releasing exact places where artifacts have been found, but this one was in the general area north of Mill Creek. The point was about three feet underground. It is about five inches long, and made from a white material. The exciting thing is that the point resembles a Clovis point, which is the oldest known type of projectile point in existence in America. It has slight differences from the Clovis style, but the initial guess at its age is about 10,000 years! This could be a very important find, not only to our local history, but to the western U.S.
While Jerry was looking around our museum, he became interested in the mastodon tooth and jaw fragment that we have on display. He wasn’t sure, but thought mastodons were not supposed to have lived here. I contacted Ken Reid, the state archaeologist and he referred me to Dr. Chris Hill at Boise State University. The following is our correspondence so far:
“Dr. Hill,
I was referred to you by Ken Reid, the state archaeologist. We temporarily have an archaeologist (Jerry Jerrems) up here in the Council area doing a project involving prehistoric sites in Adams County. He noticed a mastodon tooth and jaw fragment on display in our museum that was found locally. He remarked that he didn't think mastodons were known to have inhabited this region--mammoths, yes, but not mastodons. Could you please tell me if this is significant?”
“Dear Mr. Fisk,
Thanks for your note. I appreciate your interest in mastodons and mammoths and also the image of the point. It is a beauty. [I sent him a picture of the “nearly-Clovis” point.] Both mastodons and mammoths have been found in Idaho, although mammoths seem to be a bit more common. Finds of either kind are pretty important because they reflect two different kinds of past environments. Your mastodon tooth would indicate the likely presence of wooded wet habitats ("moose territory, today) during the Ice Age. It is valuable information and adds to the list of rare mastodon finds in Idaho. For scientific purposes the find would be important if the location of its discovery was known--the more precise the better. I am very glad to hear that you have such a potentially important fossil. When I worked in Montana I tried to get all the local museums to see what hidden gems were around; it turned into a very nice research project. I am currently working on such a project in Idaho and the adjoining areas so your note and question is very valuable. Is the location of the find recorded?”
Here is the info we have on this tooth and jaw fragment in the museum
database:
TOOTH, MASTODON--"Mastodon tooth found near 1935
Kidwell Lane (Just east of Council). Donor: Probably
Eliza Sorenson. Examined by Don Tyler at the University of Idaho, Feb
18, 1994 and identified as a 3rd molar from the left side.
To my surprise, in further search of our database, I found that we
also have this:
Mastodon Bone "Approximately 14"
long. Top part of a right side ulna of a mastodon (lower
forelimb). Found at Crooked River. Donated by Lawrence
(Toots) Rogers.
So, readers, I have an important request. I know there are friends and relatives of Toots Rogers still around here. If any of you have any info as to the location on Crooked River where he found this bone, it could be very valuable. Also, if anyone knows a more exact location of where the mastodon tooth was found, or when or by whom, I would really like to have that information. My phone: 208-253-4582 Email: dafisk@ctcweb.net. A letter will reach me at PO Box 252 Council, ID 83612.
I also know that many of you have found projectile points (arrowheads) in this area. Whether or not another point like the “nearly-Clovis” one has been found by one of you if critical to know. If any of you have found one that resembles the one in the photo, even slightly, please contact me. Your personal information can be kept confidential, but it would be important to know the location of the find as exactly as possible.
7-16-09
Here’s a report on our State
Historic Preservation Office/Adams County Historic Preservation
Commission project with archaeologist Jerry Jerrems.
Jerry came up for a quick overview of the area and artifact
collection from our primary focus site in the Council Valley on July
1. He took a number of projectile points for detailed examination,
sketching and testing.
On Friday, the
10th. Several volunteers went out to the primary focus site north of
Mill Creek and flagged fire-cracked rocks, chips, etc. The
alfalfa/grass field had just been cut but was starting to grow back,
and the visibility was not great. We found lots of fire-affected
rocks and a few chips. Probably the most valuable on-site info was
obtained from the landowner describing where various artifacts had
been found. We also looked at the location where the "nearly-Clovis"
point had been found a couple years ago. Although this point is an
important local find, it may not be as old as the original guess. We
now know that several more points with this base configuration have
been found in the area.
That afternoon we visited with two local collectors, and examined and photographed their artifact collections. Both men have been rabid local collectors their entire lives and know of many locations in the area where artifacts have been found. They know exactly where most of the pieces in their collections came from. Their knowledge of local archaeological sites is priceless, and we will be doing more research with them in the future. Some of the items in their collections aree very unique and rarely, if ever, documented. Although I’m not sure if these guys would mind being named, I didn’t want to do so here just in case they want their privacy. Many of you know who they are anyway. I hope that more collectors will come forward knowing that their privacy is secure and the locations of artifact sites will not be made public. We are also not the artifact police. We assume that artifacts have been collected on private or public land, and technically anything found there belongs to the landowner. But, to us, the knowledge gained from the sites and artifacts are much more important that whether the letter of the law was observed.
On Saturday David Valentine (Boise archaeologist / volunteer), Jim Camp, Jerry and I started a one-meter-square dig at the primary focus site. The ground was extremely hard, and to get it through the 1/8" screen required breaking up some stubborn clods. At the end of about 8 hours, we had recovered a number of fire-affected rocks and a few very small chips. Most of these were in the top foot or so. After we were done with the official part of the job, I dug down to about the one-meter level to see if we would hit any other soil type, but found only the same soil. The fact that there are so many fire-cracked rocks may indicate that this site was used for something related to processing with fire. The number of pestles also means that the Indians were processing something a lot here. Just what that was, we don’t know yet. The first thought for Jerry was camas, but given the dry nature of most of the valley (much of Council Valley seems to have been covered with sagebrush before irrigation) there may not have been enough camas here to make it a major processing center. Of course the climate may have been very different thousands of years ago.
On Sunday, Jerry and I met Mark Smith at Meadows and
photographed and noted the source of a number of artifacts collected
by Mark, Gayle Dixon, Larry Kingsbury and others a few years ago. The
general location of each artifact had been well-documented. I had to
leave early, but got to see one site and make a quick visit to the
DeMoss site. I get impression that there is much more work to be done
on the DeMoss artifacts. After I left, Mark and Jerry were going to
visit and document several other Meadows Valley sites. Jim Camp
and Jerry met at the "nearly-Clovis" site later on Sunday
to record info on it.
All in all, we just
scratched the surface of what is yet to be discovered in the Adams
County area. I am amazed, and I think Jerry is too, as to how many
sites there are in the Council Valley alone, plus many outlying sites
that have yet to be documented. I keep hearing of places near Crane
Creek (just outside Adams County--in Washington County) that are
incredibly rich in artifacts.
One thing that I hope will be improved is the coordination of information between the State Historic Preservation Office (and the State Historical agencies in general) and the Forest Service. (My impression is that info sharing between the state and BLM is better.) Especially in an area like ours, with Forest land composing much of the County and bordering private land in countless places, sharing info about prehistoric and historic sites/artifacts seems vital to the knowledge base. I sincerely hope the two entities will work to improve this situation.
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Captions:
jerry.jpg---Jerry Jerrems down in the one-meter-square hole at the primary site. He is bringing up soil for testing. He thought the soil may be too acidic here to have preserved bones of any significant age.
primary site.jpg—David Valentine (left), Jim Camp and Jerry Jerrems
at our hard-earned hole in the ground.
7-23-09
Surveying Hells Canyon
After writing about the Clabby family in several columns, I’m going to feature a memoir written by Robert E. Clabby. It was in this column eight years ago (9-20-01 issue) , but in light of the recent stories about the Clabbys and their adventures at Bear, I thought it would be interesting to run it again and add some recently obtained photos. I originally got this memoir from Gayle Dixon.
Clabby begins:
A lot of water bas gone under the bridge since September, 1906 when I began my first assignment on the Weiser Forest Reserve. Many changes took place, during my time and since, from what it was when first created. Vast areas of non-timbered lands were eliminated, homesteading under the act of June 11, 1906 reduced the acreage considerably, and slices were cut off for administration by other forests, even the name has been changed. While it may seem to the "old timer" that some of these changes should not have been made, I feel that they have all been made after due consideration and have all been for the best interests of management and progress.
My first assignment was as laborer (two dollars per day and board) on the survey of the west boundary of the Weiser [Forest], beginning at the mouth of Wild Horse Creek and extending north along Snake River .
J.B. Lafferty was Supervisor and Johnnie Jorgenson was his assistant. John H. Clark, a Civil Engineer was in charge of the work. Jorgenson accompanied Clark and myself from Weiser to Council where we outfitted for the work ahead.
Our crew when we started out consisted of John H. Clark, Basil Hinkley, Dan Bisbee, Harold Taylor, George Coffin (Cook), Charles Dennison (Packer) and R.E. Clabby.
[Clabby listed himself as a member of the group. Dan Bisbee was a Wildhorse resident and carried the mail to that community for a while.]
Our progress was quite satisfactory until we reached the mouth of Kinney Creek, where the line crossed Snake River, had we followed it, as shown by the Proclamation Map we would have been working in Oregon. As it happened we discarded the map and proceeded to meander Snake River.
We experienced a lot of difficulty and hardship in running the line from Kinney Creek north; none of us knew the country. Camps were made on the main ridge along the roads, and our work was on Snake River about 5,000 feet below. Our camp was established at the old town of Helena from where we ran the line as far north as Eagle Bar. That was quite an endurance test, walking down to Snake River to do about 4 to 6 hours work and then climb back to camp.
On one occasion, we failed to connect with our camp, so we made our way to John Eckles' Big Bar Ranch, where be put us up for the night. Getting an early start the next morning we projected our line to a point about the mouth of Kinney Creek. About 4 o' clock we started to climb up to the "White Monument,” the landmark where camp was supposed to be. For several reasons—the long hard climb, getting lost in the cliffs after darkness set in, six inches of snow on the ground, and sheer exhaustion—we built a fire and laid out from about 11 o’clock until daylight, when we resumed our search for camp. We found that we had come within about a ten-minute walk from Al Towsley's Cabin, where he had plenty of accommodations for all of us. How those sour dough biscuits disappeared after we began to satisfy our hunger after a 24-hour fast.
From Helena our camp was to be moved down towards the mouth of Granite Creek. Having no airplanes in those days, and just outlines of trails to follow, it was necessary for the pack string to travel by way of Landore, Smith Mountain, Black Lake, Iron Springs, Carbonate Hill, Horse Heaven, and hence down to the river. It was planned as a two-day trip, but no one knew the country. However the packer, cook, and one of the crew were to make this trip, while the balance of the party was to continue the line down the river to the mouth of Granite Creek.
Taylor and Hinkley found the work too strenuous and had quit, being replaced by the Holbrook brothers. Our first night out we laid around a campfire in the head of Brush Creek. Consumed the balance of the food we started from camp with, for supper.
[According to an article in High Country Magazine (Sept 1979 p. 18) the work of climbing up and down the 5,000 foot difference in elevation so exhausted the crew that they adopted the practice of surveying one day and then resting the next. Clabby doesn’t substantiate this claim in his account.]
I’ll continue Clabby’s story next week.
7-30-09
I’m continuing this week with the memoir written by Robert E. Clabby.
The second day we marked a line down the ridge between Granite Creek and Snake River, arriving at the Mark Hibbs Cabin on Granite Creek about sundown. There was no one home, but it appeared that the cabin was being inhabited. With some hesitation we pulled the latch string and entered the cabin. Our next thought was to get something to eat. Clark agreed to make the bread the other fellows began washing up dishes, peeling spuds, etc. Having but little knowledge of domestic science I volunteered to get some milk from the cow up in the corral. We were just nicely organized for supper when Hibbs rode in; he wanted to know who we were and what we were doing. Upon being told, we were welcomed to the best he had, glad to have us and glad also, that the cow had been milked.
Hibbs had killed two buck deer back in the "Dry Diggins Basin," and the next day he packed them down to the cabin. He left a good supply of the venison with us, after which he left for Joseph or some point in Oregon where his wife and children were living on account of school for the children. From there he was going to pack in his winter supply of food and salt for his cattle. I well remember that his larder was pretty well depleted in some articles of food. We were out of tobacco and there was no salt, sugar, or coffee, but plenty of flour, spuds, carrots and venison. Of course we were going to make out fine as our packer would be in right away with everything we needed—even a pair of shoes for myself, as I was absolutely barefoot.
Day after day went by but the pack train failed to arrive, and no word from the packer. That venison and bread became harder to eat each meal. During this waiting period, we continued the line down the river to a point below Three Creeks, and the Hilsley Bros. Ranch. I had to borrow Leon Holbrook's shoes to keep on this last piece of work.
After waiting about two weeks for the pack string with our camp to arrive, we decided to abandon the project and return to Landore. Dan Bisbee, who had been assigned to help the packer, arrived at the Hibbs ranch the night before, making the trip from Landore in two days. Our trip out to Landore was quite an endurance test also but uneventful otherwise. From Hibbs' to the cabin on Oxbow Creek required about 15 hours travel time, as we had to climb back to the head of Brush Creek, about 5,000 elevation, to get around the Box Canyon of Snake River. [Now known as Hells Canyon.]
Upon Clark's recommendation, after returning to Weiser, Snake River was proclaimed the boundary of the forest from Kinney Creek north.
My first ranger district assignment was on the Hornet Creek District, spring 1910, with headquarters at the present administration, but this was only for a few weeks, when I was transferred to the Bear District to take over the job being held by Ranger Robertson. [Arthur Robertson was one of the first forest rangers in the Bear area. The Hornet District headquarters that Clabby refers to was just north of where the Council-Cuprum Road turns north from Hornet Creek. At the time Clabby is writing about (1910) there was probably only a frame house and a barn here. Other buildings were added later. Use of the facilities were discontinued about 1990.]
It was about July 1, 1910 that I went to Bear. I had a fairly good knowledge of the country, while on the above-mentioned survey and also for a few months the season before as Forest Guard under Robertson.
There were no administrative improvements on the district. The Rocky Mtn. Bell System had a line from Council into Landore, making telephone communications available at Bear and Cuprum also. Landore consisted of a general store and post office, hotel, livery stable, a doctor, Wm. Brown, and about 15 families. Pete Kramer, an old pioneer mail contractor—carried the mail from Council. The Bear P.O. was located at the Wm. T. Robertson ranch. The route from Bear followed the old Landore road past the Bear Ranger Station and the Frank Shelton Ranch. Mining interests had built a road into Black Lake and Iron Springs—as well as from Landore to the old Peacock Mine at Helena and also down to Ballard's Ferry on Snake River.
Continued next week.
After more than a year of wading through red tape, I finally got permission from the State Highway Dept. to put up museum signs north and south of town. (I still need to cut off the tops of the posts.) I’d like to thank Tom & Judy Mahon and the Gould Family for allowing us to put the signs on their property.
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Photo captions:
98323-- Bud and Charley Groseclose at the Bear Ranger Station—date unknown.
07227—This picture was captioned, “The Cook's domain. Seven Devils Ranger Station camp.”
07222-- The info with this photo said, “Hibbs Trail. Hibbs Camp to Seven Devils ranger station.”
07214—The info with this photo says “Hibbs and McGaffee--Cattle Barons of Seven Devils on visit to G.S. Camp at Horse Heaven.” (G.S. = Guard Station? There was a lookout there.)
8-6-09
I’m continuing this week with the memoir written by Robert E. Clabby.
I received my first fire fighting experience on a fire on Boulder Creek in 1909. I
discovered it from the Pollock Mountain Ridge. Being a little afraid to take my horses down through the windfalls I turned them loose and took off on foot to suppress the blaze --conditions seemed to be just right that hot afternoon and it had spread over quite an area before I reached it. Right there I received 16 days practical experience in fire suppression which was to be to my advantage later.
In June 1910 I attended a joint meeting between the personnel of the Weiser and Idaho Forests at McCall. This and a previous meeting I had attended in Boise, consisted largely of round table talks, the reading and discussion of the Use Book, etc. Timber cutting was given high priority on the program. At that time a ranger could issue free use of timber to settlers for improvement of their claim up to fifty dollars, but were unauthorized to make sales of any kind --the Forest Supervisor could make sales up to a certain amount.
I recall at this meeting the subject of fire fighting, brought out the feasibility of fighting fire at night --I stated that providing that a fellow had a lantern or kindled small fires along the line, so as to see where to go and avoid pitfalls in the dark, it was a good idea, but I got the laugh for advancing such an idea.
Soon after I took charge of the Bear Creek District, which embraced Wild Horse, Lick, Boulder, and Round Valley Creeks and the country west to Snake River, about July 1, 1910. Lawrence S. Wallace, Forest Guard from Des Moines, Iowa reported for duty. He was a congenial fellow about my own age. He was enthusiastic about the work but unfamiliar with the mountains and lacking in experience. He was to act as a smoke chaser and work on trails in the vicinity of North Star Butte. It was about the 28th of July we established his camp at Indian Springs --just got his tent pitched and things assembled inside, when one of those old fashioned electric storms occurred. The thunder roared and lighting flashed --but the down pour of rain failed to materialize. However, we weathered the storm in good shape and thought nothing more about for the time being, as it never occurred to us there was any possibility of fire resulting from lightning.
The next morning we packed up and went down on Boulder Creek, located quite a section of trail for him to work on as time permitted. We also done a little fishing that evening with good results. The next day we packed up and made our way around Pollock Mountain to the Indian Grave, where we camped. The following day was Sunday. We kind of slept in: after breakfast we shaved and cleaned up a little, then went out to look after our horses. From the top of the ridge we discovered two fires off toward the head of Squirrel Creek.
We immediately got busy and made our way to these fires --where we worked until Monday night when we considered these to be safe to leave. From our camp at the Indian Grave we thought we could see the smoke of a fire on the ridge between Fry Pan Creek and Rapid River. The next day we made quite a thorough search for this fire but failed to locate it. It was agreed that Wallace should return to the Squirrel Creek fires again before returning to his base camp at Indian Springs. I continued across Rapid River and up to Black Lake Mill. This camp was running with about 40 or 50 men.
The foreman, Gus Lapke, told me there was a fire on Lick Creek. As is was late in the evening then I stayed at the camp until morning and then continued on to Bear to find there had been five fires in that locality, all of which were out but one, located above the Carrick Diggins on Bear Creek.
Nick Phelan, who was then in charge of the Hornet Creek District, had been fighting these fires and was there to help me on this one --but it had gained a pretty good size, so it was decided to go to Landore and pick up a crew of the miners there. Only a few "second raters" volunteered. The others contended that 35 cents per hour was not enough money. This fire kept spreading and it required several days to get it under control. In the mean time a forest guard, C.E. Favre reported for duty and in the matter of a few days we had this fire under control.
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Captions:
95185L-- The Carrick family at their cabin on Bear Creek. Their “diggings” was about 8 miles up Bear Creek from the Bear Post Office. Left to right: Tom (with a rifle), Florence, Mary and Doris Carrick, Cary Castle, with Bert, Leonard and Elmer Carrick. Note the line of fish between the two men in the middle.
Tom Carrick bought an interest in the Peacock Mine in 1887. He filed on a claim on Bear Creek in 1891. He later ran a butcher shop at Salubria (extinct town near Cambridge).
98384-- Hoke Smith Palmer using a sight to locate fire in the early days of the Forest Service. This was at Council Mountain lookout, apparently before a lookout building was built.
00173-- The Black Lake ore mill and townsite in the Seven Devils Mining District as it would have looked when Clabby stopped by and spoke with mill foreman Gus Lapke. The ore mill is the structure built on the cliff in the background.
95126L-- Gus Lapke (left) and Flem Fife at Landore.
8-13-09
Through some means of communication it was learned that there was a big fire in the bend of Boulder Creek, further on in Round Valley Creek, and one on the ridge between Fry Pan Creek and Rapid River (the same fire Wallace and I had hunted for) that all were under control with the exception of the latter one, but it was reported that Wallace and three men were working on it.
It was on August 20th that I went on to this Rapid River fire. I arrived at Wallace's camp about 8 o'clock in the evening. He had 3 or 4 men with him. They all were of the opinion they had this fire pretty under control and should have it safe early the next day. Early the next morning we took up work where they had left off the night before. It was easy trenching in the light lodge pole litter, but no one knew how much trench was necessary to enclose the area.
After eating my lunch, about 11 o'clock, I set out to make a thorough investigation. A lot of the burned over area was dead and I could walk right through it. However, there was a lot of smoke in Rapid River below the forks, and I wanted to make sure the fire had not crossed the river, but I thought it impossible for such an occurrence as the river was 40 feet wide. I had gotten out of the burn and was descending the steep slope of Rapid River fast. From a commanding point I sat down to watch for a break in the smoke to see if the fire was burning on the other side. I was soon rewarded, as I could see the fire was spreading rapidly on the other side. I also discovered that the flames were leaping up the slopes below me. It was there that the race began. That fire gave me the best race for my life I ever had. The air was full of smoke and dust and the wind was blowing a gale, it was blinding, dry standing trees were being blown over on all sides of me. The heat was becoming intense. However, I managed to outrun it and reach the burn just as the flames were licking at my heels.
Wallace and his crew were in camp with the horses, packing up getting ready to pull for the open country for safety. They were relieved that I had gotten back safely. This fire spread over an area estimated at 20,000 acres. Two bands of sheep belonging to Holt and Rhoades of Riggins were trapped; about 80% of then were suffocated. We estimated that embers from this fire were carried for a distance of 5 miles.
C. E. Favre (now chief of grazing R4) was in charge of a crew in the vicinity of Iron Springs. Wallace and I with a crew of about 30 men worked the Boulder and Squirrel Creek section. Snow and rain which occurred September 17 put an end to this fire. The men on this fire usually put in about 15 hours a day. There was no night work. Ed Brown ("Dirty Shirt") was the cook. He, Wallace and myself slept together in the same bed. John Roui, a homesteader from "Windy Ridge" built the fire for the cook about 3:30 each morning, for which he was allowed an extra hour. After getting the fire started, water on for mush and coffee, he would call for Brown. At the camp on Lonesome Creek, the fireplace was about 50 feet down the slope from our bed. Roui had built the fire and it was blazing up nicely. He went to the Creek below to get some water. Wallace raised up in bed, then dashed down the slope to the fire in his bare feet. He picked up a water sack full of water and extinguished the fire completely---came back and crawled back into bed. He had done this in his sleep, and knew nothing about it the next day, but he had bruised his heel, which became sore and bothered him the rest of the fall. You should have heard Roui, the fire builder, he thought it was a joke, but he did not take it as such. However, he never found out who had played the joke. Some of the old timers who worked on this fire were as follows: Joe Saulsbery, Sam Stephens, Frank Luzoun, Ed Brown, Dan Moore, Charles Anderson, Mel Hubbard, Howard Elliot, Frank Laib and others which I fail to recall.
This series of columns from the writings of Robert Clabby will conclude with next week’s article.
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Photo captions:
98267.jpg—This is another shot of the Bear Ranger Station, which Robert Clabby ran for a time. Notice the tent pitched in the snow outside the cabin. The horse appears to be dragging a firewood log.
RE Clabby’s desk a Ranger Station.jpg—Robert Clabby’s desk, probably at the Bear Ranger Station.
09001.jpg—This picture from the Clabby collection shows many of the neighbors at Bear when W.T. Robertson ran the store/post office there (in the background). Kids in front: Ruth & Ray Allen, Phillip & Gladys Robertson. Others, left to right: Harry Gum, Arthur “Frenchie” David, Will Reynolds, Charley Allen, John Barr (in front), William T. Robertson, Mrs. Allen, Mrs. Gaarden, Irma Robertson, Genevieve Robertson, Elizabeth David. The dog (lower left corner) was the same age a Gladys Robertson and died at age 18.
8-20-09
This is the last of the series of columns quoting Robert Clabby’s memoir.
Deer were plentiful, but I do not recall that they were any more numerous than during later years. Blue grouse were in abundance. During August and September, a fellow riding along the trail would be within free shot of grouse all day long. We never made it a point to hunt them. We would make our camp where wood, water and horse feed were available and the grouse would be there. It was not uncommon to shoot them from our bed early in the morning.
L. F. Kneipp made the first grazing inspection of the Weiser in 1909. It was he who established ____ allotment boundaries between the sheep men. I do not recall
any controversies that resulted. Of course there was a little dissatisfaction with some of the operators who thought they should have been given a larger area. Gifford Pinchot visited the Weiser in 1908. I met him at the old Evergreen Station. This was the terminus of the P & I. N. Ry. at that time.
