The year was nineteen hundred thirty six. The great depression and the drought on drouth was coming to an end. Did you know this word has two ways to spell it? Recovery was slow and times were hard. I was seventeen and if I had a dollar to spend, I was rich. In fact I was a fair skunk and gopher trapper. We sold the skunk hides and the county paid a nickel bounty on gopher scalps. This was my only income. Dad worked away from home and I did the farm work. In spite of the financial problems and the travel involved the whole family was together. The boys from the Hills, as we called them, came down with their wives. Julius and Stella had no children. Robert and Mildred brought their son, Jim. Irene and Frank Richards lived on a small farm nearby. They had one child, Nancy Jo Ann. Winnie came from Denver. She was still single. Wallace, my brother, and my sister, Rosa came from Colorado. He was employed on the Turkey Track Ranch located east of Fountain and Rosa kept house and went to high school. She received her diploma from the Squirrel Creek School in El Paso County. Vera was teaching at the Prairie Flower School, located six miles south of where we lived. I, of course was still at home. My younger sister, Lucille (Cille) and brother, Arthur were still going to the Tasco Grade School. There is a picture of that gathering floating around somewhere in the family. As I remember, it was a beautiful, shirt sleeve weather day. The picture referred to includes Mom and Dad and their ten children. Memory fails me, I cannot remember if the two grandchildren were included in the picture. The dog, I might add answered to the name of Buck. He and I claimed each other. We spent many days together herding cattle. He is the same dog who survived a snake bite by a rattler. It is proper to note at this time that my own grandson, Jay Rietcheck, who has a severe hearing loss, witnessed an incident on his folks' front lawn. One of the dogs received a snake bite but no harm came to him Gay). He was a very excited boy when he came running into the house to ask his mother to come look, I killed the rattler and with prompt action by the vet, the dog was good as ever the next day. The years, how quick they pass. A few months later Dad was gone, killed by asthma. It was probably made worse by living in the dust storms of the Dirty Thirties. Soon we will celebrate a holiday together with my family. I and my six children together with the thirteen grandchildren. But!! There will be an empty chair at the table. Mary, the grandmother, will not be physically present but I shall insist on an empty chair. She was always careful to include all thirteen as her grandchildren but just for the record only ten could she claim as blood descendants. You see, Melissa Bohr, Neal Draper and Nolan Draper are step children of my son, Sam and daughter, Susan Draper. This may have been a Thanksgiving day event. Memory is sometimes faulty after sixty years.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Dec. 1996 THE LAST CHRISTMAS OF THE FRANK MORGAN FAMILY
The year was nineteen hundred thirty six. The great depression and the drought on drouth was coming to an end. Did you know this word has two ways to spell it? Recovery was slow and times were hard. I was seventeen and if I had a dollar to spend, I was rich. In fact I was a fair skunk and gopher trapper. We sold the skunk hides and the county paid a nickel bounty on gopher scalps. This was my only income. Dad worked away from home and I did the farm work. In spite of the financial problems and the travel involved the whole family was together. The boys from the Hills, as we called them, came down with their wives. Julius and Stella had no children. Robert and Mildred brought their son, Jim. Irene and Frank Richards lived on a small farm nearby. They had one child, Nancy Jo Ann. Winnie came from Denver. She was still single. Wallace, my brother, and my sister, Rosa came from Colorado. He was employed on the Turkey Track Ranch located east of Fountain and Rosa kept house and went to high school. She received her diploma from the Squirrel Creek School in El Paso County. Vera was teaching at the Prairie Flower School, located six miles south of where we lived. I, of course was still at home. My younger sister, Lucille (Cille) and brother, Arthur were still going to the Tasco Grade School. There is a picture of that gathering floating around somewhere in the family. As I remember, it was a beautiful, shirt sleeve weather day. The picture referred to includes Mom and Dad and their ten children. Memory fails me, I cannot remember if the two grandchildren were included in the picture. The dog, I might add answered to the name of Buck. He and I claimed each other. We spent many days together herding cattle. He is the same dog who survived a snake bite by a rattler. It is proper to note at this time that my own grandson, Jay Rietcheck, who has a severe hearing loss, witnessed an incident on his folks' front lawn. One of the dogs received a snake bite but no harm came to him Gay). He was a very excited boy when he came running into the house to ask his mother to come look, I killed the rattler and with prompt action by the vet, the dog was good as ever the next day. The years, how quick they pass. A few months later Dad was gone, killed by asthma. It was probably made worse by living in the dust storms of the Dirty Thirties. Soon we will celebrate a holiday together with my family. I and my six children together with the thirteen grandchildren. But!! There will be an empty chair at the table. Mary, the grandmother, will not be physically present but I shall insist on an empty chair. She was always careful to include all thirteen as her grandchildren but just for the record only ten could she claim as blood descendants. You see, Melissa Bohr, Neal Draper and Nolan Draper are step children of my son, Sam and daughter, Susan Draper. This may have been a Thanksgiving day event. Memory is sometimes faulty after sixty years.
The year was nineteen hundred thirty six. The great depression and the drought on drouth was coming to an end. Did you know this word has two ways to spell it? Recovery was slow and times were hard. I was seventeen and if I had a dollar to spend, I was rich. In fact I was a fair skunk and gopher trapper. We sold the skunk hides and the county paid a nickel bounty on gopher scalps. This was my only income. Dad worked away from home and I did the farm work. In spite of the financial problems and the travel involved the whole family was together. The boys from the Hills, as we called them, came down with their wives. Julius and Stella had no children. Robert and Mildred brought their son, Jim. Irene and Frank Richards lived on a small farm nearby. They had one child, Nancy Jo Ann. Winnie came from Denver. She was still single. Wallace, my brother, and my sister, Rosa came from Colorado. He was employed on the Turkey Track Ranch located east of Fountain and Rosa kept house and went to high school. She received her diploma from the Squirrel Creek School in El Paso County. Vera was teaching at the Prairie Flower School, located six miles south of where we lived. I, of course was still at home. My younger sister, Lucille (Cille) and brother, Arthur were still going to the Tasco Grade School. There is a picture of that gathering floating around somewhere in the family. As I remember, it was a beautiful, shirt sleeve weather day. The picture referred to includes Mom and Dad and their ten children. Memory fails me, I cannot remember if the two grandchildren were included in the picture. The dog, I might add answered to the name of Buck. He and I claimed each other. We spent many days together herding cattle. He is the same dog who survived a snake bite by a rattler. It is proper to note at this time that my own grandson, Jay Rietcheck, who has a severe hearing loss, witnessed an incident on his folks' front lawn. One of the dogs received a snake bite but no harm came to him Gay). He was a very excited boy when he came running into the house to ask his mother to come look, I killed the rattler and with prompt action by the vet, the dog was good as ever the next day. The years, how quick they pass. A few months later Dad was gone, killed by asthma. It was probably made worse by living in the dust storms of the Dirty Thirties. Soon we will celebrate a holiday together with my family. I and my six children together with the thirteen grandchildren. But!! There will be an empty chair at the table. Mary, the grandmother, will not be physically present but I shall insist on an empty chair. She was always careful to include all thirteen as her grandchildren but just for the record only ten could she claim as blood descendants. You see, Melissa Bohr, Neal Draper and Nolan Draper are step children of my son, Sam and daughter, Susan Draper. This may have been a Thanksgiving day event. Memory is sometimes faulty after sixty years.
Dec. 1996
Tis two nights before Christmas and all through the house, nothing is stirring. Bob and Lady, the dog, are all die company there is. What contrast to days gone by. Mary would deck die house widi a bit of die holiday trimmings. Nothing elaborate, you understand. It was just a tribute to the season of celebration. If she had access to a million dollars I doubt if it would have been different. She was a frugal woman. This was a trait diat I much admired. She taught me a lesson early in our marriage. I believe the females of all God's kingdom have a strong protective regard for their offspring. This is something that I suspect the male will never understand. If she ever brought home anything that might seem frivolous it was for die children. Christmas was a special time. We, for years ate a breakfast together on Christmas morning. This continued until her death. All the family would try to come to this special gathering. I am not sure why we did this; but it was good for die family. Perhaps we did it in deference to our children's spouse's family. They too gadiered on Christmas day and of course die expanded family could not be at both grandparents at the same time. Mary would be up late on Christmas eve. She would hang stockings for family members; nothing elaborate. It was just her way of letting us all know that we wrere special. Oh Lord forgive! How much I took for granted. I am thankful for the bittersweet memories.
Tis two nights before Christmas and all through the house, nothing is stirring. Bob and Lady, the dog, are all die company there is. What contrast to days gone by. Mary would deck die house widi a bit of die holiday trimmings. Nothing elaborate, you understand. It was just a tribute to the season of celebration. If she had access to a million dollars I doubt if it would have been different. She was a frugal woman. This was a trait diat I much admired. She taught me a lesson early in our marriage. I believe the females of all God's kingdom have a strong protective regard for their offspring. This is something that I suspect the male will never understand. If she ever brought home anything that might seem frivolous it was for die children. Christmas was a special time. We, for years ate a breakfast together on Christmas morning. This continued until her death. All the family would try to come to this special gathering. I am not sure why we did this; but it was good for die family. Perhaps we did it in deference to our children's spouse's family. They too gadiered on Christmas day and of course die expanded family could not be at both grandparents at the same time. Mary would be up late on Christmas eve. She would hang stockings for family members; nothing elaborate. It was just her way of letting us all know that we wrere special. Oh Lord forgive! How much I took for granted. I am thankful for the bittersweet memories.
