USA > Iowa > Polk County > Pioneers of Polk County, Iowa, and reminiscences of early days, Vol. I > Part 27
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In 1868, he purchased of George Sneer his livery stable, on the west half of the present Clapp Block, next to the alley on Walnut Street, and at once inaugurated a new era in that business in the city. He introduced hacks and 'busses, and kept pace with the rapid growth of the city. He was a lover of good horses, and usu- ally drove some fine steppers, not record-breakers, but just fast
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enough to worry and aggravate the other fellows when out for an airing. The increase of business necessitated the building of four- floor brick stables on Fourth street, soon to be followed with a large, four-story brick at Eighth and Mulberry. Though he is not with us, his familiar vehicular monogram, "W.," has been perpetu- ated by his son Jesse.
Prior to 1878, the streets of the city were simply dirt roads. There was no pavement, and at certain seasons the wet, heavy, sticky clay rendered the passage of light vehicles difficult, and of heavy loads nearly impossible. It was ruinous to fine carriages, and wearing on horseflesh. To get heavy-loaded wagons stalled on Walnut Street out of the mud with jacks and hoists was a frequent occurrence. Sometimes, Levi's hacks got stuck. I remember an instance in the late Fall, after a long rainfall. It was a dank, cloudy evening, and his hacks were carrying people to receptions. At the corner of Fourth Street, on turning west into Chestnut, the wheels went down over the hubs, the horses floundered and fell. All that could be done was to extricate the passengers, get the horses clear, and abandon the vehicles. There was also some doings over at the State House, and in struggling up the Locust Street grade, the horses got as far as Ninth Street, and quit from sheer exhaus- tion. They were also removed, and the hacks left. During the night, the mercury suddenly dropped, and the hacks were frozen fast in the earth, to be chopped out or left to the radiant rays of the Summer sun.
The City Council was again and again petitioned to devise some means for relief. They were lambasted, cajoled, and condemned by the people. One day, during a long period of mud and slush, and the streets simply sluggish rivers of ooze, Levi hove into Wal- nut Street with a large flat-bottom boat, drawn by four large, fine horses, which was hauled up and down the street, placarded: "For Passage, Apply to the City Council." There was a man in the bow to look out for breakers and snags, carrying a long, graduated pole, which he jabbed into the depths, and with stentorian voice declared his findings : "Three fathoms," "Four fathoms," "Two fathoms." The whole outfit, horses, vessel and men, were covered with mud. It was a masterly production of satire, and brought results, for
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immediately began a system of paving and sewering, culminating in what we have to-day.
When the German Savings Bank was organized, Levi became a stockholder and one of the Board of Directors. Subsequently, he was elected President.
During the Semi-Centennial Celebration of the city, in 1896, Levi went over on the East Side, at the grounds of the old aban- doned brickyard, where he found the skeleton of the identical cart in which he hauled brick for the old Savery House. He toggled it up for service, found an ancient gray horse, embellished with spavins and string-halt (a high stepper), whose ribs and bones could be counted half a mile off ; a dilapidated harness, generously repaired with rope, and padded with straw, to ease the equine pro- tuberances, and, with these, he joined the procession, accompanied by his wife and children, all clad in garbs of years long gone by. The vigor with which he pushed on the tow lines, and used the gad to expedite his steed, expected every moment to tumble over and block the procession, was a notable one of the many good features of that event.
Socially, Levi was genial, affable, and kind-hearted. He was a good story-teller, and often united with "Laughing" Hatch in spin- ning yarns. When the two got together on a street corner, there was fun galore-the more so if Ed. Clapp "jined in." Hatch's laugh could be heard half a mile, and it would tickle a whole square. It was one of the best cures for the "blues" in the whole pharmacopœia. Old-timers used to greatly enjoy their exuberant collisions. The trio were also horse fanciers, and drove some fine animals.