I worked under the following supervisors: [J.B.] Lafferty [1906-‘20], [Lyle] Watts [1920-22], [W.B.]Rice [1922-?] and [John] Rafael. All were fine fellows to work for with the exception of the latter who wanted to plan your work for you and know your innermost thoughts and actions. He thought nothing had been done or accomplished on the forest until he arrived on the scene. The following deputy supervisors worked on the Weiser during this time: Campbell, Pearson and Kogiol, and forest Assistants C. G. Smith and A. E. Oman. I knew and worked with all the old pioneer rangers who were as follows: Snow, Irwin, Robertson, Rawson, Evans, Phelan, Thomas, Paddock and Rutledge, and I had charge of the following districts at different times, Hornet, Bear, Indian Valley and Price Valley.
The following trails and improvements were constructed under my supervision--the Lonesome Ridge Trail from the Indian grave to Rapid River; another trail from a point below the Paradise Creek Crossing on Rapid River to the Pollock Mountain Ridge near the head of Hell Creek, the Squirrel Creek Trail from the head of Squirrel Creek around the east slope of Pollock Mountain to Smoky Campground and the section of (Trunk or French?) Trail from Mill Creek Station, up the little Weiser to Pegmatite Junction on the Middle Fork.
Pegmatite Junction was a name given to the forks of the trail after an old mica prospector, Gil Rhinehart, living a short distance below on Mica Hill, who was always talking about pegmatite. Echols Mountain was named after a Virginia sheepherder,
Minor Echols. Joes Gap, a point between Deep Creek and Six Lake Basin, was named after another sheep owner, Joe Allen who had an allotment in Six Lake Basin and the head of Granite Creek.
A great many changes have taken place since the Weiser was first placed under administration with J. B. Lafferty, the one ranger in charge, who laid the corner stone. I don't claim that my work was outstanding or even average but I do claim to have been instrumental in bringing about many of these changes.
This is the end of Robert Emmett Clabby’s memoir. I hope you have found it interesting.
The museum season will end on Labor Day weekend. A big thank you goes to all the great volunteers who have helped keep it going. I’m always looking for more volunteers.
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Captions:
07230—An unidentified camper with a batch of grouse for dinner. Several old accounts mention the abundance of grouse in the mountains around Council.
98241—Jake (J.B.) Lafferty, who was the first Forest Ranger in the Weiser-Council area about 1906.
98205—An old photo of a cabin that has probably rotted into the ground by now. Some of us remember many of these old artifacts from an earlier era. They are more rare every year, and someday there will be none left. Some people have remarked on how low the ceilings and roofs were in these old cabins. They were not that low originally; the bottom logs that are against the ground rot much quicker than the others, and the whole structure sinks lower as the bottom logs disintegrate.
99547—Old time deer hunting. This Hagar family photo has written on the back: "Purnell, Prout [probably Council postmaster George Prout], Rushton (?), Ingram [probably Alva], Schraff [Schroff?], McBurney, Bast [probably John].
8-27-09
By a stroke of fate, I was privileged to have some historical documents concerning the Adams County Rodeo recently. One of the most interesting items was the
Articles of Incorporation for the Adams County Fair & Rodeo Board, Inc. The document was signed on June 19, 1947 and filed with the State on June 27.
The articles stipulated that there would be 20 board members, but I don’t think they ever had quite that many. The original board members signed the articles of incorporation: Ray Phipps, Clarence Schroff, Claude L. Buffalo, O.C. Mink, Roy J. Stuart, Thomas G. Jones (of Landore fame), E.F. Fisk (my grandfather), E.L. Fischer, C.W. Townley, Arthur Osborn, Hal D. Fraiser, T.C. Carpenter, W.E. Gallant, L.S. Mathison, H.N. Quast. The attorney, Adams County Probate Judge, Robert Young, also signed the articles of incorporation.
On this original document, several amendments were made, undoubtedly at a later date. The most notable one is that the words “and Fair” were stricken to make it a rodeo board only.
A number of years worth of early meeting minute books were also among the items. The minutes for May 21, 1948 are the earliest and show that Ray Phipps was elected President of the rodeo board. New Directors elected: Ed Clay (New Meadows), Bud Pugh (Council), Ben Surber (Indian Valley) to replace: T.G.Jones, C.W. Townley and Arthur Osborn. Fischer, Fisk and Mink were appointed for the job of “locating and making preliminary arrangements for the purchase of a piece of land for Rodeo grounds.”
By October 1948 Barr Jacobs was rodeo board President. There was monetary accounting for the two day rodeo they put on. Income: $4,303.21 Expenses: $3,982.21 Cash in the bank: $321.62 Costs for building chutes and arena: about $900. New names that show up as members: Fred Noll, Ralph Finn, Lee Williams, F.E. Rogers, Charles Lappin, John Fraiser, Fred Babbitt.
Minutes from 1952 show that Barr Jacobs was still President. Board members included: Lou Daniels, Sonny Simpson, Butch Gallagher, Herb Fitz, Dick Armacost, Veril Holbrook, Virgil Wadell, Melvin Lindsay, Harmon Manning, Howard Raney, Ralph Robie, Fred Lappin, Buck Manis (elected Pres. that December), Wendell Stalker, Ralph Longfellow, Russell Evans. The yearly stock contractors for the rodeo were Stevens and Stippich. The cost of stock that year was $800 for two days.
Minutes from 1953 say that adult admission to the rodeo was $1. 50, kids paid 75 cents, and those under 12 were admitted free. Bronc riding payoffs were: $75 day money/ $10 entry; bareback bronc $60 day money/$10 entry; cow milking $20 day money/$10 entry; Bulldogging $30 day money / $10 entry; Calf roping $75; Steer decorating $30; all split 50-30-20 on average. Members that year included: Lee Hamilton, Howard Dryden, Henry Clay, Ralph Bass, Cliff Johnson, Hugh Addington, Bill & Ruby Welty, Chris Lakey, Ernest Winkler, Carl Swanstrom, Nate Morris, Clifford Keppinger, Afton Harrington, Everett Harp.
In 1955 Idaho Power was contacted about lights. In the summer of 1956 it was noted that Council Electric wouldl provide the arena lights at cost plus freight if rodeo board paid cash. I couldn’t find any mention of actually putting the lights up, but apparently they were put up shortly after this.
A 1956 envelope among the items sported a three-cent stamp.
In the May 4, 1956 minutes the board seemed to be selling raffle tickets for a “horse and outfit.” The end of the minutes read: “The President bet Ed Snow that Bill Welty could sell 150 horse tickets. The bet was two fifths of whiskey. Witnessed by the rodeo board.”
In 1957, Darlene Moritz and Beverly Keppinger (now Toomey) were the Queen contestants.
I got a call from a nursing home in Florida recently. They wanted some info for a lady who is a resident there—Glendora McDowell Bates. Mrs. Bates is turned 105 years old this month. She taught school at Lower Dale in 1939 and at Fruitvale in 1940. The home is celebrating her birthday, in part, by showing her a couple pictures I emailed them of those schools and some newspaper notes mentioning her as teaching there. Any of you who knew her or had her as a teacher can email her through Ann McCleod at this email address: ann.mcleod@baycare.org. Glendora was very excited to get the pictures, etc. so I’m sure she would be glad to hear from any of you.
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00209—The date of this photo is not clear, but seems to be about 1956. This is Daisy Downing with a horse she won at a drawing at the Council rodeo.
95250—This is the earliest picture of the Council (Adams County) Rodeo that I know of. I think this photo may have come from Dick Parker. The arena and announcer’s booth seem to be in the same place today. It looks like the chutes here are below the announcer’s stand too.
98369b-- Weiser Roundup rodeo, 1919. Can anyone tell me what building this is in the background?
9-3-09
I’m starting a new series of columns this week that will be taken from a letter written in 1945 by someone who took a trip to Idaho. The address at the top of the letter says 1223 N. Sweetzer Ave., Los Angeles, 46, Calif. If you type that address into the google.com maps feature, it takes you to a house in north Hollywood, between Sunset Boulevard and Santa Monica Boulevard—right next to Beverly Hills. You can see a picture of the house if you zoom in to the street level view. I have no idea who the person was, unfortunately, and I don’t even remember where I got it.
Here is the first part of the letter:
Dear Folks,
This is a narrative of our last auto trip to Idaho, through Nevada, Oregon and California. On the first day our trip across the Mojave Desert to Bishop, California was very very hot and disagreeable. We had a comfortable air cooled auto cabin at Bishop but they charged us $6.00 for it. [An auto cabin was a predecessor to motels—separate cabins instead of all one building. Six dollars in 1940 bought what $75 would in 2000.] A little kitten adopted us. We fed her so much milk that she swelled up like a football. She showed her appreciation by singing herself to sleep on the foot of the bed.
The roads across Nevada were almost level, wide and smooth. Maud drove most of the time. Our Cadillac hummed along so smoothly and quietly. How we enjoyed it. The altimeter which we had just installed worked perfectly. It afforded us much pleasure.
The second night we stayed at Winnemucca, Nevada. The cabin was cheap but dirty. Maud exhausted herself trying to clean the place. In spite of much grumbling on Maud 's part we made an early start next morning. Going North into Oregon the road was level and straight. The scenery was monotonous and very very few houses along the way. We arrived in Boise, Idaho about noon, where we engaged a very good clean auto cabin. Boise is a beautiful small city. The surrounding farm land is scientifically cultivated, very fertile and pleasing to the eye. We took Alma Moorehead Hargrove and her husband to a chicken dinner. It was a wonderful meal. The Hargroves are quite prosperous. Their daughter is going to marry a very fine young U. S. Army Officer. We had dinner next day with my cousin, Addie McGuier. The Idaho Vegetables she served, especially the corn and also the fruit, were very very delicious.
That’s all for this week. Next week they arrive at Weiser. Speaking of Weiser, a couple folks said they thought the building in the background of the 1919 Weiser Roundup photo last week was one of the old Institute buildings. Well, it does resemble them in some ways, but is certainly not one of the Institute buildings now standing. It was much more elaborate in design. One of the Institute buildings has a clock tower, but is totally different. If you would like to see what the Institute buildings look like, you can, once again, go to the map tab of google.com and type in Weiser Institute. Again, zoom in to the street level view and you can see each of the buildings, and even take a tour of Weiser as if you are driving around. I will see if I can get some info on that building; surely the folks at the Weiser museum (which is housed in one of the old Institute buildings) can identify it.
Troy Swanstrom (Carl Swanstrom’s grandson) is trying to locate the bookshelves that were in Carl’s law office. If I remember correctly Carl’s office was what is now the WICAP building on the corner of Moser and Main in Council. If anyone knows what became of these bookshelves, please let me know; Troy would like to buy them.
9-10-09
Our next stop was Weiser, my birthplace, where we visited many old friends. I gave my Hawaii lecture to the Lions Club. My, half brother, Newt Ripper, has built two small cottages. He lives in one and rents the other. He has a very good garden. In his frozen food locker he has a pig, and much fruit and vegetables. He gave us some frozen strawberries. They were wonderful. We enjoyed a venison dinner with the Bert Townleys.
We had a pleasant visit with Nell's sister Melinda and her daughter Cora. We visited Allegra Eccles Thomas and family as we passed through Cambridge. In Weiser Canyon above Council we called on Emory Gildrey, who manages a State Fish Hatchery. In going to his house over a private road we passed over the. P. & I. N. R. R. tracks. The auto frame struck the rail and only by a hair's breadth were we able to get the auto free. A long logging train was coming down the Canyon a short distance away. I was really frightened. [I believe the remains of this hatchery are still there, although I don’t think the road to it crosses the railroad grade.]
After a good visit with Emory we drove on to Nez Perce, Idaho, through very beautiful, interesting scenery. The farmers on Nez Perce Prairie are making loads of money. Wm. Henke, with whom we stayed, was working for day wages not many years ago. Now he owns two ranches worth $24,000 each, $12,000 worth of farm machinery, town house and plenty of cash in the bank. Lately ranches have been bought and paid for from earnings in one or two years. Mrs. Covey sold in one year peas from part of her farm for $7,000.00. [Bear in mind these are 1945 prices, which can be multiplied by 10 or 12 to equal today’s prices.]
It turned cold in Nez Perce and rained one day. I went down to the telephone office and on my return I got rather cold. I almost died with pain in my heart, chest and left arm `before I could get back to the Henke house. I was so frightened I decided to return to Los Angeles "pronto.”
The next day an our way South we drove down into the Salmon River Canyon where it was warmer and I felt much better. We visited an old friend, Inez Cole Rathburn, at Slate Creek. I fished in Slate Creek, where it runs through her back yard and caught nineteen fine trout. The limit allowed is twenty so I stayed within, the law.
While I was fishing near the mouth of Slate Creek, I saw a boat going down the Salmon River with a U. S. flag as big as the side of a barn flying from its masthead. Several people with their living equipment were on the boat. The Salmon-River is called the river of no return. It is so swift that a boat can go down, if lucky and properly handled, but can never return. A boat on the river is a very rare sight. I found out later that this was an exploring and surveying party of the U. S. Coast a Geodetic Survey.
9-17-09
I’m interrupting the 1945 letter that I’ve been quoting to bring everyone up to date on Glendora Bates, the 105 year old woman who once taught in the Council area.
Glendora’s parents were Indian Valley pioneers, Albert and Nellie McDowell. Two of her sisters are better known in the area. Her older sister, Lillian, married Marvin Imler and they lived in the home they converted from the Fruitvale School for a number of years. Another older sister, Irene, married Earl McMahan and lived at Fruitvale for many years. Irene died in 1997 at the age of 102.
It turns out my mother was a student of Glendora’s at Fruitvale. I emailed Glendora a note from Mom and she was delighted to receive it. In here message, Mom mentioned that Don McMahan, Alverna Finn, Ivan Bethel and Holis Burt were also students at Fruitvale when Glendora taught there.
Glendora’s son, Jim Bates, lives near the nursing home where his mother is living. He emailed me to say:
“I attended school in Hornet Creek and also in Fruitvale when my mother taught there. I finished 7th grade in Fruitvale in 1942 and then we moved to Benicia, Calif. Where my mother when to work at the Benicia Arsenal. My mother is in good health, she reads (big print) without glasses, and plays Bingo with three cards. She is hard of hearing but able to hear the Bingo numbers. Tell your mother hello for me. I will E-mail a couple of pictures of my mother at her 105th Birthday Party. My Mother's name is Glendora Brown now.”
The nursing home sent the following info:
Glendora was born in Indian Valley, Idaho on August 21, 1904 to Albert and Nettie McDowell. Her twin sister Gladys passed away in the 60’s. She had two older brothers and two older sisters. One sister lived to be 99 and the other 101. She married Albert Bates and lived in Santa Rosea, California. They had on son, Jim Bates in Sept 1929. They were divorced in the early 30’s, she then returned to Idaho to attend school to become a teacher. In 1939 she taught grades 1-8 in a one room school in Fruitvale, Idaho. She moved to Benica, California in 1942 to work for the War Department at the Benica Arsenal during WWII. In 1947 after her son graduated high school and joined the service, she went to work for the Department of Immigration and Naturalization in San Francisco, California. She retired after 28 years of Government Service. Before her retirement she married Jack Brown. When they retired they traveled a lot and then settled down in Ojai, California. Jack passed away in 1989 and in 1997 she moved into the Independent Living section of John Knox Village in Tampa Florida. She continues to reside at John Knox, but now lives in the Med Center where she loves to read and without glasses, plays 3 cards at Bingo and loves Baseball.
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Captions:
05095a.jpg—Loren Thomas sent me this picture of a tree on Snowbank Mountain in the mountains between Council and Cascade called “The Hangman’s Tree.” If anyone knows the story behind this tree, please contact me.
glendora1.jpg—Glendora McDowell Bates Brown during her 105th birthday party in Tampa, Florida.
95045L.jpg-- Inside the Fruitvale School in the 1950s-- a few years after Glendora taught there. Tthe students are, in no particular order: Jackie Williams, Betty Jean Finn, Carolyn Williams, Dennis Rice, Sherry Rice (now Jenkins), Barbara Jean Cole, Maxine Glenn (now Nichols), Neil Skelling, Sharon Blessinger, Gary Yantis, Tom Glenn, Carma Dopp, Karn Lee Martin, and Lee Yantis.
9-24-09
Continuing with the 1945 letter about a trip through Idaho.
After much meditation, much advice, favorable and adverse, and considerable trepidation, we decided to drive down into Wildhorse Canyon and visit our good friend Carmita Moore and family.
The characters in this part of this narrative are human beings - Carmita Moore, her daughter Helena, her son-in-law Henry Schmit, Maud Jeffreys and O. A. Jeffreys, - goats, Billy and Namie, -- pigs, Ophelia and Alfa, -- dogs, Paddy and Sport, -- cows, Sunday and Monday, -- cats, Nigger and Tiger, -- horses, Traveler, Monich (deer in Indian language) Whizzer, Dusty, Silver, Captain, Seal, Jerry and Rainbow and many other animals, birds and varmints that must remain anonymous.
The road down into Wildhorse Canyon is steep, narrow, and there are many high centers. I did not know if I could miss those high centers as my Cadillac (1942) is so very low and also if it could pull up such a steep hill as the Wildhorse Canyon grade. Maud lifted many a stone off the road, and by skillful maneuvering and by building up the road with loose stones we managed to pass over all the high centers on our way down to the canyon floor. We drove on to a place where they were improving the road. The face of a rocky point was blasted away; the road was impassable. We decided to pull to the side of the road and sleep in the car and wait until some one came along.
The Moores have no telephone, they did not know we were coming and there were no houses near. Not long after we stopped we heard people talking. I assure you it was a pleasant sound. Fortunately Helena and Henry had brought some boxes of pears on a hay rack as far as the blasted out road where they were being transferred to the old mail man’s wagon and he would see that they were delivered to the store-keeper in Council. We were very pleased to see the young folks and they were surprised and pleased to see us. They loaded us with our luggage on the hay rack. I sat on a cowhide suit case and Maud sat on a sack which contained my fishing clothes and rubber boots. I slid backward, forward and sideways like a scooter in the Venice Fun Zone as the wagon went down hill, up hill and sidewise. Maud did not slide on that bag but she tipped over several times, at which times she was as helpless as a turtle on its back. On one narrow grade one side of the hay rack extended out over space with the rushing Wildhorse Creek a hundred feet below and the other side of the hay rack occasionally striking the protruding rocks on the upper side of the grade. Henry handled the gentle team with skill and released the rack from the protruding stones.
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95312 –Wildhorse Canyon, date unknown. This place was owned by Dan Bisbee.
99065—This is looking west from the Bisbee Ranch in the 1960s. It shows what the walls of the canyon look like in places. Photo is from Gene Camp's photo album collection.
99021—Two long-time Wildhorse residents and familiar faces to many--Arnold & Ruth Emery. Photo is from the Gene Camp collection.
10-1-09
I’m continuing with the 1945 letter about a trip through Idaho, but I thought I should add some information. I finally stumbled upon the origin of the letter. It was written by Dr. A.O. Jeffreys, who was originally from Weiser. His letter was published in the Weiser Signal newspaper, and later featured in Cort Conely’s book, “Idaho Loners” when he wrote about Helena Moore Schmidt
The letter describes a trip into Wildhorse canyon to visit the Moore family. For those unfamiliar with the area, the road down the Wildhorse River branches from the Council-Cuprum Road southeast of Bear. The Wildhorse enters the Snake River near Brownlee Dam.
The Moores lived on what became known as “Starveout Ranch” not too far from the mouth of the Wildhorse and up high on a bench. Mr. Moore had the unusual first name of “Friend” and his wife’s name was Carmeta. Their daughter, Helena, married Henry Schmidt about 1937, and Dr. Jeffreys refers to them without explaining who they are. Oddly, Dr. Jeffreys does not mention Friend Moore in this section of his letter.
Continuing with the letter:
At the ranch they have horses, cows, pigs, cats, dogs, chickens, and goats. They all seem to get along very harmoniously. At dusk the goats begin to work their way up the almost precipitous side of the canyon to their sleeping place, which is a rocky shelf almost to the top of a perpendicular precipice. From their bedroom they have a good view up and down the canyon.
Mrs. Moore, Helena and Henry live in a little house about 12 feet wide and 30 feet long. It contains one single bed and one double bed. About dark the day we arrived two men and their wives came to stay for the night. The men had fished all the way from the mouth of the Wildhorse Creek where it empties into the Snake River. They had caught lots of fine trout. The women were exhausted from their long hike. I wondered where we all were going to sleep. The Moore's easily solved that problem. Beds were made in the hay stacks and we all slept out in the open. Maud and I had the place of honor. Henry spread some hay on the hay rack and we slept there. It was wonderful. The air was so fresh, the stars so bright aid beautiful. My but we enjoyed it. We could see the goats on their rocky shelf hundreds of feet above us. Wildhorse Creek rushing over and around the big granite boulders made a sound louder than a murmur but not the volume of a roar, just the proper sound to lull us to sleep. The next day I saw the horses eating up our bed (of hay).
One day we rode horse back several miles up Wild Horse Canyon beyond No Business Canyon to the school house, where I delivered my talk on Hawaii to an appreciative audience. Some of the people rode horse back over ten miles down into the Canyon to hear me. One member of the audience said I saved her life when, as a young doctor, I practiced in a neighboring community. This is the story. The doctor whose practice I was taking told her parents that she was going to die with typhoid fever. They hesitated about calling me because I was so young and inexperienced and if Dr. Brown said she was going to die there was no use in calling in another doctor. At the insistence of the neighbors they did call me. I examined her very carefully and found that she did not have typhoid fever but had pus in her pleural cavity (empyema).
Wm. Fifer the jeweler made a trocar for me. It was rather crude and blunt but I managed to force it between her ribs into that abscess and out the pus spurted. Her life was saved. She, her daughters, sons-in-law, and grandchildren were in the audience that day.
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thurston pan 1935.jpg—Dr. Thurston and Charlie Ham with Wildhorse canyon in the background. In 1935, Carmeta Moore broke her leg. Because the one telephone at Wildhorse was not working, Helena rode a horse over 20 miles to the Bill Hanson place on Hornet Creek (later the Armacost place and now the John Brown place). Hanson’s phone and all the phones between there and Council were not working, so Bill drove with Helena all the way to town to get Dr. Thurston. The Dr. and two or three other men rode horses from Hanson’s ranch to attend to Carmeta’s broken leg. This composite picture was taken from several frames of Dr. Thurston’s home movie footage of the trip.
Eloise McClemmons & Helena.jpg-- Eloise McClemmons (left) and Helena Moore Schmidt. Eloise was the Wildhorse Postmaster. Taken from Dr. Thurston’s 1935 home movie footage.
95111.jpg—Wildhorse School, 1922. Right to Left: Zada Stanton, Mrs. Marble (Teacher), Carl Marble, Ellis Campbell, Floyd McFadden, Raymond Cole, Bill Haydon, Eleanor Campbell, Mabel McFadden, Mildred Haydon, Mary Haydon, Charley Emery, Harry Ellison, Clarence McFadden.
friend moore.jpg—Friend Moore, Helena’s father, in 1935. This is a freeze frame from Dr. Thurston’s home movie footage of the trip into Wildhorse to attend to Carmetta Moore’s broken leg.
10-8-09
While we lived with the Moores we enjoyed the most wonderful food that was ever served to human beings. trout, chicken, fresh venison, water melons, cantelopes cooled in the spring, tomatoes (the best), cucumbers, cauliflowers, brockley, onions, carrots, potatoes, blackberries, strawberries, peaches, many varieties of plums and prunes, pears, apples, crab-apples, apricots, walnuts, and canned fruits of all kinds. Lots of home made butter and thick cream. We enjoyed churning the butter.
One night we heard a night owl hooting, "Who are you?"
"Who Who Are You?" Soon the chickens were making a fuss. Mrs. Moore went out with a shotgun and flash light. In a few minutes we heard a shot. That owl had made his last hoot.
Maud and the women folks took a walk down the Canyon. The dog, Paddy, accompanied them. A short distance from the house he began barking. They investigated and found that he was barking at a rattlesnake. They killed it with a long stick. It certainly was a big one.
