![[Image]](images/PrairyErthADeepMap_524_1.jpg)
Often, when the prairie weather turned sour on me, I’d go to the back room of the county historical society in the old bank building on Broadway in the Falls and sit before the microfilm machines and scroll out past issues of the twenty-eight newspapers Chase has seen over the past century and a third, some of them only ephemeral things like Sam Wood’s six-week Scalping Knife. Usually I read the Leader, the sole survivor, founded in 1871 by William A. Morgan, husband of Minnie Morgan, the first and last female mayor of Cottonwood. The paper later bought out a Strong City competitor to become the Leader-News. Strong has also had the Valley Echo, the Advance, and the Derrick, and, in the villages, have appeared the Cedar Point Pointer, the Elmdale Gas Jet, the Matfield Mirror; in Cottonwood, the Banner, Index, Reformer, and Reveille.
While the morning rain or sleet came down against the north window of the old bank, I would disappear into those grayed pages and roam around another county. Then I’d look up, blinking, to find a noon sun and myself ready for a beer and pickled egg at Darla’s, after, perhaps, just reading in an 1880s issue about tavern food at the Dolly Varden. The jolt of these dislocations, especially when I read the maladroit and solecistic expression of a current Leader News as I ate my lunch, was like waking from a good dream with its brief sorrow of the little trip now ended.
Considering the time Americans pay to their daily or weekly gazette, historians’ often reluctant use of our broadsheet journalism is odd but understandable, given the discomfort of sitting before a microfilm reader and all the while being aware of the immense lode waiting to be examined (a similar despair can overtake you if you have a go at the deep and even more challenging records in a county courthouse). Yet, if you really want to see how life was in America in an earlier time, to encounter it told firsthand, look to the morgue of your daily Mirror; if you would hear stories from your great-great-grandparents, then listen to your Echo. The imprint of our days, after all, is very much made by type recast. Those old six-point-Caslon chroniclers knew the tales that incline us, and, in the dim and witching light of a microfilm machine, like storytellers at a campfire, they whisper yet.
The Chase newspapers so captured me—particularly issues of the last two decades of the nineteenth century, the era that established the character of the place, the years when the county was at its summit of energy, optimism, population, and affluence—that I considered at one point how to build this book around parallel hikes over the county and down the pages of the Leader, through its six thousand issues, its hundred thousand pages that report on nearly all of the forty-eight thousand days white people have lived in Chase (for the three million or more days of the red people here, I’ll have to turn to other kinds of records).
The early papers contain mostly national news (today it’s entirely local) and packaged-in-the-East diversions; what county news does appear often tends toward now pointless single sentences: Glad to learn that the sick are getting better, or Clements is taking a rest. But every so often a county item or story glimmers briefly like a match struck in a dark room. From the Leader, here are a couple of dozen gleanings, gleamings:
A DASTARDLY OUTRAGE
This community was shocked last Monday morning by the report that C. C. Watson had attempted to commit a rape on a little girl, about 13 years old, the afternoon before. The scene of the outrage was the kitchen of Bauerle’s restaurant, where the girl works, and during the absence of Bauerle and wife.
Watson’s reputation is unsavory, but no one believed him so depraved as his fiendish attempt last Sunday afternoon stamps him.
The details of the outrage are simply horrible and unfit for publication, and, but for the timely arrival of a boy, about 15 years old, who was attracted to the room by the noise made by the girl in her efforts to protect herself, the lecherous brute would have accomplished his purpose.
Watson has a wife and three children, is about 30 years of age, and his beastly habits have placed him prominently before the public on more them one occasion. A couple of years ago he was convicted in the district court of an attempt to commit an abortion upon a young woman who lived in his family and with whom he had maintained a criminal intimacy.
Watson’s maneuvering all day Sunday is claimed by some to indicate that the outrage was premeditated. He met the girl’s father early in the morning and the two eat, smoked and drank together until the middle of the afternoon, when he left the father and went to the house where the girl worked and attempted the outrage.
Expressions of indignation are loud and deep on every hand and it would require but a slight effort to induce Judge Lynch to administer summary justice, a mode of procedure it is hoped will not be resorted to, as Watson has been arrested on complaint of his intended victim, and the law, even if inadequate to deal with such characters, should be allowed to take its course.