Christmas eve 1996
How many Christmas eve church services have I attended? I do not know. How far back does the memory go? That too is lost in the passing of time. I can however remember attending Christmas eve programs at the old Presbyterain church at Tasco. It was a celebration combined with the childrens' program. We may have rode to church in a horse drawn wagon. Maybe not on Christmas eve but we did so many a time. Times were hard and community gatherings were a welcome event. Perhaps the pace was less hurried. Perhaps we celebrated more than the birth of Christ but surely true worship of God was part of the gathering. Oh! that we might turn back the pages of time. Of what avail? Why these pensive moods? It is a season for reflection. Self examination is not easy and honest self examination may often be unpleasant. It has sometimes led to self destruction. Is life then an exercise in frustration? By no means. Man has a source of strength within his grasp. How strange it is that so many reject it. Mankind is doomed to live by the sweat of his brow, but this does not go on forever as if we were on a treadmill going nowhere. The poet Longfellow must have understood this. He both asked and answered this question when he penned "A Psalm of Life." "Tell me not in mournful numbers. Life is but an empty dream?" Next we exert another thought "Life is real, Life is earnest, And the grave is not the goal. Dust thou art to dust returnest was not spoken of the soul." And so it is. We may have melancholy moods but they can serve a purpose that is useful. They can serve us well as a reminder of how selfish we are by nature; but we have a power within our grasp. Grasp it we must or all is lost forever and that dear reader is a long time. Thus it behooves us to: "Go tell the untold millions, Jesus was crucified." I made a hard decision today. The question was really this. Who do I put first, my brother man or myself? There is but one answer and I firmly believe that I made the right choice.
How many Christmas eve church services have I attended? I do not know. How far back does the memory go? That too is lost in the passing of time. I can however remember attending Christmas eve programs at the old Presbyterain church at Tasco. It was a celebration combined with the childrens' program. We may have rode to church in a horse drawn wagon. Maybe not on Christmas eve but we did so many a time. Times were hard and community gatherings were a welcome event. Perhaps the pace was less hurried. Perhaps we celebrated more than the birth of Christ but surely true worship of God was part of the gathering. Oh! that we might turn back the pages of time. Of what avail? Why these pensive moods? It is a season for reflection. Self examination is not easy and honest self examination may often be unpleasant. It has sometimes led to self destruction. Is life then an exercise in frustration? By no means. Man has a source of strength within his grasp. How strange it is that so many reject it. Mankind is doomed to live by the sweat of his brow, but this does not go on forever as if we were on a treadmill going nowhere. The poet Longfellow must have understood this. He both asked and answered this question when he penned "A Psalm of Life." "Tell me not in mournful numbers. Life is but an empty dream?" Next we exert another thought "Life is real, Life is earnest, And the grave is not the goal. Dust thou art to dust returnest was not spoken of the soul." And so it is. We may have melancholy moods but they can serve a purpose that is useful. They can serve us well as a reminder of how selfish we are by nature; but we have a power within our grasp. Grasp it we must or all is lost forever and that dear reader is a long time. Thus it behooves us to: "Go tell the untold millions, Jesus was crucified." I made a hard decision today. The question was really this. Who do I put first, my brother man or myself? There is but one answer and I firmly believe that I made the right choice.
The following article was one of the earliest written about A.S. "Sam" Morgan. Although the main thrust concerns the early history of Sheridan County, the article does contain some history on Sam Morgan. •
Some Early Day History Concerning This County: Sheridan
By way of introduction, I will say my father settled at Museum in '71, so named because of Indian and other relics found there - now the home of George Pratt. This county had not been surveyed at this time. Supplies were brought from Fort Hays. He was handling cattle on shares for a man at Brookville, whose name I have forgotten. At that time, only four men lived on the south Solomon in what was to be Sheridan County. Cattle were marketed at Hays or Abilene, being driven to one of those points in late summer. Father had been over considerable of this county before with buffalo hunters. The buffalo hides were sold at Hays and Wallace at a dollar each. The Dodge City and Black Hills trail struck at what is now Buffalo Park, a half-way place between Hays and Wallace. Signs of this trail may be seen on the Hardy Bradbury ranch east of Hoxie. Near there was Camp Scripture where cowboys might quench their thirst and also try their luck on the green cloth. The trail struck north Solomon near the George Kious place. To the Kious family was born the first white child in Sheridan County. It was just south of Buffalo on Big Creek where they were camped for dinner that Joel Collins and one of his cowboys were killed by cavalry troops from Hays. Collins and seven of his cowboys who had taken a herd of beeves to the Black Hills from Texas, had sold the cattle and during a carousel had lost the money. Starting home they robbed the U.S. Mail at Big Springs, splitting in pairs and Collins and one of the cowboys returned by the trail, the others going in other directions. Considerable money was found sewed in their slickers. An acquaintance of Collins at Buffalo sent the news to Hays and a special engine and car brought the soldiers to Buffalo, but the informant did not get the reward. In the Indian raid of 78, the Indians crossed this part of the county along this trail. One white man was killed on south Solomon. Several people were killed on the north Solomon, two women were tortured to death with red hot king bolts. The people here had trouble keeping away from the Indians and watching prairie fires. When the Indians found freight wagons, they tore cloth into strips and tied the strips to their ponies' tails, then they would race about. In the "Price of the Prairie" is a very good description of this raid. Among the people I have heard my father speak of as living in this country in the earlier days was Pete Ribidoux, of Wallace, who traded goods for buffalo hides; Tom Duly and Pat Hickey, who operated a trading place at Hays, later at Ellis; Ace Adair, latest marshall at Ellis; Jim Steerman, near what is now Moreland; Sol Reece, Bill Simpson and S. Larrick on the north Solomon; Bob Fowler, of Brookville; Hays Bros., of Bull City, now Alton. Father came to Osborne from Nebraska with these boys. Ones neighbors were very far apart at that time. Camps, as homes were called, were never locked, provisions were kept there whether at home of not, so that the traveler might find shelter and food, if necessary. No questions were asked of strangers. If he told his name, allright; if not, allright. It was not considered healthy to ask a man his name. Many things happened that he did not investigate. About the only law was a pair of six-shooters. A very large majority of the people were doing right. A horse thief was promptly disposed of, if caught, as a man's horse was an absolute necessity. Occasional bands of rusuers went through the county.
After Buffalo Park was established, a freight trail was made from Lenora to Buffalo. The settlers of the late '70's and early '80's used the trail considerably. Among the people that settled in this county during that time to become identified with the development of this county were : C A. Pearson from the Shafers on the Saline; Abram andJ.F. Pratt, the George Pratt family, of Museum; F.H. Phelps, Dick Lynam, G.W. Taylor, the Waldens, Cresslers, Hopkins, and Charley Johnson, who claims to have helped celebrate my birth, and many others whose names I do not recall at this time. The Wm. T. Holmes family, of which my mother is a member, settled about five miles south of what was Guy in '80, coming from Canada. Grandfather Holmes broke a small piece of ground and planted wheat. In harvesting this wheat, father's acquaintance with my mother began. He had rounded up some wild cattle and was driving them home past this field where grandfather and two girls were pulling up this wheat by hand. He was obliged to gather cattle for several days afterwards. Father and Mother were married in October 1881. In '80, an earthquake shock was felt in the country. Two brothers named Martin lived on Martin Creek, one a sort of half-wit, shot Into a tree in front of their dugout, thinking someone was trying to pull the ridge pole of their dugout, so noticeable was the quake here. Father sold out at Museum in '81 and settled at the mouth of Sand Creek. My first recollections are of the hard winters of '85 and '86. No food was provided for wintering stock. Cow hides were plentiful the spring of '86, many people losing all of their cattle. Up to the '90's, stock was run on grass. When storms came, the cattle drifted with them. The length of the storm determined how far they would drift - sometimes as far as the Smoky. Weak ones would be found sticking in the snow drifts all along the way. After the storm, men went out on their trail looking for his own and neighbor's stock to get them back before another storm, if he could. Most ranchers brought in some ear corn in the fall when the snow was on the ground. They would sack this, going through the herd handing out an ear at a time to the weaker ones. Many range horses were here during the '80's. These horses were rounded up when wanted by several men. One or more would start the bunch, which would run, being turned at intervals by riders until they were running in a sort of a circle for several miles, gradually drawing nearer to the corral by a broked horse. There he would be roped, usually by the forefoot and thrown to be branded or haltered. Among my first recollections in watching this work, it required much hard riding. One of the worst troubles of the stockmen was Texas itch. In winter, cattle developed great sores, often most of the hair coming off their backs. After '80 and '85, people began to provide some food for storms, also some shelter. At this time, the country was settling very fast. Most land open to entry being taken up, speculators buying desirable railroad land in large quantities. The settlers were mostly single men or young couples, most of whom abandoned their claims in a few years, some without making proof, others as soon as proof could be made and the land mortgaged for enough to get away on. During this time, most of these people would go east to work, returning to live on their land or claims only as much as die law required. Many hired their homestead work done, having neither the tools nor work horses. Many timber claims were filed, proof on which required a certain number of live trees. Very few were made. Tom L. Pratt was one of the few who really raised a grove. Most of the claims were plowed yearly and planted with locust seed - rows about twelve feet apart. I believe sometimes corn was planted between the rows, usually to be destroyed by range cattle or horses. Later, by act of Congress, die claims were allowed entry as homesteads. About '91, some barley, corn, wheat and broom corn was being raised. T.M. Walker did much to encourage the raising of broom corn, having a great deal planted on his own account, but the low prices of the '90's put an end to the broom corn industry.