While fishing on Wild Horse Creek, in order to get around a big boulder, I was compelled to climb up a rather steep dirt bank. At each step, I would slip back in the dirt and gravel almost as far as I advanced. Eventually I ascended far enough to reach up and grasp a tuft of grass by which I was enabled to pull myself up to the level of the top. Just as my eyes reached the level of my hand, I saw a big rattlesnake coiled and buzzing his rattles near my hand. Just as I let all holds go and started to roll down that slope the rattlesnake struck, missing my face by a fraction of an inch. A rattlesnake bite in the face is always fatal. That rattler and I rolled down that bank together in the dust, dirt and gravel.
I have met in my travels many traveling companions, good, bad and indifferent, but I decided as I rolled down that incline with that rattlesnake that he was the most disagreeable fellow traveler that I had ever encountered. As soon as I could free myself of the dirt and small stones and get on my feet I "high tailed" it to a safe distance. I turned around and saw the snake work his head out of the dirt and stick his wicked split tongue out between those ugly lips. When he got his tail free he started to buzz those rattles as he moved his head from side to side ready for a fight. I picked up a convenient stone and threw it with all my might and with the accuracy of a base ball pitcher at the head of that angry rattler. That rattlesnakes reptilian career was ended. All that afternoon the fright from my narrow escape caused my hands to tremble so much that it was difficult for me to put a grasshopper on my fish hook.
It was imperative that the Moores cut and put in the barn the alfalfa on the mountain ranch and also can some fruit and tomatoes. It took some pack train to move us up to the upper ranch. There were five human beings, nine horses, two cows, two dogs, and two cats. We rode down Wildhorse Canyon a few miles then turned up Starve Out Canyon. The cows were ahead. They reached the ranch a long before we did. The cats enjoy traveling. The Moores take them wherever they go. They like to ride on the top of the pack on the pack horse but some times they slip back on the horse’s hips and when their claws stick into the horse's skin he bucks off the cat and also the pack. If the cats fall off they follow along in the trail and yowl until they are put on again. Usually they are carried in sacks tied to the horn of a saddle. A few minutes before we started, Mrs. Moore got a couple of sacks, called the cats, held the sacks open, and the oats walked in. After we had ridden for two or three miles one cat meowed that he was in trouble. Mrs. Moore examined and found that he was standing on his head. When she turned him tail down he was perfectly contented. It was not over fifteen minutes after they let the cats out of the sacks at the mountain house that one of them proudly marched up with a fat mouse.
Maud rode up the mountainside like a rodeo cow girl. She borrowed a pair of slacks from Mrs. Moore. They were too small in one dimension. I laced them up with twine string, still there was some of her anatomy exposed to the elements. She solved that difficulty by commandeering my prewar shirt, wearing it with the tail outside, thus covering up the bare spot. The horses have been up the trail so often that they do not need any guiding. They stop and rest at certain places then go on again with their own volition.
Starve Out Canyon is beautiful with its many clear mountain streams, all kinds of trees and one high waterfall.
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10-15-09
I’m continuing with the 1945 letter written by Dr. A.O. Jeffreys. He is still writing about his visit to Starveout Ranch on the Wildhorse River.
The commodious mountain ranch house is built on a small level place on the mountain side. It is surrounded by a nice green lawn and many beautiful flowers. Near the house is a good orchard with almost all kinds of fruit that will grow in that climate. There is cool, clear pure spring water at each ranch house. They have no wagon at the mountain ranch. The hay is pulled in on skids. They have a mowing machine, hay rake and derrick fork. Everything is brought up here on pack horses. When they brought the mowing machine up the horse that was carrying the heaviest part fell over the cliff and was killed. I think it is marvelous that they have been able to bring up machinery, furniture, lumber, and all the other things and appurtenances it takes to operate and equip a ranch on the backs of horses over a trail built along the side of a canyon, where one false step would mean death to horse or man or both.
In this spacious ranch house they have two big stoves, cream separator, washing machine run by gasoline engine, several bedsteads, linoleum and rugs on the floors, many large easy chairs, davenports, settees, sewing machine, extension dining table, full length mirror, book cases, radio, and many other things too numerous to mention. I enjoyed looking out the big broad windows with or without spyglasses at the surrounding rugged scenery. The Snake River Canyon (larger than the Grand Canyon) and the many lesser canyons leading into it, with their precipitous sides, corrugated by massive rim-rock steps, at the pointed Cornucopia Mountains and the snow-capped Baker Mountains over a hundred miles away. I could look in any direction yet I could not see anything created by man. Many ranches are down in the canyons but they could not be seen. Living there one might, in fancy, feel that there was no other human being on earth, if it were not for the mail planes which fly over each day between Lewiston and Boise.
One afternoon Helena decided to go down into Wild Horse Canyon to the post office and get the mail. She took along a pack horse to bring back some supplies. She got back at 9:45 P. M. It was very dark. About dusk Henry called the cows from the pasture. Coyotes along Starve Out Canyon answered him by howling in that weird way that is characteristic of that wild animal. About that time Helena was riding along the trail that winds up the steep side of Starve Out Canyon. I asked her if she was afraid when she heard the Coyotes howl as she came up the trail in pitch darkness, where one false step would mean death. She has been riding up that trail since she was two years old and she has implicit faith and trust in her old horse Traveler. She said she is never afraid. She never carries a gun and has never fired one.
Henry is a versatile young man. He is a good cowboy, carpenter, ranchman, excellent blacksmith, farmer, good cook, mechanic and can even play the violin. His wife, Helena, is just as versatile as he. She works right along with her husband in the field, on the ranch and out on the range with the cattle. She can play the piano, is a college graduate, has a teacher's certificate, and is an excellent housekeeper.
We canned the fruit and tomatoes while Henry and Helena cut and stored the hay away for the winter. As I said before, the ranch animals are very congenial. One of the cows tried rubbing her nose on a porcupine like she does with the pigs. The result was disastrous. Her nose looked like a pin cushion with those quills sticking in it. We tied her up and pulled out the quills with pliers.
The day before we arrived in Wild Horse Canyon, as Henry was walking through the alfalfa field he stubbed his too on a deer and killed it, or something like that, at any rate we were obliged to eat the venison. They have no refrigerator or ice but they managed to keep that meat fresh for ten days. Just as the sun goes down they tie a rope around the carcass, throw the rope over the limb of a tree and pull it up so no wild animals can reach it. Just as the sun comes up in the morning they take it down, wrap it up in quilts with canvas on the outside and put it on the damp ground in the shade by the spring. During the week we were there the meat remained fresh and delicious.
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Photo caption:
99003.jpg—This week’s picture has nothing to do with Wildhorse, but the museum photograph collection contains many priceless old pictures of Council area residents that most people would never see unless they are published. Gene Camp took pictures of local folks in the 1960s and early ‘70s and put them in several albums that he donated to the museum. I plan to feature some of these photos from time to time because they bring back memories to those who knew the people. This photo shows Elva and Dallas Greenwood who lived on Hornet Creek for many years. Their daughter, Emily (Smith) still lives in the area.
10-22-09
I’m continuing with the 1945 letter written by Dr. A.O. Jeffreys.
While we were at the mountain ranch, one morning we discovered that several chickens had been killed. After an investigation we found that they had been killed by bobcats. Henry set traps and caught two of the big canines. A short time before we visited the Moores, the dogs bounded up from the grape arbor onto the front veranda. They were trembling and whimpering. Mrs. Moore, being alone, locked the door and stayed in the house all evening. In the Morning she called the dogs but they had disappeared. Several weeks later they found that one had gone down the canyon to one neighbor and the other up the canyon to another neighbor. There being no telephones or roads the neighbors could not notify them for some time. Mrs. Moore went out to the grape arbor next morning and found the tracks of a big mountain lion.
There is a little lake below the ranch house. Wild Mallard ducks make their nests in the reeds near the lake, where they raise their young each summer. The Moores do not disturb them. Porcupines are annoying pests. They kill the chickens, eat the vegetables and destroy the fruit trees by eating off the bark.
After we finished the work at the mountain ranch house we reorganized our pack train, rode down to where the car was parked, loaded our suit cases into it and by picking out of the road a few rocks and building up the low places with loose stones as we did on our way down, we did not touch any high centers and the Cadillac went up the steep place easily at 20 miles an hour. When we came to steep pitches and sharp curves the hood of our Cadillac being so high and long I was unable to see the road ahead, therefore I got out, went forward and made a visual survey of the road and registered a mental picture of its contour, especially the high centers, then did blind driving like an aviator doing blind flying until I could see the road ahead again. We cut our visit a little short as the Fall storms were coming on and we did not want to be snowed in and forced to spend the Winter in Wild Horse Canyon.
We marveled at Henry Schmit's versatility, enjoyed his frank western friendliness and common sense. Helena's unlimited energy, good nature, and open hearted cordiality amazed us. Carmita Cole Moore astonished us with her skill at cooking and serving meals and doing various household duties. Hot cakes for breakfast almost every morning, hot biscuits twice a day, and many other tasty and delicious foods were prepared and served with such dexterity and ease. We are proud that she is our old true loyal friend and has been for many many years. We can never thank Carmita, Helena, and Henry enough for their hospitality and generosity and the good time they gave us in Wild Horse Canyon. We hope we can reciprocate some day.
We had to get a new tire at Weiser. The head of the Rationing Board is an old old friend of mine so he saw that I got the tire. We drove across Oregon East to West through the middle of the State from Ontario to Eugene.
P. S.-- After we returned to Los Angeles, Henry wrote us that while they were taking us down into Wild Horse Canyon to our auto a female bear with her two cubs visited the ranch, broke into the store house and ate all the pears that we had picked, several cans of tallow and other food that was stored away for the Winter. She stayed around the ranch until all the fruit was picked. While we were there we enjoyed walking around the yard after dark. If we had come in contact with that she bear with those cubs she would probably have killed us as Mother bears are very vicious when they are with their cubs.
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Captions:
99008—This week I’m featuring more photos from Gene Camp’s album of pictures taken in the 1960s. This is Ivan & Bertha Moser.
99009--Roy & Esther Magnuson
10-29-09
This is the last part of the 1945 letter written by Dr. A.O. Jeffreys.
In the addendum which follows, I hope I have succeeded in properly and esthetically writing about a rather delicate subject.
All old fashioned farm and ranch houses possess a satellite which almost always occupies a rather prominent place in the landscape. Having lived in modernized buildings for so many years I had to renew my old boyhood acquaintance with this institution which Chic Sales has so well memorialized.
At the lower ranch they had moved the house but had neglected to move the satellite. After dark I decided to contact this institution. Henry told me it was up on the side of the hill above the alfalfa patch. I could just faintly see it in the distance with the aid of a powerful flashlight. I walked rather rapidly up the hill in order to save the precious flashlight batteries. My not too good heart was pounding when I reached the sanctuary. I was there only a short time when I realized that I was not alone. I did not know whether to be frightened, disconcerted or embarrassed. I tried to find the flashlight but it was so mixed in with the mail order catalogues and old papers that in my haste I could not find it. I did not know if my companion was a skunk, badger, porcupine or some other animal. While I was trying to decide what maneuver to undertake I felt the old dog, Sport, rub against me. To say the least I was relieved. He guided me back to the house so I did not have to use the flashlight on my return.
At the upper ranch they have erected this edifice on the perpendicular side of Starve Out Canyon, a very sanitary arrangement. It is built of logs about six inches in diameter. The spaces between the logs are not filled with mud and pieces of wood as most log buildings are; consequently the occupant has a fine view of the surrounding scenery. Two timbers about three inches in diameter have supported this building for over thirty years I felt, and still do feel, that a lot of confidence is placed in those two small timbers. If a person should tumble to his death down the side of that precipice in that sort of a structure I am sure he would consider it a rather embarrassing demise. No door is necessary as the face of the cliff shuts off all view from that side. Whenever salt or grease is deposited on wood, porcupines will eat the wood to get the salt. The perspiration from people's bodies during these many years has impregnated the wood around the apertures with salt. The porcupines have eaten the wood away until these circular apertures are rather large comparatively speaking. When I looked down through these openings and saw nothing but atmosphere below, I was just a little disconcerted at using that structure for the purpose for which it was built. No doubt at the time the architect, who designed and constructed this building, had the open air treatment of tuberculosis in mind because the sun’s rays as well as the wind pass beneath, over, around, and through this structure with unobstructed impunity.
Evolutionists tell us that many, many, many years ago our ancestors wore birds and you know that birds roost on limbs of trees high above the ground with perfect equanimity, poise, and confidence. It is too long ago since members of my family were birds. I simply cannot be a bird on a limb. I just could not feel at ease in that creation of man perched on the precipitous side of Starve Out Canyon.
That’s the end of Dr. Jeffrey’s letter. I hope you have enjoyed it. Carmeta Moore died in 1947--just two years after this letter was written. Henry Schmidt died about 1966. Helena Schmidt lived at Starveout Ranch until she died, still driving to and from Council on the treacherous road in her 90s. Just a few years ago she was found dead in her car, which had plunged off the Wildhorse road. This remarkable woman was featured in the book “Idaho Loners” by Cort Conley.
Bob Hagar sent some of my columns containing Dr. Jeffrey’s letter to Statesman columnist Tim Woodward, and Tim had this to say:
Boy, does this bring back some memories. Yes, Cort Conley went to interview Helena years ago. About halfway about the grade I stopped my car and told Cort he was driving the rest of the way. But it was worth it. Easy to see why she spent all of her 80-plus years there. Tough place to reach, but once you got there it was Shangri-La.
A few years later, her woodstove caught the house on fire while she was sleeping. It was the log house her parents had built. She got out, but lost everything, including her dog. Neighbors from all around contributed money, labor and building materials, which were flown in to build her a new home on the old site. A few years after that, she was trying to get to town during a winter storm, thought better of it and decided to turn around and go back. A fatal mistake. The car slipped over the edge while she was trying to turn around, and that was it for Helena. She truly was a back-country legend. One of the last in Idaho. I think the only one we have left now is Dugout Dick, and he’s gotta’ be in his 90s or close to it.
In case you didn’t see a notice of this elsewhere, there will be a public meeting on November 7th about the archaeological project that the Historic Preservation Commission did this past summer. It will be at the Adams County Courthouse, in the courtroom, at 7:30 PM. Our project archaeologist, Jerry Jerrems, will be talking about the artifacts found and sites surveyed in our project. We’re hoping people will bring artifacts for him to look at. Hopefully State Archaeologist, Ken Reid, will also be there.
11-5-09
This week I’m featuring excerpts from a letter written by J. D. Neale in 1953. Mr. Neale was Adams County’s first superintendent of schools—appointed when the county was created in 1911. Although Mr. Neale was living in Arizona at the time, he wrote the letter while on vacation in Palma, Island de Majorca, Spain. He wrote it to an old college friend, Earl Royer. Of course some of the letter is of no interest to us, but I’ll quote the parts that might be. Mr. Neale must have been an excellent typist, as there are almost no crossed out or otherwise corrected places in his, five-page, single-spaced, type-written letter. He starts off with some unique punctuation, which I will include.
“To begin, it is pretty hard to toss off with a jaunty wave of the hand, 55 years right out of the center of a most active life, therefore, there are a few things to be said before I launch my own saga in reply to yours:-
“No like period in our national history has wrought the changes in American life and ways, economic, social and political, that the one since I shook your hand in March 12, 1899, has done; I’ll be here able to only mention a few of the multitude of changes, namely:-
“The National debt was then less than one billion dollars, likewise, the national Annual budget was then under one billion dollars; we were then still considering the advice given to this nation by its first president in his Farewell Address, as sound and good and wise where he advised us earnestly vs. ‘European entanglements or entanglements in the social, military or economic affairs of any foreign power.’ (maybe this is as good a place as any for me to state that I am still old fashioned enough to believe that the advice given his fellow Americans by Georgie de Wash. was sound and first class advice, both then and now; I see no proof to the contrary after our engaging in two fruitless European wars where we and our allies seemed to win the wars, nor since our latest debacle in Asia where we have in effect taken a sound licking).
“This, then 17 yr. old Guernsey County, Ohio boy had never then seen an automobile or any auto moving vehicle nor had many men then alive seen such; today, the streets of our cities, the rural highways and the farms are littered by automotive equipment in all sizes and purposes from a modern scooter to a modern bulldozer that can readily push twenty tons of rock and dirt like my father and one horse cultivator used to turn corners when plowing a potato patch.
“Then, wages and ‘salaries’ were a fraction of those now extant; the able professors who taught you and I at ONU, …-none of them received more than one dollar an hour for a few hours teaching each day; country school teachers did well then to get 35 dollars a month; graduate engineers in plenty could be had for from 70 to 110 dollars a month; farm wages were from 12 to 16 dollars a month and board; my broadcloth suit lined in finest silk in which I was married cost me 18 dollars; wool was from 14 to 26 cents per lb. and fat hogs and cattle from 3 to 4 cents a lb. at the marketing places. A good two-story frame house of six or eight rooms could be built for from 900 to 1600 dollars; skilled mechanics received 20 to 35 cents an hour. A lot of CHANGE since Jan. 1, 1899.
“Many more violent changes in American life and ways of living cold easily be mentioned but now I shall proceed to tell you a few of the many activities of my life since I last saw you about 55 years ago:-
“I was without a mother at five and a full orphan at ten; after my fther died I lived for three years with an uncle who was a martinet when it came to training a boy to work; I had a grandmother and sister who were kind to me and who greatly influenced my life; my sister was five years older and a teacher at the time. I was in Ada; I had earned and saved sufficient money for the time I was at ONU, but borrowed twenty dollars from my sister when I left there in March, 1899 and went ‘West’ as far as my money would carry me; during my time at Ada I had corresponded some with school officials re. securing a position as a teacher for the ensuing year and while I had no definite position in mind I had such information from a half dozen western states which enabled me to approach the idea of teaching in one of them with considerable confidence.”
I’ll have more from J.D. Neale’s letter next week.
Because of a serious illness in his family, archaeologist Jerry Jerrems has had to reschedule his presentation that had been planned for this Saturday evening. The presentation will now take place on Saturday the 14th. It will still be at the Adams County Courthouse courtroom at 7:30 PM. Bring your artifacts for Jerry to look at.
J.D. Neale--------------
Photo caption:
84019.jpg—J.D. Neale is the 3rd man from the left in this 1911 photo of the first Adams County officials. Back row, L - R: Harlow H. Cossitt (Coroner), George F. Gregg (probate judge - dying of T.B.), J.D. Neale (supt. of schools), C.W. Holmes (clerk and auditor), L.L. Burtenshaw (prosecuting attorney), India C. Hess (deputy recorder), William F. Winkler (sheriff) Front L - R: G.L. McCall (surveyor), James J. Jones (assessor), Thomas Mackey (commissioner 2nd dist. - Bear), D.K. Lindsay (comm. 1st dist. Indian Valley), George S. Mitchell (comm. 3rd dist. New Meadows)
11-12-09
A big thank you goes to Carol Gallant for investigating the building shown in the 1919 Weiser Roundup photo that I featured a few weeks ago. She talked to Weiser historian, Betty Derig, author of “Weiser, the Way it Was.” In her book, Betty said, “The early rodeos were held at the field north of the old high school, part of which later became Memorial Park. The rodeos continued through the 1930s at a new location south of the cavalry barn where a big covered grandstand was erected.”
Carol said the present site of the rodeo is near the Cavalry barn location. The barn is gone now, but she remembers it as very ornate and having a steeple. Carol went on to say, “The reason Weiser had so many ornate brick buildings was that a rick yard was kitty corner from where the States Produce now sits. The State Highway yard is there now.” Many of you have seen the old bricks with “Weiser” imprinted on them.
In comparing the photocopies that Carol sent showing three Weiser schools that are no longer standing, none of them match the Weiser Roundup photo. But, as you can see, the building in the photo has a steeple. From studying the picture, it is evident that the building is facing north. Other photos of the same rodeo, looking the opposite direction, show the hills north of Weiser. There is also a big covered grandstand in these photos. So the tentative conclusion I would come to, even though the rodeo is obviously on the north side of the building, is that this building must be the cavalry barn. On the other hand, why the big windows on two levels? There are probably people at the Weiser museum who can solve this puzzle, but I haven’t had time to pursue it.
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I’m continuing with J.D. Neale’s 1953 letter. I have reproduced most of Mr. Neale’s idiosyncratic punctuation here. After some scratching around, I found that Mr. Neale’s full name was John Dwight Neale.
“On March 13, 1899, I landed at Ogden, Iowa in Boone Co. with my trunk and bag and short overcoat and stiff hat which had been regulation attire at Ada; it was in the midst of a terrific blizzard and I can yet see the snow as it whipped off my trunk when discharged on the platform on the mainline of the Chicago Northwestern R.R. depot platform. Having the sum of three dollars and sixty cents in my pocket it was evident that if I were to live there I had to go to work; I immediately engages my services to a banker and cattleman named Hanely Jenkins to feed 60 head of fat steers for him.”
Mr. Neale listed several more farm jobs he held, then continued: “When the days were still hot I had taken exam. for a teacher and secured my Certificate and when it became colder in the fall I began teaching on the 16th day of October; I taught there seven mos. and the next summer worked as a carpenter again, and again taught in the winter months and in all spent about three years in Iowa before I made my big jump into the then frontier regions of The Big Bend Region of central Washington.”
For some reason, in Washington Mr. Neale seemed to be in the construction business instead of teaching. He wound up in Wilson Creek, Washington, which just east of the center of the state, about half way between Odessa and Soap Lake and south of Grand Coulee Dam.
“In Wilson Creek, Wash. in 1902, I built four stores and one residence; I there became acquainted with a man named James Wright from Bath, Me. with whom I worked in 1903 on the largest cattle ranch in central Washington, building a fine home there for an English lord named Thos. S. Blythe; during the over six months that Wright and I were down on the Blythe ranch below Moses Lake, (present site of a vast Govt. irrigation development) we saw only two white women, as everything there then was cattle and/or Indians on a nearby reservation as they roamed that whole country hunting salmon which they jerked and carried back to the reservation packed on their ponies.”
Later that summer Mr. Neale worked as construction foreman for a national lumber company. With his experience in construction, one has to wonder if he had input on building the first Adams County courthouse. After all, he was here at the time and was a county official.
I’ll have more of J.D. Neale’s letter next week.
Don’t forget the meeting about our local archaeological project. It will be at the new courthouse courtroom Saturday evening at 7:30. I apologize for the postponement of this meeting from last week. It was unavoidable.
11-19-09
I’m continuing with a letter written by John Dwight Neale in 1953. At this point, he had been working construction in Washington. Once again, I will include his unique punctuation, etc. You’ll notice at one point, he simply uses the letter “A” to mean acre or acres.
“From there I went back to Iowa and married a little school teacher and in the summer of 1904 held a good job on construction work in the city of Portland, Oregon; that fall I went over east of the Cascade Mts. where I had been engaged as principal of a school….”
“In this eastern Oregon teaching position, (my wife also taught), we remained four years and saved up considerable money; in 1907 I heard of a fine body of yellow pine timber away off in the Mts. of central Oregon that was going to be opened for entry under the stone and timber Act and went to look it over as one had to make and affidavit when filing that he had ‘recently’ examined it.”
“Getting to it was one heck of a trip, I’ll assure you but I was young and tough and ambitious and hardships meant nothing to me if I saw something beyond them worth while; the time came to get into the U/S/ Land Office at LaGrande, Oregon to make this filing. By the time my wife and I got there, 70 people were already ahead of us. Man No. 1 sitting on the curb at the door with a handkerchief wrapped around his hand and the door know so that when he fell asleep he would still be first man up. I went to the police and asked them what they were going to do with that line down there and they said, ‘Nothing, as long as people behave themselves and no one gets sick.’ We were nos. 70 and 72 in that line for ten days; when we left to eat our other wise, we hired someone to sit in our places. I got some blankets and a tent for my wife and myself lay on a blanket under the stars right in the street.”
“We finally got our land which cost me about 1200 dollars and which we soon sold for 3000 dollars; that was making money fast, even tho ruggedly, for me in those days.” [A dollar in those days would buy what $20 would buy today, so the Neales’ profit would equal $36,000 in today’s money.]
“That same fall, I went to western Idaho and there paid a sheepman 625 dollars for his relinquishment on a pretty good 160 A. and in March, 1908, moved from Oregon to the homestead to improve it and prove up on it as I never had any idea of farming it for long.”