Politically, Levi was a Republican, and, as a large property- holder and good citizen, took an active part in politics, not as a place-seeker, but as a "sentinel on the watch tower," whereby he exerted a good influence for the betterment of civic affairs. He was, however, in 1891, inveigled to run for Alderman of his ward. Michael Drady had been holding the place year after year, and the Third Warders wanted a change. I. E. Tone, the spice and coffee dealer, was Levi's opponent. At the March election, Levi won out, but through some misinterpretation of a new-fangled statute, the
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entire city election was set aside and another held in April, but Levi had no taste for the bear-garden business, refused to run again, and Tone was elected.
Levi was public-spirited, and enlisted vigorously and heartily in all public events and projects for social improvement of the com- munity. He died February Fifteenth, 1902.
August Thirtieth, 1905.
JOHN HAYS
P ROMINENT among those who tramped down the weeds and brush at Fort Des Moines-in fact, all over Polk County-in the very early days, and helped materially to transform the scene first presented to him, in 1846, of a row of whitewashed log cabins strung along the Des Moines and 'Coon rivers, and east- ward only a wide expanse of timber and brush, to a prosperous and beautiful city, was John Hays.
Of Irish parentage, born in Virginia, raised on a farm, educated and fitted for a school teacher, which profession he followed two years, in 1846, he determined to abandon his place in Missouri- he was opposed to the slave-holding element in that state-and find a home in Iowa among a more liberty-loving people.
Mounting a pony, he took an Indian trail across the uninhabited prairies, and followed it to "Raccoon Fork," arriving in February.
The little hamlet contained less than a hundred souls. Judge Casady's census of June of that year gives thirty-four as compris- ing the entire male population, not one-half of whom were married. John was seeking a job. The first man he met was John B. Saylor, who had started a Settlement, now Saylorville, who advised the selection of a land claim and farming as the best opening, the busi- ness demands at The Fort not being very flattering. He therefore made a claim at what is now Polk City, built a log cabin, and began the development of a farm, but two months later, receiving a good offer-he always had an eye to the remunerative dollar-sold the claim, and moved to the Saylor Settlement, where he purchased another claim, and began again to grow up with the country, with the usual trials, discouragements, and privations of the pioneers on a farm.
Early in 1848, he came to The Fort, and, with a splendid Say- lorville girl for a housekeeper, took a log cabin with one room, on Second Street between Walnut and Locust, which was standing
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as late as 1880, and engaged in teaming, but soon after joined "Uncle Jimmy" Jordan in buying and shipping live stock, a busi- ness he continued for fifteen years with good and substantial profit.
All animals had to go on foot to Keokuk. He drove the first lot of hogs from Polk County to Keokuk. He learned a lot about the innate cussedness of the animal before he got there, and was ready to accept the apostolic assertions of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, that they were "possessed of devils."
In those early days, the stock buyer seldom had much capital. He would go over the country and give his promissory note for the animals he purchased. When he had a sufficient number, he would drive them to Keokuk, often requiring several weeks, and some- times attended with great difficulties and dangers from storms and absence of bridges. There were also meager facilities for handling live stock-stock platform scales had not materialized. An old- timer relates that he was obliged on one trip to weigh his hogs with the old-fashioned steelyards. He took the breeching from the horse's harness, made a swing in which the hogs were suspended, and weighed one at a time. Prices were low, compared with the pres- ent. If he got a dollar and a half to two dollars per hundred pounds, he did well. On his return, he would make the circuit again and pay for the animals he had bought.
In 1848, John opened a butcher shop in one of the log barrack buildings at 'Coon Point, on Second Street, south of "Jim" Camp- bell's big grocery store, the first butcher shop in the town. The butchering was done in the shop, and the meat sales were held on Wednesday and Saturday, one good beef animal being sufficient for one week. This was a sort of side line for John, but in those days, business versatility was a necessity. He had a partner named Johnson, who looked after the shop. One day, John gave him the money to go to Delhi and buy a fat cow. He returned without the cow, saying she was wild and got away from him, but John, having more faith in the docility of Delhi cows, made an investigation, and found that Johnson had run up against a "hoss trot" and staked all the money on the wrong "hoss." That busted the first butcher shop in Polk County, and the partnership.