A steam threshing rig was operated in the early '90's, east and northeast of Hoxie, by John Thompson and John Talbot - the first in the country., I think. I believe it was in '92. About 1890, alfalfa was introduced in this country by Harry Williamson, or the Moses ranch near Grainfield. Uncle Jim Grinnell had a small field east of Hoxie. After '96, this became a very popular forage crop. A child's memories are naturally limited, but I believe the crops of '91 and '92 were very good, considering acreage. "93 and '94 were very lean years. Speaking of our family, our diet was chiefly beans, fat bacon and corn meal. I have not cared much for mush or boiled beans since. Several cars of "aid" were shipped to this county from the east in '94. One car sent by Lew Blakely and others, of Carrolton, Missouri, was distributed by my father, E.H. McCracken and J.S. Turner. It consisted mostly of clothing and flour, some dried fruits this fruit tasted mighty good even though only a few pounds to a family. Blakely owned some land near Guy. About this time, the Salina-Colby railroad was built, he and others organized a company to build a water-power flour mill at Guy. Work progressed as far as quarrying a considerable amount of rock and hauling them down to the mill site. Quite a large town-site was laid out at Guy by Hopkins and his son-in-law, C.E. Perkins, the father of John Hopkins, of Grainfield, had a store and post office where F.W. Houseworth now lives. The misses Gertrude Pratt and Annie Pratt (now Mrs. C.A. Taylor) both of Hoxie, were both expert riders and carried mail from Museum to Guy and Hoxie on ponies; later by buck-board. On one of her trips from Hoxie, Mrs. Taylor's pony ran away throwing her from the cart and she received a broken collar bone. Father found the unconscious woman and brought her to our house. The railroad was built in '87 and '88, but did not operate much until about '98. During '93 and '94, some of the cuts were filled with drifting dirt from two to four feet deep. Not enough rain fell during '93 and '94 to sprout seeds. Fourteen months without moisture, the drouth, not really being broken until Decoration Day '95, when a cloudburst struck this country. This was followed by several years of very good crops. The winter of '97 and '98, corn was hauled to Guy, where Bonfield was feeding cattle, at 11 to 14 cents per bushel. Some of this corn was hauled from near the north of Solomon. A sod school house was built a few rods from where J.R. Conard's blacksmith shop now stands. L.M. Grant lived there in '88. Our first school consisted of some twenty or more pupils. Mrs. Viola Draper was the teacher of the pupils, my brother, Charles and I were the only ones here now who entered the first term of school. Prairie fires were a great source of worry for the settlers during the '80's and '90's. One fire in '89 started near the north Solomon and burned to the Smoky River. A very high wind was blowing, making it impossible to stop the fire. Homes were saved by backfires, splitting the main fire. Many piles of cow chips that had been gathered for winter fuel caught fire and smoldered for many months afterwards. Women and children did very little going to town in those days. My first trip to town that I remember was in '91 and/or '92. My principle memory of that trip was seeing E.P. Werda, then druggist at Hoxie, riding a bicycle with a high wheel and a very low one. I took my first train ride after I was 18. My father did very little farming. I did no farm work until I was past fourteen. The tools then in use would not be very desirable now. Many children have followed the plow, dropping corn in every third row. One spring, father broke about ten acres of prairie. Charles and I followed, making holes in the sod with hatchets and dropped seed in these holes, covering them by stepping on them.
The grass hook was a tool that was hard on ankles if you struck with instead of pulling. Cane seed was threshed with a flail or raked off the head with a curry comb. We boys would much rather herd than do this work. About '96, large pastures were being built with little attention being given to the section lines. Large herds were summered in these pastures and shipped in the fall. Four pastures controlled by Tom L. Pratt, George H. Pratt, Benton & Hopkins, Fowler and Marshall, occupied a large part of the valley, Saline and Springbrook townships. After 1900, the county was setded very fast. Quite a contrast are the many modern homes of today to the dugouts and sod houses of what seems but a few days ago. Saddle pony to buggy to automobile. Pony mail routes to radio. As I look back, it seems unreal. Thus has gone more than 41 years in Sheridan County. May I see the changes of 41 more. -J.F. Morgan (John Franklin Morgan, eldest of seven Morgan children, 1882-1937.)
Some Early Day History Concerning This County: Sheridan
By way of introduction, I will say my father settled at Museum in '71, so named because of Indian and other relics found there - now the home of George Pratt. This county had not been surveyed at this time. Supplies were brought from Fort Hays. He was handling cattle on shares for a man at Brookville, whose name I have forgotten. At that time, only four men lived on the south Solomon in what was to be Sheridan County. Cattle were marketed at Hays or Abilene, being driven to one of those points in late summer. Father had been over considerable of this county before with buffalo hunters. The buffalo hides were sold at Hays and Wallace at a dollar each. The Dodge City and Black Hills trail struck at what is now Buffalo Park, a half-way place between Hays and Wallace. Signs of this trail may be seen on the Hardy Bradbury ranch east of Hoxie. Near there was Camp Scripture where cowboys might quench their thirst and also try their luck on the green cloth. The trail struck north Solomon near the George Kious place. To the Kious family was born the first white child in Sheridan County. It was just south of Buffalo on Big Creek where they were camped for dinner that Joel Collins and one of his cowboys were killed by cavalry troops from Hays. Collins and seven of his cowboys who had taken a herd of beeves to the Black Hills from Texas, had sold the cattle and during a carousel had lost the money. Starting home they robbed the U.S. Mail at Big Springs, splitting in pairs and Collins and one of the cowboys returned by the trail, the others going in other directions. Considerable money was found sewed in their slickers. An acquaintance of Collins at Buffalo sent the news to Hays and a special engine and car brought the soldiers to Buffalo, but the informant did not get the reward. In the Indian raid of 78, the Indians crossed this part of the county along this trail. One white man was killed on south Solomon. Several people were killed on the north Solomon, two women were tortured to death with red hot king bolts. The people here had trouble keeping away from the Indians and watching prairie fires. When the Indians found freight wagons, they tore cloth into strips and tied the strips to their ponies' tails, then they would race about. In the "Price of the Prairie" is a very good description of this raid. Among the people I have heard my father speak of as living in this country in the earlier days was Pete Ribidoux, of Wallace, who traded goods for buffalo hides; Tom Duly and Pat Hickey, who operated a trading place at Hays, later at Ellis; Ace Adair, latest marshall at Ellis; Jim Steerman, near what is now Moreland; Sol Reece, Bill Simpson and S. Larrick on the north Solomon; Bob Fowler, of Brookville; Hays Bros., of Bull City, now Alton. Father came to Osborne from Nebraska with these boys. Ones neighbors were very far apart at that time. Camps, as homes were called, were never locked, provisions were kept there whether at home of not, so that the traveler might find shelter and food, if necessary. No questions were asked of strangers. If he told his name, allright; if not, allright. It was not considered healthy to ask a man his name. Many things happened that he did not investigate. About the only law was a pair of six-shooters. A very large majority of the people were doing right. A horse thief was promptly disposed of, if caught, as a man's horse was an absolute necessity. Occasional bands of rusuers went through the county.
After Buffalo Park was established, a freight trail was made from Lenora to Buffalo. The settlers of the late '70's and early '80's used the trail considerably. Among the people that settled in this county during that time to become identified with the development of this county were : C A. Pearson from the Shafers on the Saline; Abram andJ.F. Pratt, the George Pratt family, of Museum; F.H. Phelps, Dick Lynam, G.W. Taylor, the Waldens, Cresslers, Hopkins, and Charley Johnson, who claims to have helped celebrate my birth, and many others whose names I do not recall at this time. The Wm. T. Holmes family, of which my mother is a member, settled about five miles south of what was Guy in '80, coming from Canada. Grandfather Holmes broke a small piece of ground and planted wheat. In harvesting this wheat, father's acquaintance with my mother began. He had rounded up some wild cattle and was driving them home past this field where grandfather and two girls were pulling up this wheat by hand. He was obliged to gather cattle for several days afterwards. Father and Mother were married in October 1881. In '80, an earthquake shock was felt in the country. Two brothers named Martin lived on Martin Creek, one a sort of half-wit, shot Into a tree in front of their dugout, thinking someone was trying to pull the ridge pole of their dugout, so noticeable was the quake here. Father sold out at Museum in '81 and settled at the mouth of Sand Creek. My first recollections are of the hard winters of '85 and '86. No food was provided for wintering stock. Cow hides were plentiful the spring of '86, many people losing all of their cattle. Up to the '90's, stock was run on grass. When storms came, the cattle drifted with them. The length of the storm determined how far they would drift - sometimes as far as the Smoky. Weak ones would be found sticking in the snow drifts all along the way. After the storm, men went out on their trail looking for his own and neighbor's stock to get them back before another storm, if he could. Most ranchers brought in some ear corn in the fall when the snow was on the ground. They would sack this, going through the herd handing out an ear at a time to the weaker ones. Many range horses were here during the '80's. These horses were rounded up when wanted by several men. One or more would start the bunch, which would run, being turned at intervals by riders until they were running in a sort of a circle for several miles, gradually drawing nearer to the corral by a broked horse. There he would be roped, usually by the forefoot and thrown to be branded or haltered. Among my first recollections in watching this work, it required much hard riding. One of the worst troubles of the stockmen was Texas itch. In winter, cattle developed great sores, often most of the hair coming off their backs. After '80 and '85, people began to provide some food for storms, also some shelter. At this time, the country was settling very fast. Most land open to entry being taken up, speculators buying desirable railroad land in large quantities. The settlers were mostly single men or young couples, most of whom abandoned their claims in a few years, some without making proof, others as soon as proof could be made and the land mortgaged for enough to get away on. During this time, most of these people would go east to work, returning to live on their land or claims only as much as die law required. Many hired their homestead work done, having neither the tools nor work horses. Many timber claims were filed, proof on which required a certain number of live trees. Very few were made. Tom L. Pratt was one of the few who really raised a grove. Most of the claims were plowed yearly and planted with locust seed - rows about twelve feet apart. I believe sometimes corn was planted between the rows, usually to be destroyed by range cattle or horses. Later, by act of Congress, die claims were allowed entry as homesteads. About '91, some barley, corn, wheat and broom corn was being raised. T.M. Walker did much to encourage the raising of broom corn, having a great deal planted on his own account, but the low prices of the '90's put an end to the broom corn industry.