“I broke up about 50 A. and had about 40 A. of wheat that yielded 40 bushels per A. That same Fall I was engaged as Supt. of the Schools at Cambridge, Idaho, ten miles from my homestead; in the Spring I commuted on the homestead and secured a patent signed by Wm. H/ Taft, then president of USA / I then purchased two 160 A. tracts adjoining my homestead and had under fence and with a good well and barns and other outbuildings a 480 A. ranch which I called El Rancho Bar Eighty One, (the year in which I was born).”
“Next Fall I was promoted and engaged as Supt. of the City Schools of Council, Idaho where I remained as Supt. of Schools for two years and then was elected for three, two-year terms a Supt. of Public Instruction of Adams County, Idaho, of which Council was the County Seat. During this time I served six years on the City Council and was also City Treas. and City Clerk and Police Judge.”
“This gave the country boy a tremendous amount of business experience as Council was a live and growing town and I really ran that town and attended to all the phases of its business for over six years. Meantime, I was dealing all the time in real estate and had sold El Rancho Bar 81 and by the time I was 30, I actually had saved and had at least 25,000 dollars which was a good deal of money for a kid, 40 years ago.” [It would equal half a million dollars in today’s money!]
I’ll have more of J.D. Neale’s letter next week.
The attendance at our archaeological meeting/presentation last Saturday evening was sparse, but those who did come were very interested. Our archaeologist, Jerry Jerrems, is becoming very aware of what a treasure this area is for prehistoric sites. Until now, most of the archaeological work in Idaho has been done in the deserts in the southern part of the state. This may well be the beginning of a change in that trend. The tentative conclusions that Jerry is leaning toward is that:
1) The prehistoric people who roamed this area combined elements of Plateau cultures (Nez Perce, Umatilla, etc.) and the Great Basin cultures (Shoshoni, Paiute, etc.)
2) One of the primary native activities in this area may have been harvesting and processing camas. Input from readers of this column would be most welcome on the subject of camas in the area and how much of it may have been here before settlement. Today there are only scattered patches of it. One theory is that there was a lot more of it before settlers brought in pigs (which are very fond of camas roots) and cleared land for farming. The reason for this theory is the abundance of mortars and pestles found here. Another possibility might be the processing of arrowleaf balsamroot (sunflowers) that are so common here. The seeds were roasted, ground and eaten; the young shoots were peeled and eaten raw or baked; the roots were cooked and eaten.
11-26-09
I’m continuing with a letter written by John Dwight Neale in 1953.
[In the next paragraph, Mr. Neale mentions his children who were born here. One of them was Roderick Neale, who visited his birthplace for last year the first time since leaving Council at a very young age. He is in his 90s, and said he was delivered by Dr. Frank Brown. Dr. Brown and the Neale family wound up in Salem, Oregon a few years later where Dr. Brown also delivered Rod’s younger brother. J.D. Neale also calls himself “Dwight” which was his middle name, and leads me to think that was known by this name.]
“Meantime, two of our three children were born in Council and Dwight began to wonder if he had not become too big shot for a small country town; I pondered that idea for a year or more; the Mayor of the town who lived across the street from our nice home came to me one day and said he had heard that I was considering selling out, (I had several rent properties, on of them a large livery barn); he said, as I well remember so well in later years:-“J.D., I hear you are talking of leaving Council; that would be the biggest dam fool thing you ever done; here, the kids and young people and all the dogs know and like you; you can get anything that you want here that we have to offer; we will send you to the State Senate and from there on you are smart enough to go places in this new state; you have all your friends here; if you leave none of them can do anything for you.”
“This and other similar talks I had with business friends in the town did not make it easy for an ambitious young man to pull up and leave it all, but he finally decided to go and sold out and in 1916 went down to Portland and was employed by a bank in its investment and bond department.”
J.D. Neale made a fortune in the investment banking field, lost some of it in the stock market crash of 1929, and continued in this business in San Francisco until 1943. At that point he moved to Arizona where he had invested in land. He developed and sold land and water systems in this rapidly growing area. In other words, he became quite wealthy—wealthy enough to be writing this letter while on an extended stay in Europe.
In his letter, Neale said;
“In my city life and business career, I have often thot of what the mayor of Council told my nearly forty years ago; I could no doubt have made as much money in Council Valley, Idaho with less effort but I would have missed a good deal of life and my children might not have had the same opportunities for achievements in their lives there as they have enjoyed under the large city influences.”
Neale and his wife had three children, one of whom died about age 5. Rod Neale, who visited Council as I mentioned, became a Beverly Hills surgeon. Lois married a doctor from San Francisco.
Next week, I will start another reminiscence by J.D. Neale, in which he describes what it was like to come back to visit this part of Idaho in 1938.
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09029.jpg—Anyone who lived around Council in the 1950s and ‘60s remembers the old Idaho First National Bank. The bank space became the dry goods section of the grocery store next to it after the bank moved to its current location (now USBank) in 1971 or ’72. I don’t remember if the grocery was still the Merit Store at that time or if it had become Shaver’s yet. Recently, the bank space was renovated back to its approximate old area and layout. Seems to me the door and the windows are even in places similar to where they were when the bank was there.
09028.jpg—This picture must have been taken when the bank was newly installed, from inside the front door. It opened in May 1951. The Adams County Leader noted the plan for this 48’ X 81’ addition to the Merit Store in its March 14, 1941 issue. It was originally to be for a meat market and cold storage. Before this location, the “Adams County Bank” was in one half of the building currently occupied by the Council Valley Market. I’m not sure if it became an Idaho First bank and then moved, or if Idaho First just started a branch here in 1951. I’d like to know. I’d appreciate hearing from anyone who knows about this or who remembers what the store annex space was before the bank moved in.
09030.jpg—Inside the bank in 1969—Looking toward the back (north). I’m told Ed Strickfaden was bank president at this time. That may be Fay Yantis on the far left. Mr. Strickfaden may be the man standing in the isle. Shirley Wilson (now Ratcliff) worked there about this time, as did Maxine Glenn (Nichols).
12-3-09
For the past several weeks, I’ve been featuring a memoir by J.D. Neale who was one of Adams County’s first officials and an early city councilman in Council. In 1991, “Northwest Folklore” magazine printed another reminiscence by Mr. Neale. He wrote it on stationary “of the once elegant five story Hotel Washington, Weiser, Idaho….” He was evidently staying at the hotel on his way back south from Council. The magazine said, “One June 20, 1938, Mr. Neale visited his old homestead in Adams County, Idaho, driving a Cadillac instead of the team of 1908. His reflections comprise the substance of this piece,….” Mr. Neale’s writing was in the form of a long letter to his children. I have left out some of the passages that would not be interesting to us today.
“Coming back impresses on in many strange ways. The towns look about the same, yet are changed. The highways are often relocated from the old pioneer trails. The beautiful Weiser river and creek tributaries are flowing between green slopes and mts. and fields and look most beautiful and quite natural, altho a super lushness seems to be around them which is absent in many streams of the southwest.”
“Well, yesterday, Sunday, I treated myself to a most unusual experience. The clouds threatened rain, but I ate a late breakfast and then started the Cadillac up the pavement 60 mi. north. A carefully devised medical instrument would have disclosed I was strangely excited and highly anticipatory for some reason. I was alone, as I wished to be, going back to the haunts of other days where a young man, impelled by tremendous energy and ambition had sought success and a place and goods for him and his.”
“Twelve miles north of Weiser [Mann Creek] I saw the schoolhouse where I made my first campaign speech for myself. (I had made some for others years before, before I was a voter). Going with others to that schoolhouse back there in Oct. 1910, was the first time I ever rode in an auto and it broke down in a mud hole.”
“A bit further on was a barn that I had slept in on the hay with my dog and horses by me, in March 1908, when driving from Oregon to my homestead in Idaho. I remembered that I had just had smallpox and that I still had large sores and scabs in my hair and head. In other words, I was giving myself an outing early in march 1908, while convalescing from a heavy attack of smallpox which had overtaken me a couple of weeks previously in Oregon.”
“This long, winding hill up which (“The Middle Valley Hill”) I was traveling yesterday at the ‘winding road’ limit of 40 mi. per hr. on a pavement, had been a bear-cat in its terrible mud of 30 years before. I could even recognize the steeper places where I felt so sorry for my willing horses as they pulled the heavy wagon thru the deep mud my previous initial trip over it. I then thot of how God must have finally taken pity on the dumb animals and opened up for man’s uses, the long hidden resources of the earth and made petroleum the power which took men and their loads over these ruts rather than the sweat and pain and life-blood of dumb brutes which had to pull their lives out on those muddy mt. roads of only a generation ago.”
[The early Midvale Hill road to which Mr. Neale was referring had not been paved for too many years before his 1938 trip. Highway 95 was not paved at all until about 1930, when paving began on some sections. Just how much the route of the paved road had changed from the original wagon road, I don’t know, but probably not very much, as one can glean from Mr. Neale’s comments about recognizing certain places along it. In the 1960s, the highway over this hill was relocated to its present route, but you can still see the old, more winding highway very plainly in several places.]
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1938_Cadillac.jpg—Mr. Neale mentions his Cadillac a number of times in his writing. This is what a 1938 model looked like. The models for the previous couple years looked similar.
99025.jpg—Another memory from Gene Camp’s photos. Bud & Mavis McGahey of Bear, on their 40th wedding anniversary party. The little boy in the foreground is Bert Davis.
12-10-09
Since featuring the photos of the old bank a few weeks ago, I’ve gathered a little more information. So I’m going to interrupt my J.D. Neale series and cover the bank story this week.
The annex that was built onto the Merit Store in 1941 was divided into two parts. The part closest to the store was a meat market operated by Lewis Daniels and Russell Evans. This section is still part of the “Ronnie’s” grocery store; the floor was raised recently from its former, lower level.
The west part of the annex contained a shop called the “Sugar Bowl”. The Sugar Bowl was run by Bob Dagget and Tom McCord and their wives. They sold hamburgers, ice cream, sodas, etc. and had a two-lane bowling alley. Before it was put in this building, the bowling setup had been in a vacant lot just east of the Seven Devils café building. We have one of the little bowling balls and a couple pins in the museum.
Idaho First National Bank bought the Adams County Bank in 1946 and continued to operate in the west half of the building that is now the Council Valley Market. The east half was the Golden Rule Store. Donald Strickfaden was the bank manager, not Ed as I said a few weeks ago. Ed is Don’s son, and was at one time the superintendent of the Idaho State Police.
The bank moved into the Sugar Bowl location in May of 1951. The Adams County Leader said, “The new bank office occupies the west half of the former Merit Store annex building. The quarters have been completely remodeled and furnished to provide increased convenience for both customers and employees. The new office boasts more than twice the floor space of the bank’s former quarters, enlarged customer lobby and counter space, a new vault for securities, records and safe deposit boxes, and a private booth for use by safe deposit customers.”
Bill Daniels called with some information. Bill worked at the bank from 1958 to 1972. By the time the photos I featured were taken (late ‘60s), Ed Kesler was the bank manager. The guy in one of the photos may have been Joe Johnson.
Nelma (Glenn) Green said she worked at the bank from 1953 to ‘58 and then was the "call girl" until l966. She said, “I remember the meat market next door, with the pop machine just inside the door, where losers of the nightly coin toss bought the soda. I worked with 'DT, Glen (“Jute”) Welker, (brother of Herman, the State Senator) and Norman Hansen who still lives around Cambridge. In the 60s there were a lot of people working there who are still around this area.”
Construction on the present bank building began in the spring of 1971 and progressed rapidly. The store was Shavers when the bank moved to its current location. (I think Carl Shaver bought the Merit Store in 1965.) Bill Daniels said after the bank moved out, a crew from the Boise Cascade sawmill came over with heavy equipment. They tore out a section of the west wall, cut out the big concrete and steel vault and hauled it away to use as a dynamite storage vault. This may have been the one that sat along the Middle Fork Road for a long time.
Idaho First began business in the new building on July 30 with a grand opening celebration. Area ranchers were invited to bring their branding irons and brand pieces of pine board to hang on the wall of the “Branding Iron Lounge” in the southwest corner of the bank. Those brands are hanging on the wall of the lounge today.
The walls of this lounge room have an interesting history. The weathered board surface of the north wall where the brands are displayed came from an old homestead house near Munday Gulch at Indian Valley. Like many homesteads in the hard times of the 1920s, the house and homestead were abandoned. The Clifford Keppinger family later owned this property and donated the boards from the old house to the bank. The bricks in the south wall of the room came from the old Council Elementary/High School that once stood near the present location of Economy Roofing. The school was built in 1907 and demolished in 1958. The bricks were made in Weiser.
On another note, the Council High School classes of 1960 through 1970 are planning a reunion next July. I’ve been asked to find contact info for the members of the class of 1970 that the organizers haven’t been able to reach yet. If you have contact info for the following people, please get it to me: Debbie (Lake) Greer, Robin Ham, Glenyce Hug, Jerry Krupp, Philip Kuntz, Shirley Layton, Loretta Main, John Naslund, Tim & Carol Petty, Richard Rudger, Lillian Shelton. If you were a member of a Council class that graduated during that decade, even if you didn’t graduate here, and you have not been contacted, the organizers are looking for you.
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Captions:
opening.jpg—Bank manager, Ed Kesler, cutting the ribbon at the grand opening of the Idaho First National Bank in Council at its present location, on July 30, 1971. Those in the photo are, from left to right: Don Menter (President of the Council Chamber of Commerce), unidentified young man, Ed Kesler, Bill Hilliboe (City Council President), Thomas Frye (President, Idaho First national Bank), another unidentified young man.
inside.jpg—Inside the old bank location. I’m pretty sure the guy on the left is Joe Johnson and the woman in the back at the file cabinet is Fay Yantis.
12-17-09
This week, I’m going back to the second letter by J.D. Neale in which he describes his return to the Council area in 1938.
“I crossed the Weiser River at Midvale--a village not much changed. Then I went up to Cambridge where I was supt. of schools 30 years ago. That town looked changed as great trees were in the yards where none had been when I last saw it.”
“I began now to enter a region which was more familiar. I wanted to get out to my old ranch as soon as possible. I wanted to stand and look over those hills and vales and to think. But as I came to the turning off place about 8 mi. north from Cambridge it was then pouring rain in a typical mt. storm manner, so I kept on up the pavement 10 mi. or so to Council thinking I’d go back to the ranch today if it poured rain all day Sunday. The Mesa Orchards which were not planted and irrigated when I went to Council first, now looked like old apple orchards. Overlooking ‘Middle Fork’ it looked differently. Some sort of a great camp was there, probably a CCC headquarters. The road had been relocated in places.” [The camp Neale saw was a CCC camp—the biggest in the area.]
“I drove into Council by the ranch of old man Whitney, father of Hugh Whitney, one of the famous train robbers of a generation ago. The old man once said, ‘What do you think that dirty sheriff (Bill Winkler) asked me to do? He asked me for one of Hugh’s pictures.’ That was about the extent of Bill’s ability in hunting down outlaws.”
“As I drove along the highway into Council seeing the landscapes once so familiar, I seemed to have been there all of the time, they all looked so natural and real to me. Some changes in political (houses & c [et cetera] things), but the same old hills and valley, unchanged.”
“I drove up the main stem of the town and went about 6 mi. north. Off to my right was the house I built and from which I fell in June of 1912 crippling my left arm for life. The valley was smiling; green lush, quiet and lonely.”
“Then I drove back to the village, parked my car and walked around. Here, the house I built new in 1912, yet a good house with big trees in the yard. Across the st. from it the almost abandoned house where Malcolm was born; the barn and woodshed I had built, by it. The woodshed was roofed with boards and knot holes in them I had covered with tin and the tin patches were still there and the identical board or plank walk I had built in front of the house 28 years ago was still there as the planks were of a very heavy peculiar character easily recognized by me.” [If anyone knows where either of the houses just mentioned were, or where his Indian Valley place was, I’d like to know.]
“I walked up to my schoolhouse and looked in the windows into the large hall where I used to stand and see that the pupils marched in properly as the march was played.”
“I walked up before the house which my brother had built and noted the large trees your photo of 1936 showed. The house I sold Mrs. Cox where her daughter of 16 yrs. of age committed suicide was in good condition and occupied.”[ Adams County Leader, Feb 15, 1924---Mamie Cox hung herself - 15 years old (sister of Martha Poynor)]
“The Methodist Church I had built was entirely gone except the stones under it. The little parsonage was there yet. A good many, new small houses had been built around old houses.” [The Methodist church was just south of the corner where Hwy 95 turns west to downtown Council. The parsonage he mentions was standing until not that many years ago…late 1980s? Early ‘90s?]
“(When I first went to Council there were two banks there and another two in Meadows 30 mi. north. There were four banks in Weiser (in another county) and one at Midvale and one at Cambridge—10 banks in the two counties. During the hard days they all closed for failed. Now, there is one bank here in Weiser which is now the only bank in the two counties.)”
I’ll have more from Mr. Neale’s letter next week.
If any of you would like to make a tax deductable donation to the Council Valley Museum, this would be a good time to do so. Now that we are paying our electric bill, we need every dollar we can get. Idaho has a very generous tax credit; essentially, you get half of what you donate off of your state income tax for any donation up to $100.
12-24-09
I’m continuing with the second letter by J.D. Neale in which he describes his return to the Council area in 1938.
“As I came into Council from the little trip north of it, I took a picture of the little house in which Lois was born. It looks pretty well.”
“At the last large house where we lived in Council, trees I planted with my own hands 24 yrs. ago, are over 2 ft. in diameter. The yard is nicely kept. A garden is shooting up its greenery. Two of the big trees have been ‘girdled’ and are being thus killed. I thot of the time Jumbo [Neale’s dog] died and we buried him in that yard and a little boy 32 mos. old laid some flowers on the blanket in which I wrapped his body before we put the earth over it. He died just about the day that Lois and her mother came home from where she was born, so her baby eyes probably never saw Jumbo.”
“Then I went over to see Mrs. [Nettie] Burtenshaw. She looked well and natural but her memory is not very good and she often says strange things. Her home looked nice and the yard was green and flowering and well kept.”
“She told me that just four wks. ago that Sunday she and Mr. B. had driven south to the Mesa Orchards and that while she had gathered wild flowers, he had shot gophers and they had a nice day together; that the next day he had gone with some others to McCall where he had made a speech at some sort of a dedication; that he had been ill enroute and that he got home that night at 2 a.m., ill; that he was ill Tues. and Wed. but up and around; that Wed. eve. she had gone to bed first, not….”
[There is a note here that two pages of Neale’s letter are missing. This is too bad, because he is describing how one of Council’s founding fathers died. Luther Burtenshaw died on May 4, just about a month before Neale’s visit.]
“Then I drove down and stopped at the cemetery. As I walked thru it, I began to understand where most of those I had once known there were sleeping. The cemetery had been a new one 25 years ago. Now, many were sleeping there.”
“By the side of Edward Burtenshaw whose stone shows his military organization and the fact that he died overseas, “AEF,” is his father. She had a tombstone up already with his name and dates by birth and death and her own name with date of birth on it. The large flag pole, put up by his father no doubt, is by the grave of Edward. I thot of many things as I stood there by their stones. The smiling faces and curly haired heads of each of them I could see so plainly.” [Edward had died of the flu on October 6, 1918 just as WWI was ending. When his body was returned to Council in June of 1921, his was the biggest funeral in town up until that time.]
“I saw the names of many former friends, in the granite. In nearly every case I could recall particular things of personal interest. Here were the names of Isaac McMahan and his wife [Lucy], loyal personal and political friends of mine. There, ‘Manuel and Betty Oling,’ his wife. I remembered Manuel had come to America from Finland and for 15 years had worked in mines and the forest before he brot over Betty and her two grown children and how later they had two others 20 years younger. I thot here they had found a home together in America. There was the grave of Chas. Ham, once sheriff. Here of Bud Addington the stage driver who married the fiery red headed girl who seemed to have finally finished him.”
“There, Ed Emery and Arthur Robertson at whose homes in the hinterland I had been a guest years ago when County Superintendent. That is quite an experience to visit a final resting place of a local community 25 years afterwards, where you once knew most everyone.”
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95263L.jpg-- Luther L. Burtenshaw, one of Council’s founding fathers who was appointed, along with J.D. Neale, as one of Adams County’s first officials. Burtenshaw was a well-known attorney and wrote the bill that created Adams County when he was a state Senator. Because of his style of oratory, in he became Senate he became known as “The Bellowing Bull from Council.”
99172.jpg—The museum doesn’t seem to have a photo of Manuel and/or Betty Oling, but here is one of their son and daughter in law--Victor and Manilla Oling. (From the Gene Camp album.)
12-31-09
I’m continuing with the second letter by J.D. Neale in which he describes his return to the Council area in 1938.
“From Council I started south as the rain was over and the sun shining. I was soon at Indian Valley and turned sharply there and drove by the largest barn in the county, crossed the river and was over the hills. I soon passed the schoolhouse for which I drew the plans and the school district which I created. I drove up the hill and over its crest and there before me was the old ranch.”
“I drove down the same road to it which I had graded and located, 30 years ago. As I rounded the turn there sat the homestead cabin looking lonely but quite natural. All other buildings of whatever character were gone, utterly stolen I presume as there were sizeable barns; a granary; a store room and chicken house. Only the original cabin 14 X 16, (the leanto was gone), remained. The doors and windows were gone, stolen I think.”
“As I stood long inside that doorless and windowless cabin, many and strange thots and memories crossed my mental stage: There, in that corner had been the bed I had carefully made. Over in that corner had been the clothes closet. Her in this one had been the cooking stove and the source of heat. In that corner had been the door leading into the kitchen or lean to. At that window the coyote harassed by the Tuttle stag hounds, had jumped up twice as I sat there one day inside while the hounds chased him by.”
“I remembered how glad Jumbo and I had been to get into that cabin from the rain and cold and angers outside. It had been more than a home to us then. It had been a shelter from the terrible rains; the frosty nights and the wild animals around us. For two or three weeks we had slept outside on the hillside. I had fixed a stable for the horses first as the cold rains of early March were terrible hard for them. When the cabin was fist built there were big cracks in it, later cover, but the roof over our heads and the floor under us under which the water could run rather than into our bed, was a great boon, even tho we at first had no door and slept on the floor. When your mother came over in June, days were warm and things a bit more comfortable. These things came back from the past as memory recalled them.”
“Standing by the door yesterday, I looked over those vales and hills. It again seemed I had not been away from them, as they seemed so natural and so part of my life. I looked at the wood and work in the building. It was honestly and well put together. It reflected even yet, the character of the one putting it together, else it would have long since fallen apart.”
“I stood in the cabin for an hour looking and thinking. I well knew no living soul except myself would have cast more than a casual glance into its barren interior but to me it represented something more than an old wooden cabin. It bridge over 30 very active years in the life of an ambitious and energetic man. It brot back his earlier aims and ambitions to gain and improve ‘land.’ It was a million miles from bands and the clang of great cities and of their life and bright lights. It was the stone upon which the other end of the bridge of memory rested. It stood there like a relic of some long passed epic tale, the farm seems utterly abandoned, although the fields are covered with a thick growth of tall grass like cheat-grass. My idea is that the former owner lost it to the Federal Land Bank or some other mortgage carrier and that is unoccupied condition and denuded character are due to this fact. Other farms around it are likewise abandoned, yet some hear it are not.”
“What does a man think about as he stands over some shining brook and looks down into it? Is the form and figure that of the man- -a very young one- -who looked down into that same brook and saw his image reflected back to him in 1908 or is the reflection the man sees in 1938 that of another man?”
“The hills and little brook singing its tiny song have not changed since that day in March 1908, when Jumbo and I and the horses pitched our camp among them.”
“I walked down where the first barn had been. I picked up horseshoes there. I took from the cabin some nails and wood I had made a part of it. The well was there, filled to the brim, surrounded by a fence to keep stock away from it. Exactly the same fence posts and corner bracings and anchors I had placed around my homestead in March 1908 were there. I even saw remnants of large tin cans I had filled with stone and hung on it in low sags to hold it down there in the same places.”
“I had parked the Cadillac on the road outside the wire gate. How strangely it looked as I saw it there at the foot of the hill! How far from a Cadillac car I had been when I built that road and fence and cabin and filed on that land. How little I then knew of cities and the people and ways of life in them! How far I then seemed to be from the 25th story of tall buildings and Phi Beta Kappas and AOA’s &c. Another world then and now. The hills surrounded us there together and even the Cadillac seemed content for the moment.”