The Winter of 1848 was noted as that of the big snow. The snow came early and often, and was very deep. Wolves were quite
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numerous in the dense timber and thicket along the rivers. The deep snow forced them, from hunger, to raid the premises of settlers, who were greatly annoyed by their onslaught on calves and sheep, there being very few barns or stables for protection against them. They would even attack teams along the highway. On Christmas Day, Hays, while going to Saylorville on horseback, was suddenly confronted with five long, lank, hungry fellows howling for blood. He had no gun or other weapon for defense. Releasing a stirrup from the saddle, he gave them a running battle for two miles, kill- ing two of them. His terror-stricken horse, with every muscle strung to its utmost tension, finally outran the remainder.
When the Old Settlers organized their Claim Club, in 1848, for protection of their land claims against claim-jumpers and specu- lators, Hays was a charter member. Land-grabbers gave the organ- ization a wide berth.
John was very conservative, somewhat reticent, and not very optimistic respecting The Fort-had more faith in cattle and hogs than in corner lots. In 1849, he was offered the corner at Walnut and Third, where the Exchange Block now is, for seven dollars and a half, and he would not take it; could not see seven dollars' worth of future glory in the town. "Too far out"-but soon after he changed his mind and bought a lot at the corner of Court Avenue and Fourth streets, opposite The Register and Leader office, on which was one of the several high Indian mounds to be found in the town, for which he paid one hundred silver dollars, and on the mound he built the Cottage House, a one-and-one-half-story frame, which for five years he kept as a favorite sojourners' home, when it passed to J. D. Long. The name was changed to Avenue House, and for several years Mrs. Long was the beloved foster mother of many young people who made the house their home.
There were several lots in the early 'Fifties which were "too far out." Solomon McCain owned the block where now the Citizens' National Bank is, and he offered it to the genial Falstafian Esquire, Absalom Morris, for an old silver-cased watch, but the Esquire couldn't see anything very attractive in a "cow pasture." Finally, after several banterings, McCain told him to "keep his old pewter watch."
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J. L. Mason, managing engineer of a ladies' hat emporium on Locust Street, has been thinking cuss words for twenty years over a mistake he made in solving the difference between foresight and hindsight, as related to buying corner lots. He used to run carding machines in that good old "Deacon" Perrior's woolen mill on the East Side. By getting up before the roosters crowed, working fif- teen hours a day, with no lay-off except Sunday, the loyal Baptist deacon closing the mill on that day, he had accumulated a little surplus cash which he decided to invest in town property. He was offered the corner of Seventh and Walnut, where the Hub shoe store is, for twenty-five dollars, but somebody down in Bentonport, where were the River Navigation locks and dam, and a railway station on the Valley Road, that was to be, offered him two corner lots with a house on them for the same money. J. L. thought that was better than one lot and no house, and he made haste to get pos- session. He sees things differently now, and thinks cuss thinks every time he passes that Hub corner.
Hays was a charter member of the First Baptist Church. In 1848, the County Commissioners donated to the Missionary Baptist Church a lot at the northwest corner of Sixth and Cherry, on con- dition that a frame, brick, or stone building, not less than 24×30 feet, be erected thereon within two years. The band of Baptists was very small, and poor. It was not until February, 1851, that a church organization was perfected, with fifteen members, but one of whom, I think, is now living, and steps taken to build a meeting- house. In the meantime, the time limit of the lot donation had expired, but Judge William McKay, another charter member, pur- chased the lot to prevent its reversion to the county. Business changes rendered the lot undesirable. Two lots were offered at Locust and Fourth, for five hundred dollars, but refused, the price being deemed exorbitant, an estimate fully confirmed, as they after- ward went into the Savery House deal at three hundred dollars. A lot was finally selected on Mulberry Street, opposite the Court House, where Shank's undertaking rooms are, for which the orig- inal lot, donated by Mckay, and sixty dollars were given, and then began the erection of the church. Progress was slow, money and material were scarce. For six years, the members struggled amid
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delays and discouragements, until March, 1856, when the church was dedicated.