A steam threshing rig was operated in the early '90's, east and northeast of Hoxie, by John Thompson and John Talbot - the first in the country., I think. I believe it was in '92. About 1890, alfalfa was introduced in this country by Harry Williamson, or the Moses ranch near Grainfield. Uncle Jim Grinnell had a small field east of Hoxie. After '96, this became a very popular forage crop. A child's memories are naturally limited, but I believe the crops of '91 and '92 were very good, considering acreage. "93 and '94 were very lean years. Speaking of our family, our diet was chiefly beans, fat bacon and corn meal. I have not cared much for mush or boiled beans since. Several cars of "aid" were shipped to this county from the east in '94. One car sent by Lew Blakely and others, of Carrolton, Missouri, was distributed by my father, E.H. McCracken and J.S. Turner. It consisted mostly of clothing and flour, some dried fruits this fruit tasted mighty good even though only a few pounds to a family. Blakely owned some land near Guy. About this time, the Salina-Colby railroad was built, he and others organized a company to build a water-power flour mill at Guy. Work progressed as far as quarrying a considerable amount of rock and hauling them down to the mill site. Quite a large town-site was laid out at Guy by Hopkins and his son-in-law, C.E. Perkins, the father of John Hopkins, of Grainfield, had a store and post office where F.W. Houseworth now lives. The misses Gertrude Pratt and Annie Pratt (now Mrs. C.A. Taylor) both of Hoxie, were both expert riders and carried mail from Museum to Guy and Hoxie on ponies; later by buck-board. On one of her trips from Hoxie, Mrs. Taylor's pony ran away throwing her from the cart and she received a broken collar bone. Father found the unconscious woman and brought her to our house. The railroad was built in '87 and '88, but did not operate much until about '98. During '93 and '94, some of the cuts were filled with drifting dirt from two to four feet deep. Not enough rain fell during '93 and '94 to sprout seeds. Fourteen months without moisture, the drouth, not really being broken until Decoration Day '95, when a cloudburst struck this country. This was followed by several years of very good crops. The winter of '97 and '98, corn was hauled to Guy, where Bonfield was feeding cattle, at 11 to 14 cents per bushel. Some of this corn was hauled from near the north of Solomon. A sod school house was built a few rods from where J.R. Conard's blacksmith shop now stands. L.M. Grant lived there in '88. Our first school consisted of some twenty or more pupils. Mrs. Viola Draper was the teacher of the pupils, my brother, Charles and I were the only ones here now who entered the first term of school. Prairie fires were a great source of worry for the settlers during the '80's and '90's. One fire in '89 started near the north Solomon and burned to the Smoky River. A very high wind was blowing, making it impossible to stop the fire. Homes were saved by backfires, splitting the main fire. Many piles of cow chips that had been gathered for winter fuel caught fire and smoldered for many months afterwards. Women and children did very little going to town in those days. My first trip to town that I remember was in '91 and/or '92. My principle memory of that trip was seeing E.P. Werda, then druggist at Hoxie, riding a bicycle with a high wheel and a very low one. I took my first train ride after I was 18. My father did very little farming. I did no farm work until I was past fourteen. The tools then in use would not be very desirable now. Many children have followed the plow, dropping corn in every third row. One spring, father broke about ten acres of prairie. Charles and I followed, making holes in the sod with hatchets and dropped seed in these holes, covering them by stepping on them.
The grass hook was a tool that was hard on ankles if you struck with instead of pulling. Cane seed was threshed with a flail or raked off the head with a curry comb. We boys would much rather herd than do this work. About '96, large pastures were being built with little attention being given to the section lines. Large herds were summered in these pastures and shipped in the fall. Four pastures controlled by Tom L. Pratt, George H. Pratt, Benton & Hopkins, Fowler and Marshall, occupied a large part of the valley, Saline and Springbrook townships. After 1900, the county was setded very fast. Quite a contrast are the many modern homes of today to the dugouts and sod houses of what seems but a few days ago. Saddle pony to buggy to automobile. Pony mail routes to radio. As I look back, it seems unreal. Thus has gone more than 41 years in Sheridan County. May I see the changes of 41 more. -J.F. Morgan (John Franklin Morgan, eldest of seven Morgan children, 1882-1937.)
Feb. 3 -1997
"The years how quickly they pass. The days how swiftly they are. Swift as an Indian's arrow. Fly on like a shooting star." These words are attributed to Abraham Lincoln and they seem appropriate. I attended a military funeral today. This is a ritual which the Veterans of Foreign Wars carries out at the request of a deceased veterans family. It is a very moving ceremony done in a military manner. At the close, the flag of the United States of America is removed from the casket and given to a surviving close relative. This was by no means the first one that I played a part in; however as I sat there my mind began to wander. How distant the past!! How near the future!! As we review the past, the struggles - the dreams born of youth. Oh, how the spirit soared and the whole world lay ahead. There were distant lands that must be seen - deeds that must be done. Some might add, new worlds to conquer. But, no. Mine was never a competitive spirit. Within us all, perhaps buried beneath the mundane events of the day, is a driving force. It points to afar off beacon, a destination if you will. Oh, the pitfalls, the often lonely journey, across the mountain tops and the descent into the valleys and then comes the seemingly final blow. We come to a river so wide, so deep and with a current so swift that it seems that one must abandon the goal. What now - must the goal be abandoned. Many do dear reader, many do. Will you not pause and consider. Does the victory always go to the strong? Is the race always won by the fleetest? Perhaps. Does the plodder finally succeed? Who can say? At this point the words of Winston Churchill seem to apply. He toured the United States after World War II. He was invited to address the student body of a university. The revered leader was raised up in the United Kingdom during those dark days of what appeared to be a dying kingdom. He stood up, looked in to the faces of a generation who were about to go out into the world and he delivered his address. I quote it verbatim. Never surrender. Never surrender. Never surrender. Then he sat down. Were I to analyze my thoughts this morning it seems apparent that I did not follow the great mans advice. Fifty long years have sped by and by all the wisdom of the sages of old down to the present, the course is about to be completed. The end is fast approaching. Were I to review the past and compare the dreams of bygone days with the reality that is similar to the footprints on the sands of time, would I be pleased? No! Oh no! I must not do so. To do so could very well lead to the seed of despair. Many take that route and find themselves wallowing in the slough of despond and there they may very well decide to play God and end it all. Rather it is for us, the living, to go on, dedicated to the task remaining before us. And what is the task? I do not know. From the perspective of many years of living it seems apparent that goals often change and I am fully persuaded that God intended it to be so.
Did those dreams of long ago serve a useful purpose. Indeed yes. I believe they did. Why would any one labor on to a goal of futility. We need not surrender hut perhaps the road to victory calls for us to alter the battle plan. No, never will I allow my spirit to sink. I face the future with a better understanding of the limitations that we all have. I was but given a fleeting glimpse of an opportunity. This is not the time to disclose the facts. We shall await the outcome with courage.
"The years how quickly they pass. The days how swiftly they are. Swift as an Indian's arrow. Fly on like a shooting star." These words are attributed to Abraham Lincoln and they seem appropriate. I attended a military funeral today. This is a ritual which the Veterans of Foreign Wars carries out at the request of a deceased veterans family. It is a very moving ceremony done in a military manner. At the close, the flag of the United States of America is removed from the casket and given to a surviving close relative. This was by no means the first one that I played a part in; however as I sat there my mind began to wander. How distant the past!! How near the future!! As we review the past, the struggles - the dreams born of youth. Oh, how the spirit soared and the whole world lay ahead. There were distant lands that must be seen - deeds that must be done. Some might add, new worlds to conquer. But, no. Mine was never a competitive spirit. Within us all, perhaps buried beneath the mundane events of the day, is a driving force. It points to afar off beacon, a destination if you will. Oh, the pitfalls, the often lonely journey, across the mountain tops and the descent into the valleys and then comes the seemingly final blow. We come to a river so wide, so deep and with a current so swift that it seems that one must abandon the goal. What now - must the goal be abandoned. Many do dear reader, many do. Will you not pause and consider. Does the victory always go to the strong? Is the race always won by the fleetest? Perhaps. Does the plodder finally succeed? Who can say? At this point the words of Winston Churchill seem to apply. He toured the United States after World War II. He was invited to address the student body of a university. The revered leader was raised up in the United Kingdom during those dark days of what appeared to be a dying kingdom. He stood up, looked in to the faces of a generation who were about to go out into the world and he delivered his address. I quote it verbatim. Never surrender. Never surrender. Never surrender. Then he sat down. Were I to analyze my thoughts this morning it seems apparent that I did not follow the great mans advice. Fifty long years have sped by and by all the wisdom of the sages of old down to the present, the course is about to be completed. The end is fast approaching. Were I to review the past and compare the dreams of bygone days with the reality that is similar to the footprints on the sands of time, would I be pleased? No! Oh no! I must not do so. To do so could very well lead to the seed of despair. Many take that route and find themselves wallowing in the slough of despond and there they may very well decide to play God and end it all. Rather it is for us, the living, to go on, dedicated to the task remaining before us. And what is the task? I do not know. From the perspective of many years of living it seems apparent that goals often change and I am fully persuaded that God intended it to be so.