“I took pictures of it all. No one except myself will see anything in them or wonder why. At 7:30 p.m. as I got into my car and drove down the hillside road where I stopped at the last turn and looked back for quite a while at that old scarred doorless cabin sitting on the hillside with the sun shining on it, feeling quite lonely as it seemed so surrounded buy loneliness. No life, no action, no farming operations, so livestock, only grassy, silent hills with the tine brook below singing a bright but subdued song.”
I’ll have more or Mr. Neale’s letter next week. If anyone knows where his Indian Valley homestead was, I would like to know.
I would like to thank Pete & Elaine Johnston, Shirley Wing and the Council Exhibit Committee for generous donations to the Council Valley Museum. Their generosity is very much appreciated!
1-7-2010
This is the last of the letter by J.D. Neale in which he describes his return to the Council area in 1938.
“In one hour I had driven the 41 miles back to this town, arriving just as darkness fell. It used to be one very long day’s drive, even by buggy, to Weiser, as roads were then longer. It now requires one hour of easy driving down the river and over Middle Valley Hill.”
“I mailed some letters at dinner time at the P.O. I saw an old frame building across the street with a sign ’Cozy Rooms’ on it. It struck me as looking like and old schoolhouse. Then it came to me: ‘Why that’s the same old frame building in which I lodged in August 1908 when I came from my ranch to Weiser to take the Teacher’s Exam for certification to teach in Cambridge.’ It was then known as ‘the old Weiser schoolhouse.’ “
“In this town I bot two new buggies and a new set of harness. Here I sat on the same platform with Gov. Brady and the then young Senator Wm. E. Borah where we all with others made political speeches in 1910 and I think mine was not much worse that theirs. Now Sen. Borah is an old wrinkled up fellow about 70 years old and Brady has been dead for 20 years.”
“Up at Council I saw some more of my handiwork. The present water system for the town is very largely the result of my dreams and energy. Up on the foothills above the towns were two fine springs. I always advocated acquiring them for a municipal supply. The mossbacks had wells. Each house had a well and about 30 feet from it and outside toilet.”
“I was elected on the town council and gained control of the local paper. I wrote many articles with the theme of ‘Pure water out of the heart of the mountain into the stomachs of the people.’ The idea gained momentum. Finally, we called and carried our bond election from the proceeds of which the springs were bot and the system built.”
“The two springs were bot and brot together in a concrete reservoir 80 feet (in pressure) above the town. Then pipelines distributed the water to the people in the village. That is why today Council’s streets are lined with big trees. There were very few here 25 years ago.”
“I was city clerk and treasurer and drew the deeds for those two springs and the pipeline rights of way and the checks which paid them $3500 for ‘A’ and $2500 for ‘B.’ I learned much of ‘bonds’ from this transaction.”
“I used to stop at the home of Chas. Campbell in Meadows Valley. His son Albert and I were close friends. Albert Campbell is now the biggest cattleman in Idaho and one of the very largest in the U.S. Last fall Albert shipped 106 carloads of cattle (over 3000 head), for which he received about $250,000 in cash. There were more than two train loads of them. He owns many ranches which control large public pasture areas.”
“Now this letter is for Lottie, Curtis, and Malcolm. My reading and moving picture times are usually used in writing. You should remember that I am carrying on a business which requires a good deal of correspondence [investment banking] and that all of it is done by myself. I seldom get to bed before 12 or 1 o’clock a.m. Today has been a holiday and I have written most of it. This is the only personal letter sent. I think some of it will be of interest to each.”
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Captions
99407.jpg—Albert Campbell. From Gene Camp’s album.
1-14-10 Remember the days before those *&%$#@! environmentalists got on their liberal high horses? Here’s a peek back into the good old days.
A 1932 letter to the Forest Supervisor in Portland, Oregon, from a Forest Ranger on the Mt. Hood National Forest:
“Reference is made to the garbage disposal at Eagle Creek Campground. In the past the garbage has been hauled to the Bridge of the Gods and dumped off into the swiftest current which is near the middle of the stream. Sergeant Grimm of the State Police, stationed at The Dalles, informs me that we will not be allowed to continue this practice, since it is in violation of the Oregon Game Code, Section 133.”
“It would hardly seem that Sergeant Grimm’s position is tenable in view of the fact that cities farther up the river are emptying their sewers into the river. Also they may be some leeway in interpreting pollution when one considers that it is five miles or less from the bridge to tidewater.”
“If we are not to be allowed to dump garbage in the river some other method of disposal will have to be found very soon because garbage has been accumulating at the camp ground for some time.”
The answer from the Forest Supervisor:
“Municipalities can legally dump garbage into river if sewers do not empty above intakes of domestic water supply systems. I will see the State Police here about dumping beyond the middle of the river. I should think they would not object because it is out of their jurisdiction. We may have to incinerate the garbage.”
Oh for the days when America was a free country!
I keep a file with ideas and materials for this column. In looking through it, I found a letter and article sent to me by Rhea Freese of Fairbanks, Alaska that she had sent me in 1996. In 2004 I featured a memoir written by Mariette Shaw Pilgrim in 1987 when she was 88 years old. Apparently I hadn’t realized that the material Ms. Freese sent had indicated that Mariette had died year (1996).
Mariette was the daughter of Ben James Shaw, who was the son of Henry Shaw. The Shaw family settled along the Middle Fork of the Weiser where Mariette was born in 1898. As an adult, she became a teacher and took her first job at the Bear school where she taught eight students in seven different grades. After that she taught in schools at Silver City, Bend, Oregon and Juneau, Alaska.
It was in Juneau in the early 1940s that Mariette undertook a monumental task—writing the first Alaska history and geography book, Alaska: Its History, Resources, Geography, and Government. “It was compiled from books and magazines which her students brought from home, and only after many late nights at the typewriter. The book was revised four times and was issued throughout Alaska. It can still be found listed in some libraries.” (Heartland Magazine, Fairbanks, AK, 1-16-1994) Interestingly, Idaho’s Caxton Printers published the book.
Another book she wrote, Oogaruk the Aleut, was printed by Caxton in1947. I found a rare second edition (1949) available on the Internet for $45.
Mariette married her husband, Earl Pilgrim in 1938. Earl was a dedicated miner who had an antimony mine in a remote part of Alaska. The couple operated the mine together for a time, but Mariette spent some years living apart from Earl, teaching. In Fairbanks, she became principal of the grade school. Not long afterward, she became the first female school district superintendent in Alaska, overseeing the Fairbanks area schools from 1948 to 1951.
While Earl mined his remote claims, Mariette traveled the world, teaching or as a librarian. She wound up in Portland, Oregon where she lived when Heartland Magazine featured the article about her and Earl.
Mariette Shaw Pilgrim is just one of many people who started life in the Council area and left here to lived fascinating lives. If you Google her name, you will find a number of references to the books she wrote.
1-21-10 First, I need to apologize for misattributing the Forest Service letters I featured last week. I got them from Jeff Canfield, not Jim Camp.
A few years ago, someone donated some records from the Cuddy Mountain Cattle and Horse Growers Association. Among them were the minutes from the first meeting, held to create the association on April 15, 1916 at the Hornet Ranger Station. The following are the minutes from that meeting and two others.
Mr. Ellis Hartley, temporary chairman called the meeting to order at 3:00 P.M.
Supervisor Lafferty gave a talk on the purpose and need of an association. This talk was followed by an open discussion.
A motion was made and seconded that an association be formed. Motion carried. One dissenting vote.
A constitution and set of By Laws was adopted.
Mr. Hartley was nominated President and elected by acclimation.
Mr. John was elected Vice President. Mr. P.H. Miller was elected Secretary Treasurer. New Secy. takes charge.
Clinton M. Mangin [Mangum?] Temporary Secy.
Minutes of meeting held in Council, November 17, 1916:
Annual Meeting called to order at 11-30 A.M. Ellis Hartley Presiding. Opening address by President. Adjourned until 2.oclock P.M.
1st—Talk by P.H. Miller on “Brand Inspection and Publication of Brand Book.” Discussion.
2nd—Address by J.B. Lafferty, Forest Supervisor
The following were appointed a Committee on Resolutions. A.O. Huntley, P.H. Miller, E.H. Day, Erastus Sherman and Albert Campbell
3rd—Talk on Cooperative Salting by John . Discussion.
4th—Address by Mr. A.O. Huntley. Building a better Type of Range Cattle. Discussion.
5th—Fixing the calving time by Ellis Hartley
Adjourned till after supper
--Evening Session—
Evening session convened at 7.oclock P.M.
Meeting called to order by the President
Reading of minutes of last meeting. Reading of resolutions passed by advisory board. Reading of Financial Report of Treasurer.
Meeting held at Upper Dale School, May 1919, 2 o’clock P.M.:
Mr. Long (?) Presiding. Minutes of the last meeting read and approved.
Moved and seconded that we accept the membership of Mr. Marshall Lewis [?] Carried
Talk by Hon. J.B. Lafferty followed by discussion.
Moved that we commit the association to the policy of having the advisory board cooperate with the Forest Service in the matter of acting on the applications of permits to graze on Dist. 5 in 1919. Carried. Adjourned. P.H. Miller, Secy.
A couple weeks ago I was saddened to read of the death of Evea Harrington Powers. Evea was the museum’s most generous financial supporter. Without her help, we could not have built on to the museum nor made it what it is today. Several of Evea’s relatives made donations to the museum in her memory: June Ryals, her son Mike and his wife Mary Ann, and Delpha Hutchison. On behalf of the museum, I thank them very much for their thoughtfulness and generosity.
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00252—Arthur Huntley’s house just south of Cuprum and some of his purebred Herford cattle. In the minutes of the 1919 minutes, he gave a talk on “ Building a better Type of Range Cattle.” His cattle undoubtedly had the most advanced breeding in the area at the time.
98241—J.B. Lafferty, Forest Supervisor and namesake of Lafferty Campground. He was a true Forest Service pioneer and was the first supervisor of any Forest in this whole region.
1-28-10
Some time ago I wrote about Glendora Bates Brown who taught school here in the 1940s. Her son contacted me to let me know that Glendora died Jan 16 at the age of 105.
I’m sure some of you remember Gladys Knight—not the famous soul singer, but the Council woman who at one time wrote strongly-worded letters to the editor of this newspaper in the 1970s and ‘80s. Her invectives were often rants against communist threats to America. One of the things she is remembered for is wearing a fur wrap any time of year.
Gladys was very proud of her father and wrote a short book about him called, A Biographical Sketch of Earl Wayland Bowman –“The Ramblin’ Kid.” Most of the information that follows is from this book. Direct quotes are presented here within quotation marks.
Earl Bowman was born in 1875 in Missouri. His mother died when he was three years old. He remembered walking out of the room where his mother’s body was lying. For some reason he was sucking on a button at the time. As he sobbed in grief, he accidentally sucked the button down his throat. Apparently, it was assumed that he had swallowed the button. It would affect his health for the rest of this life and become a more interesting story 29 years later.
After his mother died, Earl traveled with his missionary father to Mexico where he became fluent in Spanish. He was a frail kid and seemed to have weak lungs. When smallpox hit the area where they were living, Earl’s father caught it and died.
As a young man, Bowman lived in several areas of the nation and held various jobs, including an apprenticeship at a newspaper in Salt Lake City and learning to cook under the guidance of a well-known English chef.
In 1902, when Earl Bowman was about 27 years old and living in Kansas City, Missouri with a wife and baby daughter, he suffered the first of two “nervous breakdowns.” Needing a change in his life, Earl flipped a coin to decide where he would take his family for a fresh start. The coin toss determined their destination: Council, Idaho. Here they took up an eighty-acre homestead.
“For a while he took the job of cooking for The Overland Hotel in Council. He found a small one-room apartment next door to the old landmark hotel and moved his family in. He wanted them near him because Council was ‘wide open’ in those days--it had seven saloons and men wore a gun on each hip. It was a motley crew he cooked for, for the most part, the usual influx of homeseekers in a new area opening up and hared-eyed miners hoping to find fortunes on Cuddy Mountain and The Seven Devils.”
“During the years in which he was proving up his homestead, he wrote editorials for several papers, including The Spokane Review. It was through one of his editorials on the potential for a newspaper in Council, that a man named Durral [Durrell] came to Council and established a newspaper. In later years it was known as The Council Leader, and later still, after Adams County was created, it became The Adams County Leader.”
Actually, the Council newspaper that Ivan Durrell established was called the Council Leader from its first issue on October 9, 1908. When the Leader started, the Weiser Signal newspaper said, "Council formerly had a paper, but the manager proved incapable of running, so the publication had to be discontinued." The earlier paper was the Council Journal, established in January of 1901. This newspaper’s office was not the northwest corner of Moser Avenue and Main Street.
It didn’t take any particular qualifications to run a newspaper in those days. In my experience of reading every available issue of his newspaper, Mr. Durrell was a terrible speller and typographer, and there were many misprints in his paper. At least that was my opinion until I read the following. Maybe I’m blaming the wrong person.
“Mr. Bowman walked from his homestead into Council each day (two and one-half miles) and back, making the five-mile trip on foot, to set type for the new newspaper. He wrote the editorials, reported the news, sold ads—in short, he did everything needed to get the newspaper organized and circulating.”
About this time, Earl was walking across his homestead property with his wife when he suddenly suffered a violent coughing spell. Out popped the button that he had “swallowed” 29 years earlier. He had carried it in his lung all that time. No wonder he had lung problems.
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Photos:
72069—The Overland Hotel complex about the time Bowman moved his family here from Missouri and into a small apartment “next door” to the hotel. I suspect the apartment was someplace within this complex. The left portion was the Ransopher Drug Store.
09246-- Earl Wayland Bowman
2-4-10
During his time here, besides helping to establish a local newspaper, Earl Wayland Bowman was also a realtor in the Council area—a business in which he partnered with C.W. Holmes who would soon become Adams County’s first County Clerk in 1911.
Apparently, Bowman did very well in his business ventures. In the spring of 1910 he bought one of the first automobiles to appear in Council. It was a “five passenger White Steamer touring car.” Steam powered cars were not too uncommon in those days, and continued to be available into the 1920s from the Addington Auto Company in what is now the Ace Saloon building.
About the same time as he bought his car, Bowman & Holmes Realty built a new office building on the north side of Moser Avenue. It was featured a “two story brick front with cement walls.” The realty office was on the top floor, and the Council State Bank operated on the first floor.
Later that summer, the Council paper contained and ad for the “Washington County Land & Development Co.: Bowman and Holmes Co., managers.” This company had been established in 1909. In announcing its debut, the Leader said, "A corporation has been formed known as the Washington County Land and Development Co. for the purpose of developing Council Valley...." When the Pomona Hotel opened across the street from the Bowman & Holmes office in the fall of 1911, the Leader said the idea for the building was “originally that of the Washington County Land and Development Co.”
It was 1911 when the battle to establish Adams County was raging. “When the fighting was the fiercest and the deal-line close, Earl Wayland Bowman was called in to lobby for the new county. He spoke from the floor of both the House and Senate and there were many who credited him with being largely responsible for turning the tide.” Of course Council attorney, Luther Burtenshaw, was a senator at the time and steered the bill that established Adams County.
“In the wild scramble that followed the creation of Adams County, Bowman was again called to Boise to lobby for making Council the new county seat. There were three Contenders: Council, New Meadows and Indian Valley. [Gladys forgot to mention Fruitvale, and I’ve never hear that Indian Valley was in the running.] Council seemed the obvious choice since it was close to the center of the new county. It was battle royal, but once again Earl Bowman, by his eloquence and dynamic personality, played a decisive role in helping to make Idaho history.”
By 1912 Bowman & Holmes had moved out of their new building and attorney B.J. Dillon moved in. Gladys wrote of her father: “In 1912, he sold his homestead and moved to Council. For the next two years he did feature writing for the Boise Capital News, a job that required him to be away from home a good bit, traveling over southern and eastern Idaho.”
Adams County elected Earl W. Bowman as its State Senator for the 13th session of the Idaho legislature in November 1914. He moved his family to Boise for the winter.
It’s interesting that Gladys Knight, who was so anti-Communist, so idolized her father who was Idaho’s only Socialist Senator—possibly in all of Idaho’s history. As is turned out, Bowman became quite influential because of his unique party status. His vote was in high demand from each party. As Gladys put it: “There were 33 members in the 1915 senate session, pretty evenly divided as to partisan leanings. And the lone Socialist turned out to be a pretty ‘big wheel.’ “ Also, the Senate roll call went in alphabetical order, and Bowman was the first name on the list. As a result, his was always the first opinion heard on the floor.
In next week’s History Corner-- Earl Wayland Bowman brings elk back to central Idaho.
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95426.jpg—In 1916, Sylvanus “Bud” Addington built the brick building that now houses the Ace Saloon and the Grubstake Restaurant. The part that is the saloon now was the Addington Auto Company. The building was erected on the spot where the Overland Hotel stood before if burned in the big fire of 1915. Bud and his son, Hugh, sold and repaired Dodge and Ford cars here, plus Fordson tractors until about 1925. They also briefly sold Baker steam-powered cars. Hugh’s son, Bruce now lives in Boise, and Bruce’s son, Dave is a Council electrician.
09248.jpg—Earl Bowman in his Council real estate office in 1910. Notice the apples stacked on his desk. This was the height of the fruit industry boom here.
Gladys Bowman Knight.jpg--Earl Bowman’s daughter, Gladys. In the 1920s and ‘30s she made a name for herself as a singer. The Los Angeles Times said her mezzo-soprano voice “has attracted considerable attention among radio fans the country over.” Gladys married Leonard Randall Knight and lived in Council during the last years of her life.
“In the spring of 1920, Earl Wayland Bowman entered the national literary world as a novelist, when The Ramblin’ Kid, a best-seller, was published by Bobbs-Merill Company. It was fist published in serial form by Munsey’s All Story Weekly the same year. His title, The Ramblin’ Kid, was the name he himself had been known by in the days when he earned his livelihood ranching Texas longhorns in Texas and new Mexico and later, when he moved from place to place doing print jobs, setting type by hand.”
“In 1923, Universal Pictures Corporation bought the moving picture rights. Since the starring role called for superb horsemanship, the internationally famous movie actor and horseman, Hoot Gibson, was chosen.”
“The picture had its premiere in Los Angeles the night President Warren G. Harding died suddenly in San Francisco. The show was interrupted to flash the shocking news on the screen. It was an unpropitious beginning but the movie went on to great popularity and in 1930 was made into a talkie with the author writing the scenario.”
“The success of The Ramblin’ Kid prompted Bobbs-Merrill to offer E. W. Bowman a contract for five more novels but, characteristically, he declined, saying that it was impossible for him to write under contract. Five more westerns? No, he thought not. H said he had put everything he had into The Ramblin’ Kid.”
2-11-10
This is the last of story of Earl Wayland Bowman. Again, unless otherwise noted, quotations are from the booklet written by his daughter, Gladys Knight.
As a member of the Fish & Game Committee, Bowman wrote a bill creating the “Black Lake Game Preserve”—the first game preserve created in Idaho. The Governor
signed the bill in February 1915. “He [Bowman] got the bill passed and, since there was not an elk in Idaho west of Island Park Divide (near the Wyoming line), he persuaded Jess Gowan, state Game Warden to use $5,000 of funds appropriated to his office, to buy elk from the United States government. Senator Bowman personally worked out the details and arranged to have two carloads of elk shipped from Yellowstone park on the P.&I.N. Railroad through Council and New Meadows to Black Lake Game Preserve. It was an exciting event and people all along the way came out to see the animals.”
Things moved swiftly after the bill was passed, with the elk arriving before the end of that month. The Council Leader, Fri. Feb 26, 1915, reported, "The 50 elk for the Black Lake preserve arrived in two cars attached to the passenger train on Tuesday, and nearly the whole town was down to see them. They were taken to New Meadows to be unloaded and two of them escaped and made of for the hills."
The game preserve was, as the name implies, in the Black Lake area and quite isolated. The elk were unloaded at the railroad stockyard at New Meadows and herded a short distance by local cowboys. The Council Leader, May 14, 1915 reported that J.W. Davis, deputy game warden, was in Meadows Valley checking on the new elk band and said they were "doing fine." As I’ve noted in previous writing, the hunting season on elk was closed in this part of Idaho for about 30 years after this initial reintroduction of elk.
The Black Lake Game Preserve covered 67,200 acres. The lower boundary of the preserve started on the west, near the mouth of Sawpit Creek, and extended straight east to about two miles past the Little Salmon River. From here, the boundary went six miles north, then back to the Snake River. It included all of Township 22 N., Range 1 East, 1 West, 2 West, and those Sections in 3 West east of the Snake River.
The Preserve was ultimately of questionable value. Very little information is available to show if the preserve actually increased the deer population during its 23-year existence. Eight years after the preserve was established, Geologists Livingston and Laney noted that the Seven Devils area was still "peculiarly destitute of large game." They said that the altitude and terrain were more conducive to Mountain Sheep and Goats that competed heavily for the available forage. The Black Lake Game Preserve was abolished by an act of the State legislature in 1935.
When the legislative session ended in the spring of 1915, Earl moved his family back to Council, renting “a new home on the hill just across the river-bridge from town.” He soon found himself traveling as a war correspondent on the U.S. – Mexican border, and making a lecture tour of southwest Idaho. The Bowmans moved to Boise again in the fall of 1916.
It was then that Earl had a number of stories published in magazines. Gladys donated of number of these magazines containing her father’s stories to the museum: The Golden Trail" magazine--June 1916; The Golden Trail: Homeseeker's Monthly 14 issues 1916 to 1919; Los Angeles Times - Illustrated Magazine--June 11, 1922; Ace-High Magazine--October 3, 1923; Argosy All-Story Weekly 6 issues, 1924; Munsey Magazine--October 1927; The Westerner Magazine--June, 1930; Ranch Romances Magazine (“Love Stories of the Real West”)--March 29 1940
Meanwhile Gladys was making news of her own. The Adams County Leader, Nov 6, 1925 said Miss Gladys Bowman "is attracting considerable attention as a radio singer of note in California."
The Adams County Leader (September 19, 1952) bore the news that Earl Wayland Bowman had died September 5th in Los Angeles. He was buried at Forest Lawn Cemetery at Los Angeles.
If you Google Earl Wayland Bowman, you will find that he wrote two more stories that were made into movies, and had a bit parts in two movies (1927 and 1931). The Ramblin; Kid was evidently re-released in 1929 as “The Long, Long Trail,” and was available on VHS tape at one time. This was Hoot Gibson’s first movie with sound. If you would like to read Bowman’s book, The Ramblin’ Kid is now available as a free text download from gutenberg.org. The book is also available from Amazon.com.
I would like to thank the Diamond Rebecca Lodge, which is disbanding, for a generous donation to the museum. This organization, which is associated with the International Order of Odd Fellows, was one of the oldest groups in the area, dating back to the earliest days of Council.
I’ve mentioned before that a big reunion is being planned for the Council High School classes of 1960 through 1970. We are still looking for some members of those classes. We are also looking for faculty members from those years. The following is a list of people we would like information about. I realize several of them are most likely dead by now, but I would like confirmation of any who are. If anyone has information as to how to contact these people, or if you have any questions, please contact me. 253-4582 or dafisk@ctcweb.net)
Douglas Bashaw, Fred Beckman, Marydon Been, Tom Brinkerhoff, Richard Brundage, Cara Byers, Mrs. Cameron (Librarian, 1969), Dan Cantrell, Henry Clouthier, James Davison, Nelva DeGroodt, Vern Edwards, J.R. Emigh, Mr. Fluharty, Faith Foltz, James Frank, Joseph Greer, Mrs. Hartrick, Ron Hill, William Holman, Mr. Holmes, Robert Hooper, Dolores Huffman, Miss Hugg, Reymond Ireland, Mrs. Iwerson, James Johnson, Janet Johnson, Alonda Klisis, Charlie Lappin, Gary Lappin, Ona Lay, Robert Maize, Mrs. Maize, Kenneth Moore, Emma Mount, Robert Nisbett, Myrna Peebles, Myrna, Richard Peters, Mr. Radford, David Sharratt, Donna Sherwood, Laurene Stanford, Jerry Stanford, Yvonne Swanstrom, Lester Thorup, Darwin Tyler, Ed Whitenett, Mr. Williams, Lloyd Wilson, Jack Wing, Mrs. Burgess, Mrs. Youngblood, Mrs. Joyce, Lillian Harvey, Mrs. France, Lydia Newman.