January 15, 1885
“DAMPS”
Wm. Stone, Wm. Handcock and others were digging a well in Toledo, Chase County, and when at a depth of about 30 feet, suspended work for a few days. On resuming it Friday morning last, Wm. Stone went down into the well and was almost overcome by the “damps.” He told the men at the top to haul him up. He had hardly uttered the words before he fell over partly unconscious. Mr Handcock went down into the well and tied the rope around Mr. Stone and when they commenced to haul him up he complained that it hurt him. Mr. H. then untied the rope and fastened it around himself and told the men at the top to haul him up, which they did, Mr. Stone remaining in a semi-conscious state at the bottom. After hauling Mr. Handcock out, the question was, who would venture down to fasten the rope around Mr. Stone? All hesitated to take the risk, when Wm. Stone, Jr., a lad of about eleven years stepped to the front and demanded to be let down, and down he went. Quickly fastening the rope around his father the two were drawn up and, after considerable effort, Mr. Stone, Sr. was resusicated, but at last accounts was suffering with a severe pain in his head, as was also Mr. Handcock and the heroic little boy who rescued his father from the very threshold of death.
A PLEASANT AFFAIR
In response to invitations to a rainbow party, about thirty friends gathered at the home of Mr. and Mrs. H. Collett, at Elk, on Friday evening, February 28. After the friends had assembled they were led to the dining room where an elegant supper was spread, the table being beautifully decorated with hyacinths and evergreens.When their daughter, Miss Lizzie, presented each with a cord representing some color of the rainbow and, pointing to the table, intimated that the price for partaking of the supper would be to find who was at the other end of the cord. They all most eagerly fell to work, thinking how small the price set upon such a repast. After following the cords a short time they found they led to the parlor where their eyes fell on a lovely rainbow tastefully arranged in one corner by the skillful hands of Grace and Lizzie. After much admiration and favorable comments someone remarked that when the rainbow appears the rain is over and it would be well to go on with their work.
Turning again to their task they were confronted by a mass of cords in the form of a spider web reaching from ceiling to floor, up stairs and down, no one knew where.
It was most amusing to see Bert Campbell tangled in the web and the girls tightening upon him as a spider would a fly, while Bob Reed was crawling around on the floor, looking like he had been badly knocked out in his last week’s pillow fight. But all found their coveted prize and a jollier crowd never sat down to a feast, and when leaving the table each carried away a Japanese napkin with the signatures of all present as a souvenir of the occasion.
A SAD AFFAIR
About 2 o’clock, last Saturday afternoon, Ed. Jones, aged about 17 years, arrived in town with the information that his father, Isaac Jones, had hung himself in his granary, on Bloody creek.
A number of citizens, together with the county attorney, proceeded at once to the place and found the body hanging as described. From the county attorney we learned that the deceased had evidently stood on a chair, which lay overturned near by, while adjusting the rope to a rafter, after which he jumped from the chair, but the rope being too long his feet touched the ground, in which position he was choked to death. The deceased was about the average heighth, weighed over 200 pounds, and was 69 years of age.
The deceased had evidently made every preparation and contemplated the insane act for a day or more. He came to town on Thursday and called on all the merchants with whom he did business and settled all accounts. About 10 o’clock Friday morning he sent his son, Ed, and the only other person on the farm with him, up the creek to tell Si. Wilson that he might have the corn, for which Wilson had probably partly bargained. He also gave the boy $5 and told him to keep it until he asked for it. Upon returning from Wilson’s, the boy, being unable to find his father at the house, went to the granary and found him hanging by the neck—dead, and immediately came to town, arriving about 2 o’clock, with the terrible news.
The deceased has undoubtedly been insane, or partly so, for a long time. He has at times labored under the hallucination that his life was in jeopardy from one and another and when thus affected would arm himself, and it is only a few weeks since he made an onslaught on two of his sons, C. W. and Scott, with murderous intent, first with a shotgun, which the boys took away from him, and immediately after with a revolver, firing twice at his son Charlie, who, to prevent the old gentleman from overtaking and shooting him, was compelled to shoot the horse which he (his father) was riding.