Did those dreams of long ago serve a useful purpose. Indeed yes. I believe they did. Why would any one labor on to a goal of futility. We need not surrender hut perhaps the road to victory calls for us to alter the battle plan. No, never will I allow my spirit to sink. I face the future with a better understanding of the limitations that we all have. I was but given a fleeting glimpse of an opportunity. This is not the time to disclose the facts. We shall await the outcome with courage.
ROBERT^
It would not be correct to say that I knew him well. In my earliest recollections he was working on a Case Model K tractor. You may well ask what is a Case Model K? It was a four cylinder machine built by the J.C. Case company. This particular model was produced in 1919 and along with a separator built by the same company constituted a small grain trashing rig owned and operated by my father. Tractors and many other machines were not very reliable in those days. I cannot remember ever seeing the rig in operation, however it seems to me that the tractor needed a great deal of attention and Robert was usually the mechanic. These memories must come from a time period of the early Twenties. How do I know this? In about 1924 he and my brother Julius went with a local contractor to Liberal, Kansas where they built what I believe was a school building. After that time he was only at home on visits. I believe it was the year 1926 when he went to the Black Hills of South Dakota. This was at the request of Uncle Bob (Agnes Cline and Herrold Morgan's father). He had some business arrangement with Uncle Bob whereby he worked as part owner and operator of what was known as the Woods Ranch. This was a cattle and farming operation. Brother Julius joined him about a year later. His early boyhood fitted him well for this because he had a great deal of experience riding broncs or should I say breaking them to the saddle and handling cattle. Another incident 1 can remember occurred while he was still at home. On weekdays it was the custom to bring the work horses in from pasture and feed and harness them before breakfast. Rare was the day when at least one team was not needed for the days work. Dad and I were sleeping out under some walnut trees. We often slept outside in summer. We were still in bed that morning when Robert's voice awakened me. He said "Nig is dead." Nig was one of our work mules. He was born in 1905 so our birthdays were separated by fourteen years. Except for brief visits I saw him very little after I was seven years old. I think that as an older brother he often felt the need to discipline me. I was never really close to him. He died in the spring of 1953. At that time he was operating a sawmill at Pringle, So. Dakota. His family still operates it as this is written. (1997) By now you know that he was my brother, the eldest of a family of ten children. His body is buried in a cemetery at Pringle, So. Dakota. More about the ranch later.
It would not be correct to say that I knew him well. In my earliest recollections he was working on a Case Model K tractor. You may well ask what is a Case Model K? It was a four cylinder machine built by the J.C. Case company. This particular model was produced in 1919 and along with a separator built by the same company constituted a small grain trashing rig owned and operated by my father. Tractors and many other machines were not very reliable in those days. I cannot remember ever seeing the rig in operation, however it seems to me that the tractor needed a great deal of attention and Robert was usually the mechanic. These memories must come from a time period of the early Twenties. How do I know this? In about 1924 he and my brother Julius went with a local contractor to Liberal, Kansas where they built what I believe was a school building. After that time he was only at home on visits. I believe it was the year 1926 when he went to the Black Hills of South Dakota. This was at the request of Uncle Bob (Agnes Cline and Herrold Morgan's father). He had some business arrangement with Uncle Bob whereby he worked as part owner and operator of what was known as the Woods Ranch. This was a cattle and farming operation. Brother Julius joined him about a year later. His early boyhood fitted him well for this because he had a great deal of experience riding broncs or should I say breaking them to the saddle and handling cattle. Another incident 1 can remember occurred while he was still at home. On weekdays it was the custom to bring the work horses in from pasture and feed and harness them before breakfast. Rare was the day when at least one team was not needed for the days work. Dad and I were sleeping out under some walnut trees. We often slept outside in summer. We were still in bed that morning when Robert's voice awakened me. He said "Nig is dead." Nig was one of our work mules. He was born in 1905 so our birthdays were separated by fourteen years. Except for brief visits I saw him very little after I was seven years old. I think that as an older brother he often felt the need to discipline me. I was never really close to him. He died in the spring of 1953. At that time he was operating a sawmill at Pringle, So. Dakota. His family still operates it as this is written. (1997) By now you know that he was my brother, the eldest of a family of ten children. His body is buried in a cemetery at Pringle, So. Dakota. More about the ranch later.
JULIUS
He was born in 1906, the second child of Frank and Elsie Morgan. I was rather close to him although about thirteen years separated us. I have a mental picture which goes back to 1922. That was the year that the family moved to the place where 1 grew to manhood. The move was only about one and one half miles. The picture is of Julius driving the team hitched to a hayrack. The rack was loaded with household goods and I was riding with Julius. We were turning into the yard of our new home. Another recollection is walking in the furrow behind him as he broke virgin sod with a team of two horses pulling a breaking plow. The plow cut about a twelve or fourteen inch furrow and it had two handles at the rear. The operator walked behind it and controlled it with the handles. Two to three acres was considered a good days work. Julius went to the Black Hills sometime after Robert. They bached and operated the ranch until the mid thirties. Actually they left the ranch with very little. The drouth of the early thirties and low prices made the times hard. Julius went to work for Uncle Bob and also got married to Stella Weatherly. Robert went to work in a sawmill owned and operated by a man named Pitts. He later bought the mill. Julius worked at various jobs and finally became a capable cement finisher. The war came and cement airplane runways were being built. His skill was in demand. He worked for a branch of the firm Morrison-Knudeson. They were a firm that operated worldwide. He worked on airfields in the Dakotas and Montana. After the war he operated as a small private contractor. His specialty was pouring curb and gutters. Emphysema bothered him a great deal and he was forced to move where he could get help if needed. He and Stella moved to Chadron, Neb. Stella died there in the seventies. He was active and alert up to the end. I think that he enjoyed playing cards at the Senior Center. After Stella died he would drive down and visit us for a few days. This became a yearly affair and we enjoyed each others company. Mary enjoyed him too. In 1989 he could not pass a drivers test. He died in 1992 on December 2. And so ended the life of one dear to me. He is buried at the Chadron cemetery. I miss him but life goes on.
He was born in 1906, the second child of Frank and Elsie Morgan. I was rather close to him although about thirteen years separated us. I have a mental picture which goes back to 1922. That was the year that the family moved to the place where 1 grew to manhood. The move was only about one and one half miles. The picture is of Julius driving the team hitched to a hayrack. The rack was loaded with household goods and I was riding with Julius. We were turning into the yard of our new home. Another recollection is walking in the furrow behind him as he broke virgin sod with a team of two horses pulling a breaking plow. The plow cut about a twelve or fourteen inch furrow and it had two handles at the rear. The operator walked behind it and controlled it with the handles. Two to three acres was considered a good days work. Julius went to the Black Hills sometime after Robert. They bached and operated the ranch until the mid thirties. Actually they left the ranch with very little. The drouth of the early thirties and low prices made the times hard. Julius went to work for Uncle Bob and also got married to Stella Weatherly. Robert went to work in a sawmill owned and operated by a man named Pitts. He later bought the mill. Julius worked at various jobs and finally became a capable cement finisher. The war came and cement airplane runways were being built. His skill was in demand. He worked for a branch of the firm Morrison-Knudeson. They were a firm that operated worldwide. He worked on airfields in the Dakotas and Montana. After the war he operated as a small private contractor. His specialty was pouring curb and gutters. Emphysema bothered him a great deal and he was forced to move where he could get help if needed. He and Stella moved to Chadron, Neb. Stella died there in the seventies. He was active and alert up to the end. I think that he enjoyed playing cards at the Senior Center. After Stella died he would drive down and visit us for a few days. This became a yearly affair and we enjoyed each others company. Mary enjoyed him too. In 1989 he could not pass a drivers test. He died in 1992 on December 2. And so ended the life of one dear to me. He is buried at the Chadron cemetery. I miss him but life goes on.