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97013--Ruth McBirney (head librarian at Boise State College) and Gladys Bowman Knight holding a framed photo of Gladys's father, Earl Wayland Bowman. This photo appeared in the Statesman with an article about Gladys donating a collection of her father’s memorabilia to the college (now a university).
09249--Earl Wayland Bowman on his horse, "El Reno" in the hills near Boise--early 1920s
Argosy Cover—One of the magazines featuring one of Bowman’s stories.
2-18-10
In recent columns, I’ve mentioned the creation of Adams County. Here are a couple quotations from the Weiser newspaper at the time the bill was going through the legislature. I’ve abbreviated some mundane parts, and in the case of the second article, the microfilm photo didn’t clearly show certain words that are shown here as blanks.
Weiser Signal--January 31, 1911:
S.B. No. 74 Introduced by Senator Freehafer—Valuation $1,500,00.
Council County Seat.
Boise, Jan. 30.—Senator Freehafer, of Washington county, Friday introduced the much expected Washington county division bill, which calls for the creation of Adams county from the upper half of the present one, with Council as the county seat.
The line of division proposed starts near the mouth of….[description of boundaries]
It is said that opposition to the bill has been developing for some time, and that petitions are now or will be filed by people of Meadows, Cambridge and Indian Valley, although the delegation here seem to have no fear for the bill as at present drafted.
The new county, under the present form of the bill, will include Indian Valley, Council Valley, Meadows valley, Hornet Creek, Bear Creek, the Seven Devils country and Price Valley. The area of the two parts is about the same. The assessable valuation of the old county would be $3,000,000; that of the new (Adams) county would be 1200 to 1500.
Weiser Signal--February 28, 1911:
BY A VOTE OF 32 TO 21
Bill Creating Adams County Passed the House—
Fate of Measure in Hands of Governor
Notwithstanding ninety percent of the people of Washington county have shown the members of the legislature plainly that they were opposed to a division of the county, the measure creating Adams county from the Third Commissioner’s district of Washington county passed the house, last evening by a vote of 32 to 21, one more vote than that by which it was recommended for passage by the committee of the whole. The bill now goes to the governor, and what he will do is problematic. If he believes in majority rule he will veto it, but if he yields to political fixer the new county is a certainty.
Boise, Feb. 28.—There was a nervous tension all during the morning and afternoon sessions over Adams county. The members were not a bit loath to state that they had been labored with by both sides and they hardly knew what to do. Many things seemed to hinge on county ___--appropriations, bridge bill and everything else. When it was called by the clerk at about 4 o’clock almost every member was in his seat.
Galloway was the first to be recognized. “Mr. Speaker,” he said, “I feel that action on this bill should be deferred at this time. I have received notice that those who brought these petitions here and secured the signatures from the people in the upper country, falsified. I have received this word from Mr. Lucas of Salmon Meadows. I would like to ____ until tomorrow to get the exact ___ on this.”
“I move that the bill be indefinitely postponed,” shouted Representative Brewer.
“Oh, let us vote on it right here and now and be done with it,” said ___ of Boise county.
“I am going to vote against the bill,” said Morgan, “but I would like to have a chance to vote on it today and I would ask that Mr. Brewer withdraw his motion. The people of the state should know how we vote on these matters and I want my vote on the roll call. I might not dare to go near Adams county for two of three years, but I will vote ‘nay’ just the same.”
A roll call was repeatedly demanded, but the speaker recognized Davis. “I am like Mr. Morgan,” he said. I want to vote on the bill today and have it done with, but unlike him. I am going to vote for it. I think that the people have a right to create a new county if they want it and I insist that we vote on it now.”
The motion to indefinitely postpone was lost and the bill was passed 32 votes to 21.
According to Senator Freehafer, the author of the bill, the lineup was but little changed from what it was on Friday, when it was acted favorably on in the committee of the whole. He stated yesterday afternoon that while he had lost four supporters for the bill he had gained four.
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I would like to thank Lisa (Gossard) Olson for a generous donation to the Council Valley Museum in memory of Kenny Schwartz.
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Photo captions:
96065—Albertus L. Freehafer about 1905, one year before he was elected to Idaho’s State Legislature from Washington County. On the back of the souvenir card from which this photo came was written, "A swell guy and a smart old cookie." He was Senator James McLure's maternal grandfather. Freehafer also taught school in the school that once stood atop the hill north of downtown Council, and was an attorney and realtor.
72052—Council about the time Adams County was created. The Overland Hotel is at the right. The building at the left edge was The First Bank of Council at the time, and is still standing today. Recently, it housed Buckshot Mary’s, and for many years prior to that it was the Rexall Drug Store.
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It isn’t clear just when Albert Freehafer’s brother, William, arrived in Council. The first mention of him in the Council paper came in July 1910. He and his wife, Lilly, lived in a house just north of the northeast corner of Moser Avenue and Main Street at the time, and continued to live there for many years.
2-25-10
Last week I mentioned that Albert Freehafer was the maternal grandfather of former Senator Jim McClure. I thought I’d fill out that picture a little.
When Albertus (Albert) L. Freehafer and his wife, Olive, came to Council in 1902 they had a four year old daughter, Marie. Albert took the job of principal of Council’s schools, which would have been the school on the hill north of downtown, and possibly nearby schools, such as the White School. While occupied with this position, he studied law, and passed his bar exam in 1905. At that point, he became a full time attorney in Council.
Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Nov 29, 1905--"Prof. Freehafer is putting up a new house on his ranch across the river." This house was north of the Council-Cuprum Road, just west of the Weiser River. The house was out of sight from the main road. Apparently they did not live there for very long, but moved to the west side of Main Street, about a block north of Moser Avenue. Apparently they didn’t sell that place when they moved.
One of Albert Freehafer’s first investigations as an attorney involved a mystery. The Weiser Semi-Weekly Signal, Dec 27, 1905 reported that a man had disappeared near Council:
"Last summer, a well-dressed stranger about 40 years old, of portly build, arrived here [Council], driving a little team of brown mules and leading a small bay saddle pony. He was of reticent disposition and while he mingled freely about the town with the people he never mentioned his name nor his business, other than that he was looking over the country in search of a location as rancher. While here, he traded the mule team to James Krigbaum for a team of horses. The following day he drove to Henderson canyon, about a mile east of town, unhitched his team threw the harness on the ground, unrolled his bed beside the wagon and went away up the canyon, apparently hunting. That is the last that has ever been seen of him."
The horses came back to Krigbaum's place along Hornet Creek on their own. A rancher named Grossen picked up the harness and put it in the deserted wagon. Nobody reported the man missing until winter set in. The paper said Constable R.D. Hinkley and Attorney Freehafer were investigating. As far as I know, the guy was never found.
Joseph Carr and A.L. Freehafer formed a partnership in a real estate, insurance and mining brokerage businesses in 1906 under the name The Western Idaho Real Estate Agency. That November, Freehafer was elected as one of two State Representatives from Washington County. By 1910 I think their office was a small structure abutting the east end of the Pomona Hotel on Moser Avenue.
Meadows Eagle, May 7, 1908--A.L. Freehafer is president of the Washington county Sunday School Association. The Secretary is Dr. Brown of Council.
In November of 1908 Albert Freehafer was elected to the State Senate from Washington County.
In September of 1909, a family came to Council that would unite in destiny with the Freehafers. Andrew and Daisy McClure arrived from Boise to live just west of the Weiser River and south of what is now the Council-Cuprum Road. (2035 Council-Cuprum Road--the place Dr. Monger lived when he was here.) They bought the place, and the log cabin that came with it, from someone named Peterson. The McClures had an 18-year-old daughter, Mary who they called “Mamie,” and a 13-year-old son, William.
It isn’t clear just when Albert Freehafer’s brother, William, arrived in Council. The first mention of him in the Council paper came in July 1910. He and his wife, Lilly, lived in a house just north of the northeast corner of Moser Avenue and Main Street at the time, and continued to live there for many years.
Albert Freehafer was reelected and became minority leader in the State Senate in 1910. The next year he formed a law practice partnership in Council with James Stinson. He was also appointed as Council’s city attorney that year.
As I noted last week, when Adams County was created in 1911, Albert Freehafer pushed the bill through the legislature. When the bill passed, Council celebrated with a bonfire on the hill north of downtown. At a later, and more official celebration, Governor Hawley spoke to a jubilant crowd.
In a letter to me, Jim McClure wrote about the local view of his grandfather’s work in getting the bill passed: “The people of Council were so grateful that they gave him a gold pocket watch (which I have) and a diamond stickpin (the diamond from which my sister in law has). Gifts like that were apparently acceptable then!”
Senator McClure continued: “When Adams County was created, all the County records pertaining to the lands in the new county had to be transcribed from the Washington County records in Weiser. My aunt, Mamie [McClure], did that work. You will find all the original Adams County records in her handwriting. She worked in the County Courthouse until the place on Hornet Creek was sold and they moved to Payette.”
I’ll continue with the Freehafer/McClure story next week.
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3-4-10
About the same time that Albert Freehafer was working to get Adams County created, he was involved in saving Packer John’s Cabin at Meadows. In August of 1911, the Nampa Leader-Herald quoted State Historian John Hailey: “This association of ladies, headed by the indomitable Mr. and Mrs. A. B. Lucas of Meadows, put us to work and through the energy and good efforts of Senator Freehafer, got a small appropriation to rescue this venerable old convention hall from decay. Suffice it to say that the building has been taken down, decayed logs taken out and new ones put in, ten acres of land in and around it purchased, arrangements made to have the ten acres fenced and all at the total cost of less than $500 to the state.”
In the first days of 1912, Albert’s wife, Olive, gave birth to a baby that died within two months. Almost exactly a year later, William Freehafer’s wife, Lilly, had a baby girl that they named Rose. Three months after his daughter’s birth, Will bought an interest in Albert Woodell’s confectionery store, remodeled and built onto it, and converted it a bakery and lunchroom.
By 1914, Albert Freehafer was a busy man. He was chairman of Council’s board of trustees (the equivalent of mayor), was partnered with Joseph Carr in a Real Estate business, was director of the First Bank of Council (which merged with Council State Bank under Freehafer’s legal guidance), and had bought and sold an interest in the Golden Anchor gold mine.
When was appointed to the Idaho Public Utilities Commission as one of the first such commissioners in 1915, Albert moved to Boise. James Stinson regrouped by partnering with P.A. McCallum and moving into the Fifer building. The Fifer building was also housing offices of the county’s probate judge and sheriff, as the courthouse had not yet been built.
Meanwhile William Freehafer moved into Albert’s former house on Main Street. After his PUC position ended, Albert moved to Payette where he practiced law.
Sometime around 1918 Will Freehafer had a son, William E. Freehafer Jr.
By 1919, Albert Freehafer still owned part or all of the former Gillespie building, but it was now housing the Twite & Leonard Auto Company. The next June, William McClure graduated from the University of Idaho and went into a law practice with James Stinson. This partnership didn’t last long, as Stinson soon left Council.
Only a month after graduating, William McClure married Albert Freehafer’s daughter, Marie. In his letter, Jim McClure wrote about his parents: “He and my mother then established their home, east of the river. As you travel east across the bridge and towards town, their place was on the north side of the road at the first right-angle turn to the south. They lived there until they moved to Payette in 1924. My two older brothers were born while they lived there, but they were actually born in the old log cabin on the home place west of the river.” Marie evidently went to her in-law’s (Andrew and Daisy McClure’s) place to give birth.
In 1921, William McClure was elected Adams County's prosecuting attorney. It was around this time that William Freehafer and John Freeze established the Cuddy Mine on the eastern slope of Cuddy Mountain, where they would be engaged in extracting gold for years to come.
In 1923, one of William McClure’s classmates at the U of I, a young man from the Cambridge area named Carl Swanstrom, came to Council to practice law with McClure. Carl was appointed McClure’s deputy in the prosecuting attorney’s office.
I’ll have more on the Freehafer / McClure families next week, as well as stories about the Freeze and Freehafer’s Cuddy Mine.
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Photos:
03014-- The Pomona Hotel on the southeast corner of Moser and Main in 1910, still getting its finishing touches. I think the building at the far end of the Pomona is the first Carr & Freehafer real estate office.
72046—The building at the left edge of this photo was built by a dentist, Dr. C.P. Gillespie, in 1912. Before it was built, the Winkler blacksmith shop occupied this lot on the northeast corner of Moser and Main. In fact, Gillespie may have simply remodeled and put a second story on the old shop, which was the plan announced in the Council newspaper that spring. By 1915 the building was occupied by attorney B.J. Dillon, and Carr & Freehafer Real Estate. Albert Freehafer would have been in Boise around this time, but he retained at least some ownership of this building, and may have kept his hand in the local real estate business. In August 1922 the garage was gutted by fire. Carl Swanstrom later had his office on this lot, and I can’t help but think he bought it from Albert Freehafer.
72108—Council, 1905. Left to right--Lowe & Jones store, the Fifer building that Stinson and McCallum moved into in 1915, and the Sam Criss store (later the Merit Store, Shaver’s and now Ronnie’s.
3-11-10
In 1923, just a year after Carl Swanstrom joined him to practice in Council, year, William McClure moved his family to Payette and joined his father in law, Albert Freehafer, in his law practice. Swanstrom took over the Adams County prosecuting attorney position.
Future U.S. Senator, James McClure, was born to William and Marie McClure on December 27, 1924 in Payette.
The June 1, 1928 issue of the Adams County Leader said, "Bobby, Raymond and Jamie McClure, small sons of Mr. and Mrs. Will McClure of Payette..." are visiting their grandparents, the A.R. McClures.
The paper also reported that summer that Will Freehafer had left his car along Hornet Creek road overnight, and it was stripped of tires, battery and tools. Around that time, there were frequent reports of auto parts, especially spare wheels and tires being stolen.
Will Freehafer and John Freeze continued to be active in their Cuddy Mine holdings into the 1920s. They apparently sold this property, or at least an interest in it, by the end of that decade. The new owners employed over a dozen men, installed an ore mill, a bunkhouse, cookhouse, warehouse, four cabins and more. An icehouse insulated with sawdust stood above the road here a few years ago. (This was 8.5 miles from the Council-Cuprum Road from the junction at the old Hornet Guard Station.) I haven’t been back in years and it may be pretty much gone now. In 1925, the Cuddy Mine employed ten men and was yielding about $400 per day in gold. By 1935, Bud and Hugh Addington and Sylvester Levander owned the mine, and they were selling it to someone from Boise.
The price of gold went up significantly during the 1930s. During the previous couple of decades, the price had hovered around $20 per ounce. By 1933 it had gone to around $26, and in 1934 leveled off at around $34.50 for the rest of the Depression and through the ‘40s and ‘50s. (Just as a point of interest, by 1970 the price was still $36. By 1980 it had skyrocketed to a temporary peak of over $600 before leveling out at around $300 for a number of years. By 2004 it had returned to $300 or more and now it is over $1,000 per ounce.)
In the 1930s, several area gold mines saw a revival because of the price of gold. Placer Basin was one. During the winter of 1935-36 G.T. Hamill and his sons, Harold and Ray, had a "Big 30 horse power diesel caterpillar tractor" pulling "a monster bob sled carrying eight tons of ore to a load.” The Leader said, “The outfit operates night and day and loads out a couple cars of ore each week,..."
Freehafer and Freeze were also involved in the North Hornet Mines in the 1930s, setting up an ore mill there in 1932. By 1935 they had 15 to 20 men employed on North Hornet, installing a sawmill and other buildings. The next year the mine was in financial difficulty and the county sold it for back taxes. Twenty-eight buildings were listed in the sale.
In 1939 Albert Freehafer moved back to the Council area and lived for a time in his “cabin” at Starkey. Apparently he was at least semi-retired at this point, but began practicing law and selling real estate in Luther Burtenshaw’s old office. (Burtenshaw had died the year before.) The Leader mentioned that Freehafer, along with partners Bill and Lewis Winkler, were selling the Golden Anchor mine, which they had purchased in 1914.
Just the next year (October, 1940), Albert suffered a stroke while out hunting grouse and died within a few days. Andrew McClure died in 1945.
James McClure, who was given his grandfather Freehafer’s first name, Albertus, for his middle name, became one of Idaho’s U.S. Representatives for 6 years (1966-72) and U.S. Senator for 18 years (1972-90). Larry Craig followed McClure in the Senate. After leaving the Senate, McClure became a mining consultant and lobbyist in Washington, D.C. In September 1995, the new home of the College of Mines and Earth Resources at the University of Idaho was dedicated as James A. McClure Hall. On December 12, 2001, the Federal Building and U.S. Court House in Boise was renamed for McClure. In December of 2008, McClure suffered a stroke, from which he has mostly recovered. He and his wife have a home in McCall.
I have a question. Does anyone remember a Council High School janitor named Freehafer or someone with a similar name?
Also, I got a call asking if I knew of the whereabouts of Bonnie Craddock who graduated from Council High School about 1948. If anyone has information about her or the Craddock family in general, please let me know.
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Photos:
72097-- Adams County officials in the 1920s or ‘30s. Left to right in the front row: unkown, Matilda Moser, Inez Burger, Mabel Martin (Hoover), Mamie McClure, Jennie Lewis (superintendent of schools), unknown. Rear from left to right: Ed Wade, Bill Winkler, Carl Swanstrom, Dr. Alvin Thurston, and two unidentified.
98016—William R. McClure, James McClure’s father Adams County prosecuting attorney 1923 – 1924.
01025—Albertus Freehafer if the second man from the left. This photo was taken at Mesa Orchards around 1910. One of the other men may be a member of the Woods family.
3-18-10
Written by Eunice Skilling. Sent by her brother, Denzel Downing:
I can’t remember who sent me the piece of writing that I’m going to feature in my next two columns. It must have been a relative of Katie Marble, but I can’t tell you who wrote it. I’m sure some of you will remember several of these people. Those of you who don’t may find it an interesting story of the way things used to be.
First, for those who don’t remember, Katie Marble was a teacher in the Council area from 1913 to 1957. There was a time when she had pretty much taught at least one member of any family who lived in the area long enough.
Here is the letter. I’ve made a few changes to spelling and punctuation and added any comments within brackets.
Late August 1934 Marion and Daisy Downing had a sale and moved to Idaho. Daisy had not seen her sister Katie Marble for 25 years. She had talked about taking a couple of her children and going by train to see Katie. Finally Marion decided and said, “If you insist upon going we'll all go.” Eunice [Downing, later Skilling] had started the freshman year in high school at Calhoun two weeks prior.
Middle of September the 1926-27 model T Ford was loaded with the family Marion, Daisy, Ralph, Eunice, Koss and Denzel. It took us seven days to travel from Calhoun Missouri to Council, Idaho, about 1100 miles. This was before Freeways. We stayed each night except one in motels.
We rented Uncle Joe Cole's ranch located about a mile off the main road on Hornet Creek. Koss and I went to school at Upper Dale. Our teacher, Miss Williams, taught all lower grades and the first three years of High School. She taught at Council after Upper Dale.
August 1935 Marion wanted Daisy and kids to move back to Missouri for two reasons. His Mother, my Grandmother was in her last days of life with cancer of the stomach or liver. My Dad wanted my Mother to help take care of her. The second reason, he said, was that Ralph and I were going to the dogs because we were going to the neighborhood dances. When we went to them, we'd get home around 3:00 AM. Dad said we were too tired to do a days work.
Dad and a neighbor man that bought the Keyes Ranch were back yard mechanics, so they overhauled the old Model T Ford. On the first of September 1935 we started back with Ralph, 18 years old, driving. We got to Mountain Home Idaho when we had to stop at a garage to have the car fixed. The two back yard mechanics did not get the oil going to the pistons. That took a chunk of the little money that Mom had. The car was working OK, but we were without money when we got to Rock Springs, Wyoming. We camped east of town in the open sagebrush. Our meals were fried potatoes with lard we had. Our water was a 5-gallon milk can--all loaded with the limited wardrobe we had loaded on the driver’s side of the car. Cars are not made with running boards now--only with fenders over the wheels. Ralph took Mom to the telegraph station in Rock Springs to wire Dad for money.
The potatoes we had was the biggest we had ever seen. Dad had planted them on virgin soil near the irrigation ditch where there was plenty of water. I always wondered why we didn't have any apples to take with us.
My Mother went back to the telegraph station expecting to receive the money. She didn't have any identification except a family picture. The office would not give her the money unless she brought all us kids with her.
Ralph had taken the plate cover from the bands over the oil box to tighten the lower band, and upset the screws into the oil box. Ralph always said "It was life’s darkest moment" No transportation. No money. And we all had to appear at the telegraph
station. At least we could fry potatoes on a sage brush fire. Our camping spot is now covered over by the freeway.
Next week—getting out of a bad situation.
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Photos:
00213-- Daisy Downing during the 1950s. She was a cook at Council restaurants from 1942 to 1965. She and Katie Marble were sisters, and aunts of Fred and Raymond Cole.
98034—This picture has little to do with the story, but does show Mable Downing and a car of about that era packing a passel of people. This picture from Pat Phipps Bethel (that’s her sitting on the fender) shows: George Heathco (driver), Dorothy Johnson, Mearle Heathco (front passenger seat). Just to right of George: Mable Downing (George & Minnie Phipp's sister who was visiting). Annie Johnson holding her son Elmer. Truda & Mami Heathco are in the rear sea at the far side. Minnie Phipps (face hidden) behind George's hat.
3-25-10
I’m continuing with the story of the Downing family’s adventures.
We had to hitch hike or walk to Rock Springs. We must have been at least a mile or more out. So Mom, Koss, Denzel and I hitched a ride. Ralph was a grown man at 18 so he knew his hitching with us might hinder a chance for a ride, so he came later. Mom received $85.00 I think. Dad always insisted that he sent more money, but we sure didn't get any more. Ralph and Mom went to the garage and the car was towed. They used a magnet to pull the screws out of the oil box. It was getting late in the day, so we stayed the third night camped in the same spot. We camped out each night on our return to the farm in Calhoun. Mom asked me to take care of her purse after we left Rock Springs. Some place where we stopped I put the purse on top of the car. After a distance I thought of where I had left it and I about died. We'd had enough trouble, but I got up enough nerve to tell Mom. Ralph stopped and thank the Lord the purse was safely riding.
The farm was 80 acres, all rich bottom ground and a quarter mile off the mail route. That lane was overlapped with horseweeds taller than the car; we were covered with yellow pollen. The first thing Ralph did the next morning was go to a neighbor to borrow a team and mower to cut the horseweeds down so we could get in and out
After the lane was cleared Ralph took Mom to help care for Grandma Downing. Denzel stayed with Ralph; Koss and I got our selves in to school. I was a sophomore and Koss went to the country grade school.
There was a creek dividing the farm west to east and a larger deeper creek named Tebo running north to south. The Tebo was deep enough we went horse back to school to get across the creek. Koss and I always rode double before the stock was sold at the sale. Koss had to wade the creek when we returned and no horses. Our school was 2 1/2 miles to grade school or when the Creek was up we had to go around by 2 bridges which made it 4 miles. Calhoun High was a 3-mile walk for me. That wasn't bad unless the mail route across the bottom had ankle deep dust, or in winter time when the road as freezing and thawing making walking miserable and almost impossible.
Grandma passed away in October. Dad was in Idaho until late December. He had lived with Nellie Roberston & husband part time. He picked apples at Mesa Orchard, living with others until the crop was picked. If I remember correctly he was paid 2 cents a bushel for picking. Then he worked at the diary of the man that helped mechanic that car that lived at Star Idaho. Dad returned by train!
Double cousin Roy Cole rented the farm while we were in Idaho. He pastured some horses. Then came a heavy rain and both creeks flooded which covered the farm except the three or four acre knoll where the house, barn and well were. Roy thought the horses would drown. He had never seen a flood like that. It happened many times when we lived there. The creeks come up fast and usually drained away in 24 hours. As soon as the creeks went back down Roy moved the horses back to Uncle Everett’s farm. He never attempted to put in a crop so for a couple months the lane to the house had not been used thus grew the horseweeds. Can you feature Roy being in the Navy, and got so upset because of the flood at the farm?
Most every Saturday while we were in Idaho that year you would find those two sisters walking up and down the streets in Council. My Mother would instruct me to clean house while she was gone. There was no way you can make up in one year what you've missed out for twenty-five years but they sure tried! Well the family in Idaho were so good to us and we loved meeting them.