For this the old gentleman came to town to prosecute the boys, and not finding the county attorney, who was engaged at Strong City, he met S. N. Wood, who encouraged him in his insane hallucination and had him swear to three indictments, viz: assault with intent to kill, rioting, and [failure] to keep the peace. The county attorney suppressed two of these, and warrants were issued on the first.
The whole affair has been most painful to all concerned and their friends. The deceased, previous to his death, became more rational and expressed his regret, we are told, that the affair occurred or took the turn it did, and, no doubt, the thought of his being the victim of unprincipled advisers so preyed upon his mind that he was led to committing suicide.
March 18, 1886
A MAD (?) DOG KILLED
On Thursday night last, about 11 o’clock, while J. M. Engles and Harry Clifford were discussing the home-rule question on Broadway, their attention was attracted by a terrible racket in Holmes’ clothing store. An inspection of the premises and inquiry developed the fact that a supposed mad dog was under the bed. Holmes had fled for safety to the top of a pile of goods while Charley was balancing himself on the head of the bed. Charley finally got to and opened the front door through which Clifford entered and began whistling to the dog. Clifford didn’t want to see the dog half as bad as he thought he did, for when the dog came out from under the bed Clifford struck out for the front door with all the speed possible, the dog following close behind, and did not stop until he gained the top of a pile of lumber across the street, where he and the dog went into “committee of the whole” to discuss the difference between them. Engles, who was looking in at the door when the dog came from under the bed, climbed up Hotchkiss’ sign post so as to give Clifford and the dog plenty of room. While Clifford and the dog were watching each other, Charley procured a loaded gun and gained the lumber pile by a circuitous route and gave the weapon to Clifford, who shot the dog, and the meeting adjourned. The dog belonged to Holmes, who is now selling clothing at cheaper prices than ever, in fact, “dog gone” cheap.
ELK NOTES
Another $50,000 rain, and still raining.
Corn is doing splendid, and indefatigable chintz bugs are of few days duration if this weather continues.
June 17, 1886
HOMESTEAD NOTES
Oh! if it would only rain—everything is so dry, and chintz bugs are not scarce in this part of the country.
We don’t want any one to break their necks, but we wish they would do something to scare up some news.
A. H. Brown and John Westbay thought they saw a wolf on Coon creek one night last week. But it proved to be Harvy Mowrey.
July 15, 1886
ELK NOTES
Dry and dusty.
Unless it rains this week corn will begin to suffer.
The reaping part of harvest is about over, and now the stacks of grain begin to loom up here and there.
Rather dull after the 4th of July.
Julius Frey butchered a 3-year-old beeve last week and sold it all out before he got around. Would it not be healthier for farmers to eat more beef and mutton and less pork?
July 15, 1886
TOWN AND COUNTRY NEWS
An organ grinder struck town last Thursday whose instrument, although well arranged, was badly adjusted. The instrument played four tunes, viz: “Tickle Me with a Barley Straw,” “St. Patrick’s Day,” “La Marseilles” and “Dixie.”
July 15, 1886
ROBERT BURNS
The annual celebration of the birth of Scotland’s Bard, was celebrated in Pratt’s Music hall, last Tuesday night. The programme was changed somewhat from previous years and we think improved.
The attendance was not fully up to the usual “gathering of the clans,” but that no doubt was the result of the threatening aspect of the weather all day, which prevented the people living in the country from attending. This had its advantages, however, as the hall was not so crowded although nearly every seat was filled, and made it very pleasant for those who did attend.
The gastronomical portion of the evening’s entertainment surpassed anything of the kind ever before attempted in this city. The dining rooms of the three hotels were neatly and appropriately decorated and the arrangements were so complete that all the guests were accommodated at one sitting. The tables were beautifully arranged and before the assault was made upon them presented an elegant appearance.
STEWED
Oysters. Venison. Chicken.
FRIED
Oysters.
BAKED
Fresh Fish.
BOILED
Cold ham. Cold beef tongue. Muskallonge.
ROAST
Wild Goose. Pork. Venison.
ENTREES
Cheese. Tongue Sausage.
RELISHES
Worcester sauce. Mushroom sauce.