March 8,1997 •
I must tell you about my neighbor, Vivian. For the better part of fifty years we lived on adjoining farmsteads. There was a special bond between our families. We had a great deal in common. Mary, my wife, was born here and Vivian moved here as a bride in 1940. Thus you can see that our families shared many years together. The children all completed the 4-H program. Clarence, her husband, and I often worked together. We differed somewhat in our religious views; but we often discussed it and it in no way came between us. We could work together very well. In fact he is the only neighbor that I traded work with. Clarence and Vivian raised six children and put them all through college. They were a very frugal family and it amazed me that they were able to finance all this from the income from a small farm. We were very close and good neighbors and the amazing thing is that we had very different goals. I believe it is fair to state that the driving force behind their desire for their childrens' college education was motivated by a vision of financial success. Mary and I held a different view. We merely wished that our children would use their God given skills in a manner that would enrich their lives. Needless to say there are few college degrees in our family. Several years were spent in various college classrooms but a great deal of their preparation for a career was done outside the formal classroom. I have no regrets. This is just another example of the God given uniqueness of the individual. But, on with the story. Clarence died in the early eighties. From that time forward my neighbor Vivian and I worked together operating her farm. Now that period has come to an end. I now have new neighbors. She sold the farm. I doubt if the new neighbors and I will have much in common. Of all the women that 1 have known, Mary, and memory of her will always be in first place. Vivian would come in second place. We too share a very different but special bond. I cannot explain it nor shall I attempt to. She is a part of my cherished memories. Can yon understand that, my children? I believe you can and will because it is true
I must tell you about my neighbor, Vivian. For the better part of fifty years we lived on adjoining farmsteads. There was a special bond between our families. We had a great deal in common. Mary, my wife, was born here and Vivian moved here as a bride in 1940. Thus you can see that our families shared many years together. The children all completed the 4-H program. Clarence, her husband, and I often worked together. We differed somewhat in our religious views; but we often discussed it and it in no way came between us. We could work together very well. In fact he is the only neighbor that I traded work with. Clarence and Vivian raised six children and put them all through college. They were a very frugal family and it amazed me that they were able to finance all this from the income from a small farm. We were very close and good neighbors and the amazing thing is that we had very different goals. I believe it is fair to state that the driving force behind their desire for their childrens' college education was motivated by a vision of financial success. Mary and I held a different view. We merely wished that our children would use their God given skills in a manner that would enrich their lives. Needless to say there are few college degrees in our family. Several years were spent in various college classrooms but a great deal of their preparation for a career was done outside the formal classroom. I have no regrets. This is just another example of the God given uniqueness of the individual. But, on with the story. Clarence died in the early eighties. From that time forward my neighbor Vivian and I worked together operating her farm. Now that period has come to an end. I now have new neighbors. She sold the farm. I doubt if the new neighbors and I will have much in common. Of all the women that 1 have known, Mary, and memory of her will always be in first place. Vivian would come in second place. We too share a very different but special bond. I cannot explain it nor shall I attempt to. She is a part of my cherished memories. Can yon understand that, my children? I believe you can and will because it is true
HOLIDAY ROUTINE
At sea in the peacetime Navy: Deep within all of us is a treasure of memories. Not all are pleasant, however even the most unpleasant tend to mellow with time. So it has been when I look back on a short Naval career. I am grateful for the memories of those precious years. During years of wars or threat of war, our nation has issued a call to arms and the response has always met the demand. True, we had a draft system for many years and many responded because to do otherwise was unlawful. Many (a man?) evaded the draft for various reasons, but I daresay most responded because it was considered a duty. Such individuals abound in a free society where people believe that each person is entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Perhaps in recent years an overwhelming amount of our people have distorted that principle to the point that they believe the world owes diem a living. I have never believed that and I take some pride in the fact that my children do not so believe. In the old Navy of which I was a part there was, and probably still are, an elite group of men. They were known as regular Navy. They could, with pride sign their name and rank or rate and then add three letters, namely U.S.N. That simply signified that they were on active duty by choice. They were not reserves. I must hasten to add that many did leave the regular Navy after a period of active service and joined the Naval Reserves. They trained on a regular basis and were subject to call to active service. The other group were the draftees who were there because they had no choice in the matter. One should not jump to the conclusion that they were second class sailors. Most of them were men with excellent records. Never the less, they were not sailors by choice. There was a distinction. I was regular Navy and it gives me a rather special feeling when I look at my discharge and it notes that Willard Franklin Morgan CMM (USN) was honorably discharged from the Naval service. Why did I leave the service after six years? That is another story. But back to the story "Holiday routine at sea." While at sea a ship is always underway. There were of course special times when it might be otherwise. A ship needs to be underway to keep steerage. In peacetime we might anchor in a sheltered bay. On rare occasions a few officers and even Chief Petty Officers might decide to go deep sea fishing. As a member of the engineers force I was sometimes assigned to boat duty. My responsibility was the engine that powered the boat. The crew consisted of a coxswain who was a petty officer and bowhook who handled the lines when coming alongside or leaving the ship and an engineer. These three men handled the twenty two foot whaleboat. At this point you may well ask, Did you really to out on the high seas in that little boat. Indeed we did. Of course fishing parties did not go out unless the sea was reasonably calm. The Pacific, which means peaceful, was well named. It could at times assume a glassy appearance with of course the ever present ripples. The surface is never still. What did the fishermen catch? Any party of which I was a member, trolled for tuna. The fisherman would pay out his line so the bait was skimming the surface perhaps a hundred feet behind in the boat's wake.
We probably moved along at perhaps ten knots. When a fish was hooked it was hauled aboard. At the end of a days fishing the fish would be taken aboard and prepared for food. I assume that the fellow officers shared in eating fresh fish. The officers had their own mess and stewards to prepare it and the chiefs had their own mess with a ships cook and some seaman called briefly to serve as mess cooks. I did my time as mess cook but never had a chance to eat any fresh fish.
At sea in the peacetime Navy: Deep within all of us is a treasure of memories. Not all are pleasant, however even the most unpleasant tend to mellow with time. So it has been when I look back on a short Naval career. I am grateful for the memories of those precious years. During years of wars or threat of war, our nation has issued a call to arms and the response has always met the demand. True, we had a draft system for many years and many responded because to do otherwise was unlawful. Many (a man?) evaded the draft for various reasons, but I daresay most responded because it was considered a duty. Such individuals abound in a free society where people believe that each person is entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Perhaps in recent years an overwhelming amount of our people have distorted that principle to the point that they believe the world owes diem a living. I have never believed that and I take some pride in the fact that my children do not so believe. In the old Navy of which I was a part there was, and probably still are, an elite group of men. They were known as regular Navy. They could, with pride sign their name and rank or rate and then add three letters, namely U.S.N. That simply signified that they were on active duty by choice. They were not reserves. I must hasten to add that many did leave the regular Navy after a period of active service and joined the Naval Reserves. They trained on a regular basis and were subject to call to active service. The other group were the draftees who were there because they had no choice in the matter. One should not jump to the conclusion that they were second class sailors. Most of them were men with excellent records. Never the less, they were not sailors by choice. There was a distinction. I was regular Navy and it gives me a rather special feeling when I look at my discharge and it notes that Willard Franklin Morgan CMM (USN) was honorably discharged from the Naval service. Why did I leave the service after six years? That is another story. But back to the story "Holiday routine at sea." While at sea a ship is always underway. There were of course special times when it might be otherwise. A ship needs to be underway to keep steerage. In peacetime we might anchor in a sheltered bay. On rare occasions a few officers and even Chief Petty Officers might decide to go deep sea fishing. As a member of the engineers force I was sometimes assigned to boat duty. My responsibility was the engine that powered the boat. The crew consisted of a coxswain who was a petty officer and bowhook who handled the lines when coming alongside or leaving the ship and an engineer. These three men handled the twenty two foot whaleboat. At this point you may well ask, Did you really to out on the high seas in that little boat. Indeed we did. Of course fishing parties did not go out unless the sea was reasonably calm. The Pacific, which means peaceful, was well named. It could at times assume a glassy appearance with of course the ever present ripples. The surface is never still. What did the fishermen catch? Any party of which I was a member, trolled for tuna. The fisherman would pay out his line so the bait was skimming the surface perhaps a hundred feet behind in the boat's wake.
We probably moved along at perhaps ten knots. When a fish was hooked it was hauled aboard. At the end of a days fishing the fish would be taken aboard and prepared for food. I assume that the fellow officers shared in eating fresh fish. The officers had their own mess and stewards to prepare it and the chiefs had their own mess with a ships cook and some seaman called briefly to serve as mess cooks. I did my time as mess cook but never had a chance to eat any fresh fish.