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Photo caption:
99414-- Fred & Ruth Cole. From Gene Camp's album.
4-1-10
Twenty years ago I started writing my first book on local history. It’s still unfinished. It got laid aside while I finished three other books, but now I’m back working on it. The book is to be a guidebook of sorts for the area between Council and the Seven Devils Mining District. In reading Butch Cornell’s recent book Thunder in the Mountains about the Seven Devils Mining District (which I highly recommend by the way), I ran across more of a story that I had found in old newspapers but about which Butch found a couple more references to round out the tale. His discoveries also made the story more bizarre, as you will see.
To piece this tale together, aside from Butch’s book, I consulted the 1900 Federal Census; an oral history interview of Jesse Smith and Anna Adams by Jim Camp, spring 1971; the Salubria and Cambridge Citizen newspapers (same paper, just moved); the Idaho Statesman; and The Seven Devils Mining District by Winifred Lindsay.
First a little background. The copper in the Seven Devils Mining District just north of Cuprum helped start the settlement of the Council area. Mining didn’t really get started up there until Albert Kleinschmidt arrived with money and expertise in 1885. He had the Kleinschmidt Grade built in 1990 to haul ore 22 miles from the Peacock Mine to the Snake River. The plan was to unload the ore wagons onto a steamship (the Norma named after Kleinschmidt’s daughter), which would transport the ore to a railroad that would provide transport to a smelter.
The steamship idea failed, and Kleinschmidt left the area, even though he kept investments in the mines until 1899 and his sons stayed here for years afterward.
Because of the remote and rugged location of the Seven Devils Mining District, transporting ore was a key issue. If the ore could be refined into actual copper, it would save hauling out tons of waste material. The idea of smelting ore close to mines was not a new idea, and came up repeatedly since the discovery of copper here. But smelting is an intensive and expensive process. First, it takes a massive amount of prolonged heat. Plus it involves more than just melting the metal out of ore. Even the most pure copper ore is a chemical compound of copper with other elements, such as sulfur. To produce copper, these compounds have to undergo a chemical reaction with a source of carbon, usually in a wood- or coal-burning furnace. Smelting uses reducing substances that will combine with those oxidizing elements to free the metal. In addition, almost no ore is pure, so a flux (such as lime) must be added to react with the impurities and carry them off as slag.
In 1897, after several years of little happening in the mining district, a New York company built a smelter at what would become the town of Cuprum. The town of Cuprum was so named because its existence was due to copper mining. In Roman times, copper became known as aes Cyprium (aes being the generic Latin term for copper alloys such as bronze and other metals, and Cyprium because so much of it was mined in Cyprus). From this, the Latin phrase was simplified to cuprum. That is why the symbol on the periodic table for the element copper is “Cu.”
Next week: a story right out of the pages of the National Enquirer.
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Captions:
Freehafer photo.jpg--
A few weeks ago, I asked about a janitor at Council High named Freehafer. Bob Hagar sent this photo from the dedication page of an old yearbook. The dedication reads: “The annual staff of 1946-47, proudly dedicates the LUMBERJACK to a most faithful custodian, William E. Freehafer, who, in his competent way, has taken care of Council High School since the building was opened in 1941. “Bill,” ever courteous, ever considerate, ever willing to go out of his way to make school life smoother for others, has truly earned our respect, our thanks, and this humble dedication.”
Landore smelter.jpg—I don’t know of any photos of the Cuprum smelter, but this one at Landore might resemble it. Neither of the smelters worked cost effectively.
95240L.jpg-- The chimney from the Landore Smelter was all that was left after the building was burned and the machinery salvaged for scrap iron during WWII.
4-8-10
One of the more colorful stories from Cuprum’s past involves John Denny who ran a store there. Denny had owned stores in Salubria and Alpine. In both places, he had been the local postmaster, housing the post offices in his stores. Bob Barbour was Denny's partner in the Alpine store. In 1898, the men moved their business to Cuprum. They had Al Tousley build their new store building there. That November, Denny became Cuprum's second postmaster, installing the post office in the back of the store.
John Denny and his wife took in a girl named Garnet Beal, and raised her as their own. Whether she was legally adopted or not is unclear, but many in the community assumed as much. In fact the 1900 Census lists John (age 46) and Alice (43) Denny as having an 18-year-old adopted daughter Garnet Denny Beal living with them. Also boarding with them was a 42-year-old blacksmith named Joseph Bell.
Here is where the plot thickens.
In May of the year before (1899) the Statesman newspaper featured a request by a woman from Cuprum who was desperate to locate a blacksmith named Joseph J. Bell. She said she had known him to be in Colorado in March. He was described as being about 41 years old, dark hair and eyes, 5’ 10” tall, 160 pounds, lightly pockmarked face, and had most of the third finger of his right hand missing. The woman seemed to be Bell’s sister, and signed her urgent plea as “G. C. Bell.”
In February of 1901, the mining district was rocked with scandal. The Denny's marriage ended in an abrupt divorce under very interesting circumstances, even for modern sensibilities. The Boise and Cambridge newspapers both reported the divorce of Mr. & Mrs. John Denny, and both list Mrs. Denny’s name as Amanda instead of Alice. But each paper printed a different version of the bizarre story, confusing names and relationships almost beyond understanding.
The Statesman said Garnet Beal had come to visit her father’s brother, Joe Beal, in Boise. She then went to Cuprum to visit Amanda Denny, to whom she was distantly related by marriage. When Joe Beal asked Garnet to come back to Boise, she refused. Joe came to Cuprum to get her, but Amanda Denny reportedly took her to Oregon to evade Joe. Joe followed them to Oregon but lost their trail.
On the day the Denny divorce was granted, both papers seem to agree that
John Denny & Garnet registered at the Pacific Hotel in Boise as “J.A. Denny and Miss Denny, Baker City.” They apparently married shortly thereafter and took up residence someplace in Oregon, possibly Baker.
Joe Beal seems to have actually been Joe Bell, whose name the Statesman got wrong, saying:
…the former Mrs. Denny, the defendant in the divorce suit, is to marry James J. Bell, the Cuprum blacksmith who was missing for some time and to ascertain whose whereabouts some Cuprum woman wrote a pitiful anonymous appeal to the Statesman, the substance of which was published a the time. She claimed to be in great distress because of her inability to locate him. It is not known definitely who the woman is, although developments give rise to strong suspicion as to her identity.
Apparently the Statesman figured Mrs. Denny was the woman looking for Joe Bell. But could the 1899 Statesman missing person ad signed “G. C. Bell” have been Garnet Bell/Beal? Could she have actually been Joe Beal/Bell’s niece? Was she already planning a marriage with John Denny and looking for her uncle to make a love match for her adopted mother?
However it happened the arrangements for this amorous game of musical chairs seem to have been planned in advance with the mutual agreement of all concerned. Where was the Jerry Springer show when they needed it?!
When the dust settled, Bob Barbour must have been shaking his head in amazement. Having been left with the store to run, Bob soon made his own changes, moving it to the new town of Decorah.
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Captions:
95244—Bob Barbour in his later years. He is better remembered as a moonshiner than a storekeeper, and is said to have made a high-quality product.
96173—One of the earliest known photos of Cuprum, probably about the time of the Denny/Beal story. Mrs. Clark with her two teen-age daughters and small granddaughter on front porch of her hotel, which was soon added onto and became the Seven Devils Hotel.
95240—This is the photo of the Landore smelter chimney that I meant to submit last week. Somehow another photo was sent by mistake.
4-15-10
I found the letter that came with the Downing story. It came from Denzel Downing, and the story was written by his sister, Eunice Skilling.
Now, I’m going to start a series of columns on subjects closer to home.
The Bethels were a Fruitvale family back before I was born, and my parents knew them well. In fact, through a few marriages, you might say we are shoestring relatives. More on that later.
A few years ago I visited Willard Bethel who was living in Boise. Willard was June Childers’ brother, and both of them have passed on now. Willard gave me a copy of part of his autobiography to add to my local history reference material, and I thought I would share with you the parts that are relevant to our area. I will add comments here and there within brackets.
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I was born in the small town of Fruitvale, Idaho on Jan. 6, 1918. World War One had ended only a few months before. In trying to figure why I was named Willard Orville, an aunt explained that it had something to do with the Wright Brothers and the publicity they got with the Army Air Corp. When I was little, it was Willard or Willie, but during my working years, I was mostly known as Bill.
Fruitvale was a village founded by my Grandfather, George Robertson, and another man who lived in the same area. [Actually, several other people were involved.] Both had a section or more of land and the village site was taken there from. The townsite was divided into a few good sized lots which they sold. The town never got very large. Total population was never more than 150 people.
When I was about 6 years old, George deeded 5 acres on the south end of his farm to my mother and dad. This became our homestead
[George and Martha Robertson lived where Amy Glenn’s house is now—just north of this acreage. Ward and Margaret Fry later owned this 5-acre piece of Bethel land. It now belongs to Helen Glidden. It is just on the north side of West Fork Road and abuts the old railroad grade (Weiser River Trail) on its east edge. Until the late 1980s there was a tall barn standing near where Helen’s house is now.]
My father, Roy Bethel, moved two houses, already built on the townsite and not in use, to a new location on the corner of our acreage. He fastened these together with an archway, installed a kitchen and made three bedrooms, and declared this to be OUR house.
It wasn't a great house but it was warm and comfortable. Dad dug a well, placing the hand operated pump at the end of the sink. That was the water supply. Hot water came from the tea kettle. A reservoir holding 5 gallons or so at the end of the wood burning cook stove gave bulk hot water for baths and washing up. On wash days, a copper boiler heated water on top the cook stove to wash and rinse clothing. The toilet was a two-holer located about 200 feet from the house. If it was real cold, a pot under the bed made do.
To be continued next week.
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Photos captions:
98031--Roy and Millie Bethel and son, Willard. Willard was born in 1918 and died in 1997. Millie Robertson Bethel was the daughter of George and Martha Robertson.
95517—The house built by Roy Bethel Sr. The right (east) section was originally a store at Fruitvale. My parents lived in this house (2608 West Fork Road), briefly, just after they were married in 1949. Ward and Margaret Fry lived in it all during the 1950s and ‘60s. Helen Glidden bought the place in the early ‘80s, had part of it torn down in the early ‘90s, and the remainder of it burned in the late 1990s.
95275--George Robertson and his wife, Martha Harp Robertson, about 1919. Their daughter, Millie, married Roy Bethel Sr.
4-22-10
Continuing with the autobiography of Willard Bethel.
By the time we had moved to this house [that Willard’s father put together], my sister, June [who later married Clarke Childers], had been born. She was eighteen months younger than I. I can remember playing in the lane which ran in front of our house. It was a wonderful place to feel the dust against your bare feet. Mom worried about the cars, but not so much as she did about the irrigation ditch running on the west boundary of our driveway. One time we were playing in the ditch--strictly forbidden activity--and several leeches became attached to our legs. June nearly had hysterics until Dad arrived. He applied a lighted cigarette to the vicinity of each leech causing it to withdraw. This treatment presumably kept the leech from leaving its head under our skin. I don't remember ever playing in the ditch again.
June and I had a reputation for getting into trouble. One time Mom had a neighbor girl watch after us for a couple of hours. We escaped her attention-and decided to explore an abandoned water wheel that had been built years earlier to grind corn and grain.
[I wonder if this was a wheel that powered a sugar cane mill. Willard’s mother, Millie Bethel, wrote: Father raised acres of sugar cane and owned a sugar cane mill--a one-horse powered mill. The cane was topped, stripped, and cut in the field. It was hand-fed into the mill, the cane juice was squeezed out, caught in containers, and taken to a large vat with a furnace beneath. Then the cooking, stirring, and skimming began. The children were official tasters and were eager for the job when it was time for the stir-off which was usually quite late at night. The delicious sorghum was put into gallon cans, labeled, and sent to Council merchants Sam and Harry Criss.]
It [the water wheel] was a familiar sight, recognized as dangerous, and we had been told to stay away from the water wheel. My young mind assured me that it would be perfectly safe to climb on. June never questioned my leadership. There was a flume leading from the ditch to the wheel providing access. Several feet below the wheel was a mud filled pond a few inches deep. Since no water had poured over the wheel in many years, the pond was covered with scum and algae. Once on the wheel, I called for June to join me. Her extra weight was all it took to make the wheel begin turning. We were dumped into the pond. The neighbor girl, who by this time was searching for us, heard our screams and came to the rescue. The next step was a dunking in the ditch to wash off the mud. Mom got a full report of our running away and we probably got a spanking.
I remember a lot of good times growing up, but there were a lot of bad times too. We were poor in material things, but not as poor as some of the other families in the area. I remember it being a treat to have bowl of cornflakes for breakfast instead of the usual hotcakes or hot cereal or bacon and eggs. Cornflakes cost hard cash, the other things we grew. We always had a few milk cows, and a garden, maybe as much as half an acre. It consisted of vegetables, beans, fruit and berries. There was always plenty for us and half the neighbors. There was always someone sitting down for meals with us it seemed. Mom never turned a hungry person, kid or adult, away. [There was an agricultural depression all over the U.S. during the 1920s, and many in the Council area felt the brunt of it.]
We were dressed as well or better than the rest of the children in the village. Mom was handy with a needle and had an old Singer sewing machine. Cash was always in short supply. What little there was came from dad working out and from selling cream to the creamery.
In the summer of 1923, and evangelist arrived in town. He had a wife, two kids and a couple of singers. This had been arranged by someone in the community. He set up a big tent in a small meadow near the Weiser River bridge. [This was about a quarter mile west of their house.] The word was passed along that Reverend Brown would be conducting camp meetings for the next few weeks. This was an exciting event-looked forward to with great anticipation by the young folks. Social events were few and far between at Fruitvale. The Reverend Brown must have been good. A bunch of the villagers got saved, including some of my relatives and my mother.
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Photo captions:
95274-- Emsley Glenn, Albert Robertson, Millie Bethel, Willard Bethel, Mary Glenn and Fred Glenn. Emsley and Mary were Fred’s parents.
95271--The Fruitvale store as it looked about the time Willard was a boy. The man with the car is probably Pete Robertson. The others may be members of the Ryals family (who owned the store around this time).
4-29-10
A couple of weeks later [after the tent revival meetings], my mother was visiting Uncle Pete and his new bride Elvina. Viney, as we called her, and Pete had been imbibing in some of the famous Robertson home made whiskey. Prohibition was in effect, so someone had to make it for the community and my Uncles obliged. Pete and Viney had gone to the altar and Mom must have felt it her duty to set them straight on the evils of alcohol, especially when used by the SAVED. This didn't set too well with Viney. She called Mom a hypocrite. This upset Mom terribly and she began to bawl. My cousin, Fred [Glenn], was on the scene and felt it his duty to report all this to dad. Dad, upon hearing of the incident vowed to whip the hell out of Pete and run the Lewis tribe out of the country. The Lewis's were Pete's in-laws and so far as I know, innocent bystanders. At any rate, Dad jumped on our old-horse, Comet, and headed across the field to Pete's place. By the time he got there, Pete had passed out, and Viney had gone home with her folks so no blood was shed.
The combination of the river bridge and home brew reminds me of another time June and I got into trouble. We were older--eight and ten I suppose. Some relatives of the Ivys were visiting from Weiser and were camped on the same meadow as where the camp meeting had been held. [In the meadow near the bridge across the Weiser River, about a quarter mile west of the Bethel house. Until the early 1960s the road made a turn to the right to cross an old bridge. The old abutment is still there on the west side of the river, north of the present bridge.]
We had gone to the camp to visit. Our hostess was drinking home brew and offered us some. We had never tasted alcohol of any kind, having been taught that it was very bad for one. The invitation, so graciously offered, was hard to decline. The drink didn't taste good so some sugar was added to help the taste. It improved some but neither of us liked it much so declined further helpings. That evening during a debriefing of
our days activities, the home brew was mentioned. We were punished in some way or other and Mom paid a visit to the camp. No report was heard but relations between the Ivys' relatives and our family were not too cordial for sometime thereafter.
Council Valley was the ancestral meeting place for several tribes of Indians. In the early days it was wooded and pocketed with lush grass covered meadows. The Indians would gather for their annual Councils, hence the name of Council was applied by the early settlers. My grandfather [George Robertson], arriving in the late 1800's by
wagon train, settled in the upper end of the valley. Here he lived with his wife Martha, raised seven children and died in his 80s.
I was 70 years of age before I knew that he had a twin brother back in Missouri. Grandfather's family was never talked about that I can remember. It was only by going through records at the Idaho genealogical library that I was able to get any information about his generation. It was there that I learned a little bit about the rest of his family. He was old when I was young, but I still remember him working in the fields. Pioneer life took a great toll on the health and welfare of the early settlers.
Grandmother died when I was very young but I do remember how good she was to us children. When my brother Merril was born, I was about 5 or 6. We lived on the [Jim] Ward place at the time, which was a little less than half a mile from where my grandparents lived. [Laura Ward, Jim’s wife, was Millie Bethel’s sister.] Mom was having a hard time and Dad didn't want to leave her so he gave me a lantern and told me to bring Grandma to help. As young as I was, that trip will live in my memory as long as I live. The lane went through a deep woods, crossed two ditches before reaching the house. The shadows cast by the lantern were giant in my small eyes. There was a beaver dam on the Gould ditch. I was sure the beaver would be waiting for me at the bridge. It must have been late in the night when I arrived. I knocked on the door and Grandma met me in her night cloths. She knew how scared I must have been and told me what a brave boy I was. It was good to have her beside me as we walked home. Merril (Bud) was delivered in fine shape.
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Photo captions:
95279--The children of George and Martha Robertson. Left to right: Mary Robertson Glenn, Oliver Robertson, Beth Robertson Hill, Pete Robertson, Millie Robertson Bethel, Albert Robertson, Laura Robertson-Ryals-Ward.
95401L—Digging up potatoes that were stored underground for the winter on the Robertson place at Fruitvale in 1912. Looking southeast. The hill in the background is the little lone hill west of downtown Fruitvale. The Bethel house was at the base of this hill, directly behind the center man. The people are unidentified, but man closest to tree on right may be Bill Harp.
5-6-10
Continuing with the autobiography of Willard Bethel.
Memories of my early school years come in bits and pieces. The school was located on the McMahon place, probably because someone gave the land on which to build. It was about half a mile from the village center. Some children had to travel as much as 3 miles. Those with the longest distances rode horseback or came in horse and buggy. Everyone else walked.
About the only thing I remember well was the smell of wet clothes drying by a big potbelly stove. Recess was fun. I especially liked BLACKMAN, a game where the children lined up on each end of the playing field. He who was "it" stayed in the middle and tried to catch children running from one end of the field to the other. Three slaps on the back by "it" and you joined him or her until all were in the middle of the field. The bigger and stronger always held out until the end.
When I was in the 5th grade, I was on the end of a game called "pop the whip." As I was flung off the end of the writhing line of children, I crashed into the foundation of the school building. The bone in my right leg was bruised. I limped for a few days while my leg became progressively more painful. My last day in school, I was limping home when the neighbor kids who drove a buggy to school from up on the West Fork, offered a ride.
The next month or so was a nightmare of pain as the infection (Osteomyelitis) destroyed bone in my right Tibia. [Osteomyelitis is basically a bacterial infection in the bone.] Doctor Thurston in Council operated to relieve the growing pressure. Since he had neither the skill or the facilities to operate on the bone, he referred me to Dr. Conant in Weiser, a town 60 miles to the south.
Mom (Millie) and I travelled on the-Galloping Goose, a one-car train that made daily trips from Weiser to New Meadows. Trouble piled on trouble. While Dr. Conant was x-raying my leg, he swung a high voltage apparatus in such a way that it came in contact with Millies' head, knocking her to the floor, unconscious. She came around quickly but continued to suffer from the incident for several years.
As a result of the X-ray examination, it was decided that I should be in the hospital for the operation that was required. The nearest hospital was the Holy Rosary in Ontario, Oregon. After a week, Mom was able to take me home. My leg continued to drain and pieces of old bone worked out. I remember one day Rowena Martin was passing by and asked about me. She was told about the bone sliver, misunderstood and passed the word that the whole bone was coming out of my leg. That caused quite a stir in the community and resulted in lots of callers to see what had happened.
During the next several months I walked on crutches when I was able to walk at all. The months passed by and not much improvement was evident. When my left hip began to ache and became swollen, my parents decided that more than the local
doctors could provide was needed if my legs were to be saved. My cousin, Everett Ryals, had lost his leg with Ostea, a few years earlier. There was no such thing as Sulpha or Penicillin at the time, and the only treatment available was the surgeon's knife. Someone had told my parents about the Shriners Hospital for Children in Portland, Oregon but getting me there was comparable to their going to the moon.
Finally a judge who belonged to the Masonic Lodge in Weiser heard of my plight and somehow made all the needed arrangements to have me admitted. He also provided
transportation to Portland in his own car.
More next week.
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96087-- George Roberston and his grandsons, Ivan and Merril Bethel.
98030-- Everett Ryals, son of William Ryals and Laura Robertson Ryals, before he lost a leg to Osteomyelitis. Everett was born about 1904, so this may be around 1914. Laura later married Jim Ward.
99501--L to R: Albert Robertson, Everett Ryals, Bertha Spears Ryals (Everett's wife--she later married Bill Welty). Notice how Everett is standing. He lost a leg, in 1921 at the age of 17, to the same bone infection that Willard Bethel suffered from. It came very close to killing Everett. This picture may have been taken about 1925. Bertha and Everett were married that year and soon after this, they ran the Fruitvale store where their son, Mel was born.
5-13-10
Continuing with Willard Bethel’s autobiography.
Trying to tell the story of a life is a frustrating experience, I find. It is like telling jokes. You hear one and it reminds you of another. So it is with a life story. You remember one incident and before you can tell it, another incident comes to mind, perhaps not even remotely related. I have decided to tell my stories as they occur, trying to keep them at least in a ten-year bracket.
By the time I came home from the Shriners' Hospital, my three brothers, Merril, Roy and Ivan were old enough to interact. June, being the only girl at this time, was able to hold her own. We all loved to climb around the local hills. At the end of the upper valley was a bluff looking to the north. The Weiser River had been joined by the West Fork and cut a large rocky bluff where the river turned east for a few hundred yards. [Some locals call this “McMan’s Bluff” because it, and the surrounding land, was owned by Isaac McMahan and his descendants for many years.] This was a favorite spot for climbing, rolling rocks, and just looking at the view. One time June and I had gone there to play when the sky became dark with a summer thundercloud building over the valley. We were greatly amused to see each other’s hair stand on end with static electricity. God was with us. Nature picked another spot to discharge a lightning blast that surely had been targeted on our rocky perch.
I've had two other encounters with lightning. Our home stood at the foot of a small hill, probably a cinder cone left over from a time when the whole country was volcanically active. It was a hot muggy afternoon. Our old dog Bob was with me in the lane at the foot of the hill. Again there was a heavy build up of clouds over the valley. The potential for a strike was reached and lightning hit the top of the hill about 200 linear feet from where the dog and I were playing. A crash of thunder like the sound of doom instantly followed the most intense light I have ever seen. I was paralyzed with fear, but old Bob departed immediately for his hole under the house. He travelled the fifty feet in about three jumps but made one bad mistake. He picked the cat hole instead of the
dog hole. Only his head went through and the rest of him folded like an accordion. With one big yelp, he backed out and disappeared under the house. I was so amazed at his antics, I burst into a fit of laughing in spite of the scare from the lightning strike.
Another time several years later, I was working in a Blister Rust Camp in Northern Idaho. Maynard Burt and I decided to hike out to a small town on the St. Joe River to get away from the boredom of camp. It was in the evening. The sky became dark with the build up of a huge Cumulonimbus. We had stopped for a cigarette and were under a tree facing the wall of the canyon. Suddenly the bark on a lone pine tree across the valley peeled from the ground to the top. Lightning had struck from the ground to the cloud. The flash was so bright it took a minute or so to be able to see clearly again. Another effect of this strike was a globe of light, which acted like a helium filled balloon bounced several yards down the hill. I have been told that this effect is created when rock is pulverized. The electrical charge of the particles hold the shape of a ball. I know for sure that it was an awesome sight.