Celery sauce. Tomato catsup.
Lobster salad. Potato salad. Chicken salad.
Cold slaw. Celery. Lettuce.
Sweet and sour pickles.
FRUIT
Oranges. Apricots. Grapes. Apples. Dates.
NUTS
Almonds. Pecans. Filberts.
CAKE
White Mountain. Gold. Silver. Marble.
Chocolate. Cocoanut. Sponge. Lemon.
Gentlemen’s favorite. Rochester jelly.
Vanilla. Fruit. Watermelon.
Ornamented fruit.
PIES
Lemon. Mince. Chocolate. Apple.
CONFECTIONARY
Gum drops. Chocolate drops. Cream candy.
Kisses. Caramels.
FRENCH ROLLS
Tea. Coffee. Milk.
January 27, 1887
The new minister arrived last evening, his wife and four responsibilities will follow soon.
Little urchins are catching large catfish already; farmers are busy, the mill is running steadily, and everything booming. Even C. C. Smith has bought a cow.
March 17, 1887
TOWN AND COUNTRY NEWS
Simmons & Thorpe are putting down a stone walk from the gate to the front door of the court house.
A. B. Kinnekin had one of his hands mashed yesterday while working with a pile-driver near Elmdale.
Don’t fail to go and hear Col. Copeland’s lecture at Music hall on Saturday evening. The subject will be “Handsome People.”
March 17, 1887
STREET CAR HELD UP
Last Monday evening, while a number of people were on the street, and an unusually large crowd were in and about the postoffice, a young man stepped aboard street car No. 2 when opposite the Corner drug store, and deliberately proceeded to abstract the day’s receipts from the money boxes. The self-complacency of the young man completely paralyzed the driver and the few passengers who, spellbound at his audacity, watched him with open-eyed wonder, and before they recovered from their astonishment he pocketed the money, about ten dollars, and skipped out. The officers of the street car company inform us that that was not the first time that game has been played on them, and they propose hereafter to arm the driver.
April 11, 1895
About two weeks ago a smooth-tongued brass-eyed man traversed this city and Strong, carrying with him a cheap grade of toilet soap. This he offered to the “lady of the house,” for one dollar a box. “A dollar and a half,” said the oily tongued operator, “is the regular price, but to introduce this soap, we offer to those who buy a box, and pay the dollar today, their choice from a well selected list of valuable presents, the article selected to be forwarded to the purchaser within two weeks. This list of presents contains banquet lamps, valuable clocks and a choice collection of the most valuable articles. This, Madam, is a china plate like the china of the valuable tea set, which we can offer from this list for those who buy and pay one dollar for a box of this finest class toilet soap. We are only doing this today and it is your only opportunity.” The china plate was a handsome piece of ware, and a set of dishes like it would have been cheap for ten dollars. And we are sorry to say that the feminine common sense dropped out of sight, and deluded by the wiley faker, they passed out their dollar but as might have been expected, the lovely dishes, cushioned chairs, etc. have never gladdened their vision, and fifteen cents worth of soap and a misplaced confidence is all that is left them. Will people never learn that when they hope to get something for nothing, and some traveling outfit tells them they are going to give it to them, they are sure to be left?
July 4, 1895
VANDALISM
Last Thursday night, “Hallowe’en” was made memorable by acts of unprecedented vandalism by a party of boys, or men, in this town and vicinity. The “funny fellows” confined their efforts to overturning sidewalks, changing gates and moving everything moveable. While that was more idiotic than funny, yet no considerable objection was made by the parties inconvenienced. But the malicious vandals who pulled up the telephone poles on the road running to Dr. Cartter’s house, east of town, and broke the insulators, were guilty of acts that should bring down upon them the severest penalty of the law. They also burned a large sign belonging to the Smith Bros, and two of the telephone poles.
A COLORED FAMILY JAR
The residents in the vicinity of the old school house lot were startled between 6 and 7 o’clock last Tuesday evening by the hysterical screams of a woman in distress. Hurrying to the scene they found a colored man named Milton beating his wife.