May 1,1997
ELSIE IRENE
She was the third child of Frank and Elsie Morgan, horn and attended grade school near Studley, Kansas. I am not sure of the location of the home at the time of her birth. It was probahly at the headquarters of the Tom L. Pratt ranch just west of Studley. I believe that it was split up and sold. Not many of the old land holdings are left, however some fair sized farms have been put together in recent years. Times have changed. Most of the old spreads were grass and cattle operations; but now it is almost entirely cropland. I believe she may have attended high school for a short time however she did not graduate. She was probably the sister that I was closer to mainly because we lived close together in our adult life. It would not be honest to speak of a favorite sister because they were all special; each in their own way. I can hardly remember her before her marriage in 1927 at the age of nineteen. She cooked for Dad's dirt moving crew when they built the dam for the Houseworth Lake just north of Tasco. I spent time there (helping) her and I can remember going with Mr. Houseworth on times with a team and wagon to pick popcorn. Her marriage was not well celebrated in the family circle. It happened in this way. She told Mom that she was going to the home of a Mrs. Pierce in Tasco to sew. Mr. Pierce was the Union Pacific depot agent in Tasco. She returned home in the evening and announced that she had married Frank Richards. He was a farmer who had divorced his wife. I believe that he had two children by his first wife. I don't believe that I ever saw her or the children however a preschool grandson of his lived with Frank and Irene for a short time. I believe the surname was Dibble. Frank was an established farmer on the old redline. He made a good living by farming a quarter section and working for neighbors. He was a good hand and well respected by his neighbors. The family rift soon smoothed over and they would stop by our place on the way to or from town where they did their trading. It apparently was a successful marriage because his death ended it in 1967. I considered him a good friend and brother-in-law. He was the kids idol at family gatherings. Irene did a great deal of traveling and visiting the relatives after Frank's death. She died at the home of her daughter, Jo Ann, in Colorado Springs in the fall of 1980,1 believe. The memorial service was at the Mt. Pleasant Church but she is buried beside my mother and my infant son in the Hoxie cemetery. Mary, my wife, is also in that same plot. It may seem a bit strange to outsiders. My father was buried in 1937 when money was very, very short so he was buried in a plot with his father and mother. When Mom died, we kids wanted a plot of our own where we buried her. Now four of my close relatives live there. What does it matter where the body lies. Life is real Life is earnest
And the grave Is not the goal Dust thou art To dust returnest Was not spoken of the soul. Thus wrote the Poet Longfellow in "The Psalm of Life." You will find it inscribed on Mary's headsto
ELSIE IRENE
She was the third child of Frank and Elsie Morgan, horn and attended grade school near Studley, Kansas. I am not sure of the location of the home at the time of her birth. It was probahly at the headquarters of the Tom L. Pratt ranch just west of Studley. I believe that it was split up and sold. Not many of the old land holdings are left, however some fair sized farms have been put together in recent years. Times have changed. Most of the old spreads were grass and cattle operations; but now it is almost entirely cropland. I believe she may have attended high school for a short time however she did not graduate. She was probably the sister that I was closer to mainly because we lived close together in our adult life. It would not be honest to speak of a favorite sister because they were all special; each in their own way. I can hardly remember her before her marriage in 1927 at the age of nineteen. She cooked for Dad's dirt moving crew when they built the dam for the Houseworth Lake just north of Tasco. I spent time there (helping) her and I can remember going with Mr. Houseworth on times with a team and wagon to pick popcorn. Her marriage was not well celebrated in the family circle. It happened in this way. She told Mom that she was going to the home of a Mrs. Pierce in Tasco to sew. Mr. Pierce was the Union Pacific depot agent in Tasco. She returned home in the evening and announced that she had married Frank Richards. He was a farmer who had divorced his wife. I believe that he had two children by his first wife. I don't believe that I ever saw her or the children however a preschool grandson of his lived with Frank and Irene for a short time. I believe the surname was Dibble. Frank was an established farmer on the old redline. He made a good living by farming a quarter section and working for neighbors. He was a good hand and well respected by his neighbors. The family rift soon smoothed over and they would stop by our place on the way to or from town where they did their trading. It apparently was a successful marriage because his death ended it in 1967. I considered him a good friend and brother-in-law. He was the kids idol at family gatherings. Irene did a great deal of traveling and visiting the relatives after Frank's death. She died at the home of her daughter, Jo Ann, in Colorado Springs in the fall of 1980,1 believe. The memorial service was at the Mt. Pleasant Church but she is buried beside my mother and my infant son in the Hoxie cemetery. Mary, my wife, is also in that same plot. It may seem a bit strange to outsiders. My father was buried in 1937 when money was very, very short so he was buried in a plot with his father and mother. When Mom died, we kids wanted a plot of our own where we buried her. Now four of my close relatives live there. What does it matter where the body lies. Life is real Life is earnest
And the grave Is not the goal Dust thou art To dust returnest Was not spoken of the soul. Thus wrote the Poet Longfellow in "The Psalm of Life." You will find it inscribed on Mary's headsto
THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE
I grew up along the Solomon River. Yes, it was a river when I was a hoy. In those days, it you were to go straight east from Erve Getz's store in Tasco you would arrive at the old ranch house which served as headquarters for the old Currier ranch. In my time it was sort of run down and unoccupied. It was also on the banks of the Solomon. There were many trees along that part of the creek. Just across the stream directly east of the house was a deep water hole. Its water and the stream were only joined during flood. This was the old swimming hole. I am sure it was used in summer because it had a diving board. The tenant who operated that layout was a man by the name of Ed Jones. We neighbor boys considered him a bit cranky and we certainly "were not above boyish pranks. We sometimes deliberately baited him a bit and he would lecture us about trespassing. You see we all had saddle horses and I lived on adjoining land. He had a large fenced pasture next to us and we could cross that fence and ride down to the swimming hole. It was easy to ride through the draws and arrive unseen. Then we would discard overalls, shirts, socks (if we had any) and shoes and enjoy the water. A towel was unthinkable. It was summer time. When we were done we simply dressed and let the water dry as we rode away. There was a gate in the afore mentioned fence but it was a long way over to it so we farm boys would make a let-down in the fence. You see we learned all about 'fixin' fence at an early age. Fixin was the venacular for repairing. What pray tell is a let-down. It sort of explains its self. It required taking the wire loose from the posts (usually about three in a row) then you simply pushed the wire down with one foot and led the horse across with an out stretched hand. It was necessary to teach a horse how to cross. Most saddle horses knew the routine. A word of caution here. Don't try it with an untrained or spooky horse. If the horse puts one forefoot across and then balks you are in trouble. If he fails to raise the foot high enough when he backs up the chances are very good that he will catch the wire below the fetlock and suffer a bad wire cut. He will carry this blemish the rest of his life. It could even damage his ability to function properly. I have used this procedure many times in the past. The trick is to know your horse and above all; you and your horse must be a team. I have known men who would continuously fight their mount. To watch such a spectacle makes an animal lover sick.
I grew up along the Solomon River. Yes, it was a river when I was a hoy. In those days, it you were to go straight east from Erve Getz's store in Tasco you would arrive at the old ranch house which served as headquarters for the old Currier ranch. In my time it was sort of run down and unoccupied. It was also on the banks of the Solomon. There were many trees along that part of the creek. Just across the stream directly east of the house was a deep water hole. Its water and the stream were only joined during flood. This was the old swimming hole. I am sure it was used in summer because it had a diving board. The tenant who operated that layout was a man by the name of Ed Jones. We neighbor boys considered him a bit cranky and we certainly "were not above boyish pranks. We sometimes deliberately baited him a bit and he would lecture us about trespassing. You see we all had saddle horses and I lived on adjoining land. He had a large fenced pasture next to us and we could cross that fence and ride down to the swimming hole. It was easy to ride through the draws and arrive unseen. Then we would discard overalls, shirts, socks (if we had any) and shoes and enjoy the water. A towel was unthinkable. It was summer time. When we were done we simply dressed and let the water dry as we rode away. There was a gate in the afore mentioned fence but it was a long way over to it so we farm boys would make a let-down in the fence. You see we learned all about 'fixin' fence at an early age. Fixin was the venacular for repairing. What pray tell is a let-down. It sort of explains its self. It required taking the wire loose from the posts (usually about three in a row) then you simply pushed the wire down with one foot and led the horse across with an out stretched hand. It was necessary to teach a horse how to cross. Most saddle horses knew the routine. A word of caution here. Don't try it with an untrained or spooky horse. If the horse puts one forefoot across and then balks you are in trouble. If he fails to raise the foot high enough when he backs up the chances are very good that he will catch the wire below the fetlock and suffer a bad wire cut. He will carry this blemish the rest of his life. It could even damage his ability to function properly. I have used this procedure many times in the past. The trick is to know your horse and above all; you and your horse must be a team. I have known men who would continuously fight their mount. To watch such a spectacle makes an animal lover sick.
BREAKING SADDLE HORSES
Winnie Francis Morgan was the fourth child horn to Frank and Elsie Morgan. A hrief sketch of her life is contained elsewhere in this collection of narratives. Wallace Samuel followed Winnie. His birth being in fifth place. In my early years we were very close. I would have been fourteen years old when he left home permanently. He worked away from home a great deal of the time but lived at home. His pastime was breaking saddle horses. I was his helper. That was probably a very accurate description of the process. We simply broke the horse to halter and after a bit of handling the next step was to saddle it and maybe spend a little time getting it used to the saddle. After this the horse was snubbed by a halter and rope to another saddle horse. This was my job. I, being mounted on the snubbing horse would take a couple of wraps around the horn with the lead rope. Wallace would then mount the colt, sometimes from the back of the horse I was riding. Once he was firmly in the saddle we were ready to go. Sometimes when the colt discovered something on its back things happened fast. Horses have a wide range of vision, including behind them. That is why work horses usually wear bridles with blinders. Blinders only allow the animal to see straight ahead. They are never used on saddle horses. One of the rules of snubbing is to keep the horses head on a very short rope. If the horse turns violent and is allowed enough rope, the man on the snubbing horse might have the forefeet in the saddle with him. This of course is not a good thing. Most of the horses that we broke were not that bad. Snubbing was a way to prevent some spills. After a few rides the snubber was more company and a model for the colt to follow until it learned to obey the actions and commands of its rider. At this point it is interesting to note that horsebreaking, whether it was to saddle or harness, was almost always accomplished with the aid of an experienced horse. Looking back, I suspect that this is part of the reason that I covered a great deal of the neighborhood on horseback. Sunday or holidays was when we worked with the colts. There was another way to break saddle horses. That was simply to saddle the colt and while he was being held, mount the horse. After the rider was firmly in the saddle the colt was turned loose. If the rider was good enough to stay with him then the horse was trained. This way was used a great deal and it seems like story tellers preferred to mention it in their writings. In my opinion this method had a drawback. If the horse was rather high strung it was likely that he might get the notion that a few seconds of pitching was the proper way to start the day. I quit riding many years ago. I only rode in later years when working cattle. So it was with Dad. From bronc riding to farmer. I can recall seeing him astride a horse only on a few occasions. Things have changed. Horse training has become a science. It seems that the trainer works alone with the colt. Many of the terms commonly used today were certainly not common knowledge in my day.