I, being the oldest and when I wasn't sick, drew the duty of watching the younger kids. Ivan was a toddler, so I was about ten years of age. My job was to look after him and keep him out of the irrigation ditch. We were both busy doing our own thing when I noticed something in his mouth. He was trying to eat a woolly worm. The stickers were all over his face and lips. He was getting very uncomfortable by the time I saw him. I immediately called for mom to come to the rescue. By this time he was screaming with pain. Mom said later that it took two hours to get all the stickers out.
Sometimes I wonder how we all survived to grow up. One day Roy was visiting with Aunt Mary Glenn (Fred’s mother), who lived about a mile from us. He was little and at the exploratory age. Mary left him for a few minutes during which time he got into the cupboard under the sink. A can of lye was open. He got into it and of course, it began to burn. He began to yell. When Mary got to him, she skinned off his clothes and dumped him into a painful of greasy dishwater left setting on the counter. There must have been enough grease in it to counteract the lye so he suffered no great damage.
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Photo captions:
95365--Fred Glenn and his cousin, Beth Robertson, about 1949.
95404L—Pete Robertson and Mary Robertson Glenn. The house sat where Amy Glenn lives today.
5-20-10
Continuing with the autobiography of Willard Bethel.
Willard said that even though is mother taught him that smoking was bad, he picked up the habit early in his life. His father, Roy, smoked, and that was undoubtedly a factor. Willard wrote:
An event involving cigarettes occurred when June, Merril, Roy, Maynard and I went camping at Lost Valley Reservoir near Tamarack. We had finished haying and the folks turned us loose. I learned to drive at a very early age, so Dad let us use the Model "T" Ford for the trip. We had it packed full of bedding, groceries and fishing gear. The plan was to join my cousin Fred Glenn, who was working for Campbell's Circle C ranch. He had a spike camp at the reservoir. This job was as cowboy, looking after the cattle in the area.
[The cow camp at Lost Lake was near the northeast side of the lake. There is still a corral south of the old campsite. This old camp was the location for many an interesting story—most of which have died with the men who lived them.]
About half way up the canyon, we lost a wheel off the old Ford. This was scary but turned out to be no big deal. Roy or Merril grabbed the wheel before it rolled into the river. We got the wheel back on eventually and proceeded on our way. The Ford had a hard time making it up the steep part of the grade. Lots of pushing was required. When this failed, I turned the car around to climb the steepest part of the grade in reverse, this being the lowest gear in the car, therefore being the most powerful gear. We finally made it to the top.
We met Fred and set up a camp next to his tent. The lake was full of perch. We didn't have a boat so one of the first orders of business was to build a raft out of material at hand. In the evening we sat around the campfire. Fred produced a cigarette from which we all, except June, had a puff. She would have nothing to do with it and admonished us boys to lay off. I can remember to this day the euphoria of that particular cigarette. It was probably made better by the circumstances and surroundings. This all came out in the debriefing at the end of the trip. June didn't tell but some how mom got to the facts of the trip. How she knew we had been smoking, I never knew.
The Martins moved to Fruitvale in the late 1920's. Mrs. Martin, Rowena, was very frail and suffered from what we now know as Rheumatoid Arthritis. There were two boys, Marshall and Bill. Bill was slightly retarded but was a real nice kid otherwise. Marshall became one of my very best friends. The first time I saw him was in the middle .of the winter. He showed up in front of our house with his dog Bingo hitched to a sled. I was very impressed. Marshall was very intelligent. He was able to go to school in
Portland, Oregon where he stayed with Rowena's sister. The lessons he passed on to me, he was two years older, especially in science, had a bearing on my interest in all things of the physical and astronomical world of knowledge.
One day before grouse season opened, Marshall and I went to a dance. We got home real late and decided that instead of going to bed, we would take a blanket up in the hills so as to be on site for grouse hunting in the morning. The next thing I knew, Marshall awoke me to point out that we were surrounded by a flock
of blue grouse. We were able to bag out limit before the birds
ever
became aware of our presence.
I’ll have more from Willard Bethel’s autobiography next week.
The museum is opening on Saturday (May 22) so I’m beginning the difficult job of looking for volunteers to help watch the place. Please contact me if you or someone you know can help.
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Photo captions:
98386--Many accounts of “the old days” mention how plentiful grouse were. This is Hoke Smith Palmer who manned the Council Mountain lookout during the summer of 1918. He is holding up two grouse. This cabin was built in Log Cabin Gulch, a half mile from the lookout, circa 1912 by the Forest Service as a residence for the Council Mountain lookout.
98392--Chapman's boat dock and store on Lost Valley Reservoir about 1954. Chapman had twenty boats for rent. A sign on the floating shack says, "BOAT OFFICE." This picture is looking east from the southwest shore of the lake.
95483—I believe this is the same boat dock as shown in the other photo. This picture was taken in the 1960s when George Green ran this operation.
5-27-10
My father was a cowboy from the central Idaho counties of Owyhee and Canyon in his early years. His name was Ira Roy Bethel. He was born in Custer County Nebraska on July 29, 1890 of William Simpson and Hattie Bethel. They came to Idaho in the early 1900's to live in Dixie near Caldwell. He met my mother, Millie Hazel Robertson, who was born Jan. 15, 1898 at Fruitvale, Id. of George and Martha Robertson. They were married and had a son who they named Wayne. Wayne was a "blue" baby and died soon after birth. I , Willard Orville Bethel was born Jan. 6, 1918 at Fruitvale, Idaho. I am writing this as a part of my own story and to preserve memories of their lives and places where they lived.
Dad became a farmer soon after they were married. He said that coyboying was too rough a life for a family man. Mom kept house for him and their children. These are:
My self who married Jessie Lorene Bethel at Caldwell on Feb. 3, 1943 and who have two boys, Steve and Scott.
Helen June, who was born on June 18, 1919 at Emmett, Id. who married Clarke Childers at Council, Id. and who have two boys, Darell and Merrill. Roy Bethel, Jr. born 4/9/25 at Fruitvale who married Patricia Phipps and who have David, Joyce, and Tricia.
Merril Everett Bethel born 11/11/21 who was not married and died in the World War II at Saipan in the South Pacific on June 6, 1944.
Ivan George Bethel who was born 2/6/27 at Fruitvale and married Artis Shaw and whose children are Randy, Cindy and Deanna. Ivan died on Jan 17, 1987. Darlene Faith Bethel who was born at Fruitvale on Feb 11, 1939 who married Robert Trosper and had Cheryl, Terry, Mark and Gary.
My parents lived in various places--Caldwell, Dixie, Emmett, Sand Hollow--to name a few, then in 1923, dad bought two older houses in Fruitvale and moved them to the Robertson homestead on 5 acres given to my mother by her father. It was at this place, I and my brothers and sisters spent our younger years. In 1941, they moved to a small ranch near Harper, Ore. This didn't work out too well,
[There was a section here that was not relevant to the Council area. Willard moved back to Fruitvale until 1949, when Willard would have been 31 years old. The next section is about his teen years—the early 1930s.]
Merril was younger and tagged along with June and me. Mom finally gave up on converting us and allowed us to go to dances. This was the summer that my good friend Carl Marble's folks got a new Plymouth. We considered it the ultimate in fine streamlined cars. Since Carl was an only child, he got use of the new car quite often. [Carl’s parents were Guy and Katie Marble. The Downings that Willard mentions next, were the subject of a couple of recent History Corners.] The Downings, relatives of the Marbles, lived on upper end of Hornet Creek. They were part of the gang. Ralph went with June and I went with Eunice. We were in love of course. We went to dances and a favorite activity was to go swimming at Starkey Hot Springs.
I was old enough to work in the hayfields and other farm work so
spending money was not a problem. There was not much but all we
needed was gas for
the car, show tickets, etc. About time for
school to start, the Downings moved back to Missouri. My heart was
temporarily broken. We corresponded, Eunice and I, for
several
months, but soon new loves took her place. It was time for school
again. We all went to Council schools. I don't remember my senior
year as being particularity
eventful. There was the usual class play by the Seniors. There was only one girl and five boys in the class so we had to borrow some actors from the Juniors. On the Senior sneak, we drove to Payette for a picnic. The one subject I learned at Council that did me the most good was typing. Without that, I'm sure my life and career would have taken different
turns.
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Photo captions:
72131-- This photo shows the 1932-33 Council High School basketball team in their uniforms standing in front of the school steps. Shown are (no order given ):Coach Phil Manning, Herb Purnell, Ted Hunt, Kenneth Yarbarough, Ed Snow, Swede Olson, and Bob Mathis.
95271L—Charlie Winkler’s drug store in the 1930s, when Willard was in high school. The telephone office was through the door behind the power pole. The boy at the right seems to be drinking from a water fountain.
09045—The Council Elementary/ High School as it looked about the time Willard was in high school. It stood between the present locations of Economy Roofing and the LDS Church. That’s why a street there is named “School Avenue.” The high school moved into a new building, built where the current high school is, in 1942. Willard would have graduated about 1936 or ’37. This picture was probably taken in the 1940s. This is the south side of the school. I’m not sure when the fire escape slide was added.
6-3-10
This is the last installment of Willard Bethel’s autobiography. Last week a featured a picture of Charlie Winkler’s drug store because I had planned to include the following paragraph, but got left out. Willard continues:
It was during this year that I became interested in Science Fiction. I have been a devotee ever since. Charlie Winkler, a distant cousin owned the drug store. [His drug store was in the two-story brick building on the NW corner of Galena St. and Illinois Ave.] When magazines became out of date, he would return the cover page to the distributor for credit. The coverless magazine went on sale then for five cents* which amount I could usually afford. Science Fiction didn't go too well in Council so there were usually one or two Amazing Stories or Wonder Stories magazines to buy. I found them fascinating. My other friends read cowboy mags or war stories such as "Wings". Not any of the stuff I liked.
[After graduating from high school and working some odd jobs] I decided that I was getting nowhere so decided to join the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). The CCCs was a program set up to put the young men of America to work. Their mission was to build roads, parks, trails, and any other work that needed to be done for the public good. The camps were set up and administered by the Army. Except that you were there by choice and could leave of your own free will, you might as well have been in the army. We had reveille, retreat and mustered for roll call and work. Our beds had to meet very rigid inspections.
There was a cookhouse, laundry, infirmary, shops and car pool. One of the plush jobs was being a truck driver. I didn't like it much to start with but after awhile it was o.k. I look back now on my fourteen months there with some of the fondest memories of my life.
I was asked if I would be interested in working in the Infirmary. It
was winter and cold so I jumped at the opportunity. It meant an extra
6 dollars a month as well. Merlin Neilson was the Sergeant in charge.
I liked him real well. We were friends for years. Sick call always
had a good turn out. Some with colds, some goldbricking to keep from
going out on the road. One day a fellow showed up with a chronic case
of Gonorrhea. He had contracted it two years before. I remember his
moans and groans yet from the Doctor
massaging his prostate, the
treatment of the day.
One Saturday, Merlin and I went into Council. Doc Thurston ran into us and asked us to give him a hand. We went with him to the county morgue where he was doing an autopsy on a lady who had been brought in the day before. [This probably would have been in Thurston’s office over the drug store, as there was no hospital in Council until 1939.] Her death was mysterious. He needed us to help handle her, so he said. This was the first time I had ever seen a dead person laid out, especially a lady without any clothes on. He opened the body.
Merlin immediately got sick and had to leave. It didn't seem to bother me so I stayed and watched. Thurston explained what he was doing and had me keep notes of what he found. Her veins were badly clogged with plaque. He pointed out scar tissue left from venereal disease sometime in the past. I do not remember what he decided was the cause of death except that it was not from foul play.
One of my earliest recollections is of music around the house. It was mom singing songs or fiddles, banjos, trombone, and guitar being played by my Robertson uncles. They were all musically inclined. Each one played one or more instruments. It was a tragedy when Uncle Albert got his hand caught in a buzz saw. This so crippled his hand that he was never able to play the fiddle again.
Sometime in the early 20's, Dad made a trip to Caldwell. When he returned, he had Grandma Bethel's old organ which she had given to him for Mom. Grandpa Bethel hauled this instrument all the way from Nebraska when they moved west on an immigrant train in 1899 or 1901. These trains had sections of cars for farm stock and machinery, a section of cars for household goods and a section of cars for the people immigrating to the west. Aunt Lula Cookson was on this train and about 6 years of age at the time. She tells of the children having to sit on the floor between the facing seats and of getting burned on the hot water pipes. The organ, nearly new at that time, is the same that I first learned to play 25 years later.
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Photo Captions:
05019---The CCC camp at the Middle Fork of the Weiser River. This picture was stitched together from movie footage shot by Dr. Thurston. The view is looking northeast with the highway on the left edge.
Millie’s organ.jpg—This is Millie Bethel’s organ that Willard wrote about. Artis Shaw Bethel (widow of Ivan Bethel) donated it to the museum recently. Artis said Millie often played this organ and sang with a beautiful voice. The organ is not on display yet, but hopefully will be soon.
6-10-10
The following was copied from the Weiser Signal, September 16, 1897. My comments are within brackets.
A Signal Reporter Takes Old Rube Unawares and worms from him some reminiscences of early days.
In the early spring of 1862 Jim Warren, prospector, miner, gambler, adventurer and pioneer of the west, left the then roaring camp of Florence, with four companions, for a prospecting excursion into the surrounding wilderness, then wilder than the jungles of Africa, and as yet but little familiar to men. Dissensions among the members of the little party arose and near the present Burgdorf hot springs, it split up, resulting in Jim Warren strapping a pack to his back and pursuing his wanderings alone. Chance brought him eventually on to the creek now known as Warren creek and he pitched his solitary camp (if a man can carry enough on his back to “pitch” camp with) almost on the identical spot where the town now stands. Here he found some pretty fair prospects, and also some excellent float quartz. But he was now about out of grub. Panning out seven pans of dirt, he saved the proceeds, took some samples of quartz and headed back toward Florence, where, duly arriving, he reported his gold discovery to Hank Deffenbecker, who afterwards ran a ferry on Salmon river near the wire bridge.
The gold was weighed and found to amount to 70 cents or 10 cents to the pan. Through this was no big thing it led to the expectation of richer strikes, and accordingly a party of 16 was quietly formed to investigate the new discovery. This original party of 16 men, the pioneers who made the rich strikes which brought thousands in their wake, were Rube Besse, Jim Warren, Hank Deffenbecker, Fred Osgood, O. L. Whiting, __ Russel, __ Wall, and nine others whose names would not return at will to Old Rube’s recollection. The date of their departure from Florence was July 15th, 1862.
At the mouth of French creek, they came across the four companions of Jim Warren, with whom he had started out earlier in the season. These four men were tinhorns and poor prospectors. Seeing Jim Warren with the crowd, it struck the four that Jim had made a strike and had gone after his friends to reap the harvest, and they started to follow the party. Jim and his friends saw they were followed, and, not cherishing any good feeling for his former companions, decided to throw them off the scent. Therefore they struck toward Payette River, above the Little Lake, and camped around several days between there and Secesh creek. The four, having been out since the first start with Jim in May, were most out of flour and bacon and of course could not stand a siege with the party fresh from a supply point, so they finally threw up the sponge and started back to Florence. This happened on the head of Secesh creek. The war of Secession [Civil War] then being the event of the time, “secession” was the first form of expressing the departure of the disappointed tinhorns, and because they had “seceded” and turned back, the creek was then and there dignified with the name Secesh creek, which it maintains today.
The party then hastened toward Jim’s discovery, camped on Warren Meadows and began staking off claims 150 X 200 feet. As each man also located a claim for every friend he had left behind at Florence, they soon had the Meadows staked off and clear up the creek to where Ball’s old arrastre now stands. Eight men were sent back to Florence with the horses after supplies, while the others were to prospect. By the time they got back with provisions, Summit Flat (first known as Osgood’s Flat) had been struck by those left behind. Here they got prospects of from $2 to $4 to the pan.
They abandoned the claims on the creek and in the Meadows and all went up and staked off the flat and went to mining at once. Rube and Frank Osgood went to work together and rocked out 100 ounces the first day [worth over $100,000 today], and 40 ounces [over $40,000 today] before dinner the next day, and of course at that time such returns looked bigger than they do in these Klondyke days. They Assay office had just been established at Boise then and this 140 ounces was the first dust sent out to see what it was worth. It assayed $14 an ounce.
When the eight men sent after provisions arrived in Florence, it was suspected that some rich find had been discovered by Jim Warren and his partners, this being increased by the report of the four tinhorns of how the party had led them around until they were frozen out. Excitement became magnified and many prepared to trail them out. The eight arrived back on Warren Creek (to learn of the Summit Flat discoveries and abandoned their old claims) on the 25th day of September. They were immediately followed by 600 miners, who swarmed along Warren creek and adjoining gulches, making rich finds everywhere.
In three weeks time 30,000 ounces of yellow dust were taken from Summit Flat. Ah, but those were the days?
[At today’s gold price, this would equal over $30,000,000.]
6-17-10
Last week I featured an article from a Weiser Signal newspaper from 1897. As far as I can tell this was not part of a continuous series, but the article below was printed in the July 28, 1897 issue.
After the article, there was this small advertisement: “Educate Your Bowels With Cascarets. Candy Cathartic, cure constipation forever, 10c, 25c. If C.C.C. fail, druggists refund money.”
RICH OLD WARREN--The Old Story of Its Early Life is Ever New--Steadily Growing in Value--Comment on Recent Changes Which Show a Strengthening of Its Golden Riches.
Lewiston Tribune—The old mining camp of Warrens which was discovered by James Warrens and party in 1861, has probably produced more ore from the same area than any mining camp in the northwest. Its placers in the early days of its history were shallow ground, requiring a very little sluicing off before reaching the pay deposit, which was shoveled into sluice boxes by hand.
The first discovery of gold in this camp was on Summit Flat, which is at an elevation of about 7,000 feet above sea level. As soon as the news was spread that the camp of Warrens was struck, from 3,000 to 5,000 men rushed in from Florence, Elk City and Orofino camps, which were near by. All the creeks and gulches were claimed and a few hill claims were taken.
The camp was uniformly good, but the richest pay was found on Warrens creek from the old town of Richmond, at the mouth of Slaughter creek, down Warrens creek to the old milk ranch, a distance of about four miles.
At the upper end of this pay streak of gravel deposit, it was from 5 to 7 feet deep, but became deeper until as it approached the milk ranch it reached a depth of 20 feet to bedrock from the surface and at this point the creek bottom widened out to nearly a mile in width and very flat, which made it expensive to work and difficult to get drainage. As it would require a large sum of money to put in machinery to keep out the water, no one would undertake the job until a few weeks ago, through the management of Edward Brooks, who has toiled for many years in trying to induce someone with capital to take hold of the property, when finally he succeeded in inducing eastern capitalists to prospect the ground.
The result was that they found the ground far richer than was represented and at once made a purchase of about a half-mile of the flat, including the claims of Brooks and Ed Kerwin, paying a sum in the aggregate of over $75,000. It is believed that these purchasers have secured one of the most valuable mining properties in Idaho, as millions have been taken out in the creek above, and just above this ground in a tributary where Bowman gulch empties into Warrens creek, $13 was taken from one pan of dirt. While Mr. Brooks has only received a small fraction of the actual value of this property, the sum he receives is ample to make him comfortable the remainder of his life. He contemplates investing a good portion of his capital in Lewiston property, which is properly selected will be safer and more surely profitable than a gold mine. Jim Poe, Ben Morris, Charley Faunce and Walter Dyer of our city, all had rich mines in Warrens.
Mrs. Brooks thinks Warrens is sure to be the chief mining camp in Idaho, not only in placer, but in gold quartz. The Geo. Riebold mine was bully demonstrated that the gold veins are permanent, and as machinery is being shipped in to work the Kescue and other mines and eastern capital has been attracted by the richness of these mines it will be but a short time until Warrens property will be eagerly sought for. Mr. Brooks has other properties in Warrens and will return to his favorite haunts in Warrens to spend his summer, but will return to Lewiston again in the fall.
6-24-10
This week I’m featuring a few newspaper odds and ends that I’ve run across.
In one of my May of 2007 columns, I featured an item from the June 25, 1912 issue of the Nampa Leader Herald newspaper that included this:
“Dan Hansen, marshal of Cokeville, Wyo., died at that place Friday as a result of wounds received in a fight Thursday night with the Whitney brothers. Bert Dalton, an accomplice of the desperadoes, is in jail and has confessed his connection with the Whitneys.”
The Whitneys were from Council, and I’ve written about their escapades several times. Since my last mention of them in this column, I ran across an item in the same newspaper from an issue two months later. It said that Bert Dalton broke out of jail at Evanston, Wyoming with 5 other prisoners. Nampa Leader-Herald—8-16-12: “They overpowered the jailer, gagged and bound him and covered him with blankets. Dalton took the jailer’s revolver and ammunition. Two of the other prisoners were captured again. It is supposed that Dalton’s confederates have helped him to escape.”
Later, in same issue, it was announced that Dalton was captured a short distance south of Sandy, Utah, by Sheriff Joseph Sharp of Salt Lake county. Dalton was caught on a ranch where he went to work and was now in the Salt Lake City jail. He refused to say where the two other escapees were.
The following are interesting notes and quotes from old newspapers. I’m not sure which papers they came from, except where labeled, but the unlabeled ones are probably from Nampa or Emmett newspapers, as I was doing research on my Idaho Northern Railway book, which, by the way, will be available in the next few weeks.
The Boise Sentinel, 6-3-98: “The regularity with which congress kills every proposal to tax the rich men for the conduct of the war, shows clearly the forces that are in the saddle in our national legislature. With few exceptions the poor men do the fighting and also the paying.”
10-22-12: High school in Salt Lake City bans the “Rag” dance. Banned = “grizzly bear” and “Texas Tommy” “While the various rags and glides which make up this form of flitting about the floor have been barred at the public dance halls by police edict, the students in their high school expected that indulgence might be allowed them at their “hops” which are private affairs and without the jurisdiction of the police.”
10-25-12: “Robert Ludwig, a ranch owner near Cambridge, Idaho, cut his throat with a penknife and died in the police station at Galesburg, Ill., Monday. Ludwig was on his way from Idaho to visit his parents in Germany. Worry about the trip unbalanced his mind and he left the train at Galesburg and asked to be locked up. He had more than $600 in cash and a ticket to New York.”
10-29-12: At Nyssa—“The city fathers wisely decided that such dances as the turkey trot, the bunny hug, the grizzly bear and other racy importations from the Fiji islands and the slums of New York should be prohibited and Marshal Butler will be called in to take charge of the first couple violating the rule in Nyssa. —Nyssa Journal”
5-9-13: “A statistician has computed a table of freak dances now popular in the United Sates. Here they are: “Fish Walk, Grizzly Bear, Bunny Hug, Honey Hug, Turkey Trot, Spanish Tango, Texas Tommy, Banana Slide, Porcupine Roll, Buzzard Type, Angle Worm Wiggle, Chicken Reel, Dervish Dip, Aerial Dance, Boston Trot, Spotted Sock Schottische, Hop o’ My Toes, Tassie Tango, Lunatic Horse Trot, Whirly Gig, Sea Sick Dip, Eurythany, Shin Digger, Chicken Scratch, Galloping Three Step, One Step, Hesitation Hop, Apache Dance, Fraternity Dip, Salome Glide, Donkey Ding, Casket Glide Dramatic Drag, Back Yard Bounce, Screen Scoot, Cutback Cuddle, Pay Dance Prance, Location Limp, Ten Foot Trot, Silent Slide, Camera Ravort, Foreground Frolic, Hospital Hop, Switchback Sway, Crab Crawl, Parensis Slide, Sappho Glide, Ace of Diamonds.”
Emmett Index—2-18-15: Ban on Ragging at Nampa patterned after Boise law. “Under the code,…dancers must have their heads at least six inches apart and one arm must be either extended or loose. No girls under the age of 16 will be permitted at a public hall unless accompanied by a parent or guardian, or by their written consent.”
Emmett Index—3-4-15: J. H. Smith, engineer who was in charge of I. N. [Idaho Northern Railway that ran from Nampa to McCall] construction has been appointed state engineer by Governor Alexander. “Fred Wilkie, engineer of the Canyon canal during the latter part of its construction, has been named assistant engineer and will have special charge of Carey Act projects.” [Fred Wilkie was the son of Frederick Wilkie of Hornet Creek. Fred lived at the place just across the creek from the Upper Dale School at one time.]
5-23-13: “Secretary of State Gifford is convinced that there are several automobiles in Idaho. On Tuesday of this week he bought sufficient parcels post stamps to send