Lew Heck happened to be in the neighborhood at the time and going to the small frame building south of the old school house site, he discovered the man holding the woman on the ground in the yard, pounding her with his fist, with the “hero of Franklin” standing by armed with a shotgun and Jabe Johnson rapidly approaching with a hatchet in his hand. Heck interfered and without much difficulty separated the struggling mass, which was hard to distinguish from the settling darkness.
The woman, as soon as she freed herself from the affectionate embrace of her spouse, ran into the house and re-appeared at the door armed with a revolver about 18 inches long with which she blazed away at her “hubby,” who began making tracks at once to a place of safety, before Heck could secure her. The bullets, unfortunately, missed the mark and went singing high in the air over Mert Robbins’ residence. That ended the conjugal misunderstanding and hostilities ceased as soon as Heck disarmed the irate female. Before anything was done toward the arrest of Milton, both he and his wife kissed and made up, and left together during the night, presumably for Junction City, from whence they came.
This place had been a rendezvous for questionable characters and bore a hard reputation. Although complaints were made to the mayor against the parties, for some reason they were left undisturbed until they “fired” themselves. Mrs. Milton had the reputation of being “a bad woman with a gun.” In fact the place has been so notorious that a proposition to raid it independent of the city authorities was discussed by some of our people last week.
On Monday Mrs. Milton secured the washing for several families, and when she went away she left the clothes soaking in tubs. Yesterday several women put in their time sorting over the “wash,” selecting their belongings.
January 23, 1896
A TRUE STORY
A few Sundays ago one of our ministers started for a nearby country church where he was to fill an appointment that morning, but not being certain which road to take in order to reach his parish he inquired of a passerby who mistakenly directed him down the wrong road.
The morning was warm and pleasant and although the road seemed a little longer than the good mein had expected yet he cheerfully pursued his way and at last arrived at a little white church just as the pious people were closing their Sabbath School lesson. After entering the church and greeting a number of brethren the minister then took his place in the pulpit and delivered a strong and inspiring sermon to his surprised and unexpecting congregation, but who, nevertheless, listened to his good teachings with the greatest attention and reverence while a few miles away at another small, white church sat another little congregation waiting and wondering why their good minister tarried so long by the way.
At last the services were over, the clergyman descended from the pulpit, shook hands with the benevolent and grateful congregation and started upon his homeward journey, never suspecting that he had preached at the wrong church.
April 24, 1906
In order to make a little excitement, stimulate trade and advertise Studebaker buggies, I have decided to give one of the latest style automobile twin-seat Studebaker buggies, absolutely free, to some lucky person. Here is the plan. I have two hundred and twenty-six tough raw-hide whips, the best value you ever bought in the whip line for seventy-five cents, and with each whip I will give one chance on the above buggy.
This is not a lottery scheme. You get full value for your money whether you get the buggy or not; the buggy is simply given as a prize. Come in and see the buggy and let me explain the plan to you more fully. I dare say it is the most liberal prize offer ever made to the people of Chase County, and I believe everyone who can make any use of a whip will be quick to take advantage of it. Buy your whip at once, and we will soon see who the lucky person will be.
MOORE’S [HARDWARE]
July 30, 1909
CHEWED BY HOGS
Wm. Austin, the seven-year-old son of the editor of this paper, had an experience Saturday which will probably remain in his memory as long as he lives and causes any ordinary being to shudder when it is told.
With his mother, brother and sister, he was visiting at the home of his aunt, Mrs. W. T. Glanville on the James Austin farm about two miles east of this city. About six o’clock Saturday evening the three children had been seining minnows in a small stream in the Glanville corrals a short distance from the house. William left the others and started for the house. When in the edge of a small patch of timber about a hundred feet from the corral gate, the hogs, which had been up near the gate on account of it being nearly feeding time, came running around him and in an instant had knocked him down. He yelled and kicked and fought them off as best he could. Mrs. Austin was only a few feet outside the corral and, hearing his yells, rushed to him as did also the other children. At first it seemed impossible to drive the hogs away, and Mrs. Austin stumbled and fell in trying to fight them away. This distracted their attention for an instant when his sister grabbed him and got him on his feet and they soon got him out of the corral.
In the minute or two that they had him down, they had torn the clothes from the middle part of his body and from his shoulders to his hips he had a collection of bruises and gashes, some nearly through to the vital parts of the body, which makes a person shudder to think what had been the result in a few minutes had not help been right at hand.