The term leads is an example. A good horse would do that naturally in tight situations of fast movement. To do otherwise would cause him to he unbalanced and maybe even trip on his own feet. It was something we did not concern ourselves about. If the horse was not surefooted he was soon culled from the saddle string. Even a gentle horse can injure itself or the rider if it cannot handle its feet. Wallace is mentioned on several occasions so I will not be redundant here. He died in a farm accident near Craig, Colorado in 1958. That is another story. It sort of closed a chapter in my life. Even as grown men I always had a sort of ache in my heart when we parted after a visit.
Winnie Francis Morgan was the fourth child horn to Frank and Elsie Morgan. A hrief sketch of her life is contained elsewhere in this collection of narratives. Wallace Samuel followed Winnie. His birth being in fifth place. In my early years we were very close. I would have been fourteen years old when he left home permanently. He worked away from home a great deal of the time but lived at home. His pastime was breaking saddle horses. I was his helper. That was probably a very accurate description of the process. We simply broke the horse to halter and after a bit of handling the next step was to saddle it and maybe spend a little time getting it used to the saddle. After this the horse was snubbed by a halter and rope to another saddle horse. This was my job. I, being mounted on the snubbing horse would take a couple of wraps around the horn with the lead rope. Wallace would then mount the colt, sometimes from the back of the horse I was riding. Once he was firmly in the saddle we were ready to go. Sometimes when the colt discovered something on its back things happened fast. Horses have a wide range of vision, including behind them. That is why work horses usually wear bridles with blinders. Blinders only allow the animal to see straight ahead. They are never used on saddle horses. One of the rules of snubbing is to keep the horses head on a very short rope. If the horse turns violent and is allowed enough rope, the man on the snubbing horse might have the forefeet in the saddle with him. This of course is not a good thing. Most of the horses that we broke were not that bad. Snubbing was a way to prevent some spills. After a few rides the snubber was more company and a model for the colt to follow until it learned to obey the actions and commands of its rider. At this point it is interesting to note that horsebreaking, whether it was to saddle or harness, was almost always accomplished with the aid of an experienced horse. Looking back, I suspect that this is part of the reason that I covered a great deal of the neighborhood on horseback. Sunday or holidays was when we worked with the colts. There was another way to break saddle horses. That was simply to saddle the colt and while he was being held, mount the horse. After the rider was firmly in the saddle the colt was turned loose. If the rider was good enough to stay with him then the horse was trained. This way was used a great deal and it seems like story tellers preferred to mention it in their writings. In my opinion this method had a drawback. If the horse was rather high strung it was likely that he might get the notion that a few seconds of pitching was the proper way to start the day. I quit riding many years ago. I only rode in later years when working cattle. So it was with Dad. From bronc riding to farmer. I can recall seeing him astride a horse only on a few occasions. Things have changed. Horse training has become a science. It seems that the trainer works alone with the colt. Many of the terms commonly used today were certainly not common knowledge in my day.
The term leads is an example. A good horse would do that naturally in tight situations of fast movement. To do otherwise would cause him to he unbalanced and maybe even trip on his own feet. It was something we did not concern ourselves about. If the horse was not surefooted he was soon culled from the saddle string. Even a gentle horse can injure itself or the rider if it cannot handle its feet. Wallace is mentioned on several occasions so I will not be redundant here. He died in a farm accident near Craig, Colorado in 1958. That is another story. It sort of closed a chapter in my life. Even as grown men I always had a sort of ache in my heart when we parted after a visit.
A MORGAN FAMILY HISTORY
Sam Morgan came to the United States as a young man still in his teens. A permanent mark is necessary to establish ownership of an animal. It is only natural that when he established a claim on Museum Creek in early 1870 he found it necessary to chose a mark for livestock. This mark is referred to as a brand. His base of operation was very close to the place where Museum flowed into the Solomon River. Yes, at that time Museum was a flowing stream and the south fork of the Solomon was a river worthy of the name. Family tradition tells us that the date of his settlement is 1871. My older brother, Julius, assured me that this is correct. Due to this fact he chose to use the "71" as his brand. He used it for many years. Later Uncle Walt and Uncle Sandy used it in a partnership operation. Still later Uncle Sandy moved to Vona, Colorado in 1927. Since brands are registered by states, Uncle Walt became the owner of this brand. There is a Kansas brand registry book that will no doubt verify the above statement. Uncle Charley, another son, used the brand "17". My father, Frank Morgan, used a "7-". This brand is called a seven bar. He used it until his death in 1937. All of these brands were placed on the left hip. The same brand may be used in six different locations, namely; left hip, right hip, right side, right shoulder, left shoulder and the left side. I doubt if any of these brands are in use today, however they could be reregistered by anyone after the owner let his ownership expire. The reader will notice that all these brands used the same characters in different arrangements. It is interesting to note that all the above mentioned livestock wearing these brands were grazed within sight of the Solomon up stream from the Museum Creek operation. In 1953,1, a son of Frank Morgan, registered a brand called the M. The arrow is placed below the M This is the M arrow. It is interesting to note that the cattle wearing the M arrow brand were grazed on the Solomon even further upstream. All these bases of operation were and are in Sheridan County. When I am gone the Morgan brand in its various shapes will no doubt become history. My sons have no interest in livestock. The family tradition lives on. My daughter, Elsie, and her husband plan to continue a livestock operation at this location. They will use the "R lazy R." In this arrangement the lazy "R" is place beneath the first "R." Any numeral or letter placed in a horizontal postioon is referred to as lazy. The Rietchecks have a young son who has his own bucket fed calves so I believe it is fair to say that five generations of the family have owned livestock along this watercourse. It is no longer a flowing stream. The creek bed is dry except for occasional run off from heavy rains. It can be a raging flood. A short time after our family reunion in 1993 it flooded. The water came to the floor of our house. My wife and I waded to higher ground through waist deep water. The sound of the rushing water reminded me of the sound of the surf on the ocean. A neighbor said that it could be heard more than five miles away. An afterthought: A brand is produced by placing a red hot iron on the animal's hide. Another method that is widely used by horse owners is called freeze branding. It is produced by placing a super cold iron on the animal's hide. When properly done, the hair will turn white where the iron was placed. These irons are cooled in a solution of dry ice and alcohol. Liquid nitrogen may also be used. Note accompanying picture. Trees in background mark the south Solomon. W.M.
Sam Morgan came to the United States as a young man still in his teens. A permanent mark is necessary to establish ownership of an animal. It is only natural that when he established a claim on Museum Creek in early 1870 he found it necessary to chose a mark for livestock. This mark is referred to as a brand. His base of operation was very close to the place where Museum flowed into the Solomon River. Yes, at that time Museum was a flowing stream and the south fork of the Solomon was a river worthy of the name. Family tradition tells us that the date of his settlement is 1871. My older brother, Julius, assured me that this is correct. Due to this fact he chose to use the "71" as his brand. He used it for many years. Later Uncle Walt and Uncle Sandy used it in a partnership operation. Still later Uncle Sandy moved to Vona, Colorado in 1927. Since brands are registered by states, Uncle Walt became the owner of this brand. There is a Kansas brand registry book that will no doubt verify the above statement. Uncle Charley, another son, used the brand "17". My father, Frank Morgan, used a "7-". This brand is called a seven bar. He used it until his death in 1937. All of these brands were placed on the left hip. The same brand may be used in six different locations, namely; left hip, right hip, right side, right shoulder, left shoulder and the left side. I doubt if any of these brands are in use today, however they could be reregistered by anyone after the owner let his ownership expire. The reader will notice that all these brands used the same characters in different arrangements. It is interesting to note that all the above mentioned livestock wearing these brands were grazed within sight of the Solomon up stream from the Museum Creek operation. In 1953,1, a son of Frank Morgan, registered a brand called the M. The arrow is placed below the M This is the M arrow. It is interesting to note that the cattle wearing the M arrow brand were grazed on the Solomon even further upstream. All these bases of operation were and are in Sheridan County. When I am gone the Morgan brand in its various shapes will no doubt become history. My sons have no interest in livestock. The family tradition lives on. My daughter, Elsie, and her husband plan to continue a livestock operation at this location. They will use the "R lazy R." In this arrangement the lazy "R" is place beneath the first "R." Any numeral or letter placed in a horizontal postioon is referred to as lazy. The Rietchecks have a young son who has his own bucket fed calves so I believe it is fair to say that five generations of the family have owned livestock along this watercourse. It is no longer a flowing stream. The creek bed is dry except for occasional run off from heavy rains. It can be a raging flood. A short time after our family reunion in 1993 it flooded. The water came to the floor of our house. My wife and I waded to higher ground through waist deep water. The sound of the rushing water reminded me of the sound of the surf on the ocean. A neighbor said that it could be heard more than five miles away. An afterthought: A brand is produced by placing a red hot iron on the animal's hide. Another method that is widely used by horse owners is called freeze branding. It is produced by placing a super cold iron on the animal's hide. When properly done, the hair will turn white where the iron was placed. These irons are cooled in a solution of dry ice and alcohol. Liquid nitrogen may also be used. Note accompanying picture. Trees in background mark the south Solomon. W.M.
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