He had a turpentine bath and the doctor fixed him over some and, aside from being stiff and sore, he is getting along all right.
August 24, 1909
S.O.S.—MULE IN DISTRESS
South Fork neighborhood is not lacking in thrills and escapades these days. One of the latest is the story of a two-year-old mule belonging to Arch McCandless. His name wasn’t “Maude,” but the incident carries some of the “kick” that the famous comic puts out.
The mule, in search of water, attempted to go across an old well which was covered with boards. He got the surprise of his young life when he found himself floundering in the bottom of the 40-foot well which had about 12 feet of water in it. By swimming he managed to keep his head above the water and by braying or whatever it is that a mule does to attract attention, he soon had a crowd around the top of the well. Mr. McCandless went down into the well and fastened a rope to the mule and hitched a team onto the rope but was unable to pull him out. Vern and Paul Brant answered the SOS call and left for the scene of action in their Master Six Buick roadster. The rope was fastened to the car and slowly the mule was drawn to the top where eager and willing hands were ready to help him, when, snap! went the rope, and the mule went back to the bottom of the well. Paul Brant almost went with him but was jerked back by members of the rescue party. The spectators dreaded to think of the fate of the mule this time. But in a twinkling, the mule’s head came up out of the water, seemingly back from where he started. Arch was lowered into the well a second time and a new rope again tied to the unfortunate animal.
This time the mule came to terra firma and was released. He gave a few quick deep breaths, got up, shook himself, and ran away. He was soon rounded up, blanketed, and put in a warm stall. Except for two small cuts he is as good as new.
February 2, 1927
ELMDALE AREA NEWS
The community was saddened Saturday afternoon by the death of Ed Zickefoose, who suffered a fatal heart attack while hunting prairie chickens along ISO. It was a glorious fall afternoon; the air was clean and crisp, the autumn foliage was glowing with every shade of gold in the spectrum, highlighted by spots of dark green and brown. And the hunting was good—two shells, two birds! Ed was where he loved to be, doing what he loved to do.
November 8, 1984
PRISCILLA CLUB MEETS
Bernice Gwyn entertained ten members of the Priscilla Club at the home of her daughter, Nancy Huth, on Wednesday.
Upon arrival, each member deposited her packet of garden seeds in the president’s basket. Bertha Dawson, the president, gave out seed catalogs, and each member cut out a picture of her favorite flower.
The meeting was called to order with Bertha reading the April prayer from “Guideposts.”
Minutes of the last meeting were read and approved. Roll call was answered by going around the room, and each member showed the picture of her favorite flower and told why it was her favorite.
Bertha mixed up the garden seed packets, and she passed the basket for each one to take one back (if we got our own, we were to take another one). There were lots of flower seeds and some vegetable seeds for us to go home and plant. Bertha closed the meeting by reading a message of “Fifteen Ways to be Miserable.”
April 24, 1986
ANNIVERSARY CLUB
The Anniversary Club celebrated their 20th wedding anniversaries this last weekend by leaving town.
Gordon and Joyce Watts, Tom and Mary Jones, and Paul and Linda Bledsoe enjoyed their taste of city life as they were hosted by Steve and Carla Gibb in their lovely home in Lenexa.
During the Saturday afternoon sightseeing tour of a nearby shopping mall, Linda and Joyce made major purchases, while Mary entertained herself on the escalators. Gordon entertained the neighbors in the early evening and then the four couples went to Tiffany’s Attic for a delicious dinner. “We laughed until we cried,” was the response to the production of “Life Begins at 40.” Everyone in the group had moments when they could relate to the characters portrayed.
Sunday morning was spent visiting and taking a walking tour of the neighborhood. The hosting skills of Steve and Carla were stretched to the limit but they came through with flying colors and in a weak moment invited everyone back.
February 5, 1987
Several Bazaar men attended an insecticide dinner meeting for farmers held Tuesday evening at St. Anthony Hall in Strong City.
Jim Schwilling visited Mrs. Charles Schwilling last Wednesday and replaced a storm window blown off during the Valentine Day wind storm.
February 25, 1988