In 1851, the Board of County Commissioners was abolished and their powers and duties vested in a County Judge. At the August election, Forgis G. Burbridge was elected the first Judge of that court, and Hays was made bailiff of the court. His length of serv- ice is not shown in the records.
In 1859, was one of the most strenuous political campaigns in the history of the state or county. It was the first struggle between the Democrats and Republicans. Samuel J. Kirkwood, subse- quently the War Governor, was put up to make his first run for Governor. His opponent was Augustus Cæsar Dodge, the nestor of his party, and known by everybody in the state, while Kirkwood was almost unknown, but he worked his way to the front and good graces of the people, and the Democrats suffered a defeat which has not been recovered. Hays generally had a hand in all the poli- tics there was going, and he was as shrewd as the best of them. He kept Barlow Granger and his crowd busy guessing and keeping up their fences. He was the Republican candidate for Sheriff, the most profitable office in the county, and was elected by a big major- ity. That was the beginning of a new order of things. The County Judge System, by which the Judge controlled all public affairs of the county, was relegated to oblivion, and all county business vested in a Board of Supervisors. The Judge was limited to probate matter. From that day to this, the Democrats have never elected their ticket in Polk County, or in this city. John served two years. Having helped to wind up the Democratic Party was glory enough, and, having accumulated considerable wealth, he decided to retire to private life. In 1870, he purchased a large fruit farm a few miles south of the city, where he resided until his death, in 1890.
Politically, John was a Whig. His first ballot was cast for "Tippecanoe and Tyler, too," in 1840. On the organization of the Republican Party, he united with it, and to the end of his days, the Democrats found him a formidable foe in all political cam- paigns. His long years of stock-buying trips over the country put him in touch with the farmers, and being genial, sensible, honest, and a farmer, too, he had to be reckoned with, but he was not an office-seeker.
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Socially, he was affable, jolly, but not loquacious ; always active and helpful in all moral and educational projects, and a highly esteemed member of the Masonic fraternity.
July Twenty-third, 1905.
JV
WILLIAM H. QUICK
WILLIAM H. QUICK
NE of the best known men in Des Moines, and it may be said from Chicago to Sundown, is William H. Quick, or "Billy," as he is best known. Though not a pioneer of civilization, he was the pioneer of what has become an important part of the business life of the city and country-a great express business.
Born in Hamburg, Sussex County, New Jersey, July First, 1832, a descendant of sturdy Holland stock from the land of wind- mills, who settled in New Jersey on a land grant from Queen Anne, he is, as he said a few days ago, "a full-blooded Holland Dutch- man." His father was a miller, and in his youth, "Billy" was a general utility boy in the mill. Through some defect in the records of the land grant, his father was dispossessed of the property, and "Billy" was forced to paddle his own canoe. At the age of fifteen years, he took charge of a mill of five run of stones on Groeffel Hill, near Paterson, for old man Snyder, another Holland Dutch- man, and ran it nine years. Snyder used to say: " 'Billy' makes the best flour of any man in the country."
In May, 1852, he became ambitious to be a railroad man, and enlisted as a brakeman on the New York and Erie Railroad, under Hugh Riddle's management.
In May, 1853, Riddle having become general manager of the Chicago and Rock Island, "Billy" transferred himself to that road as baggageman, and in May, 1855, was promoted to conductor.
In May, 1856, he was appointed as messenger for Parker's Express, on a line running from Iowa City to Dubuque.
In May, 1857, he was appointed agent at Iowa City of the Uni- ted States Express Company, who had purchased all the rights and franchises of the Parkers. The old Mississippi and Missouri Rail- road was slowly creeping westward, and, as extended, "Billy" was moved to Marengo, Brooklyn, Grinnell, and, in 1863, he was appointed superintendent of the company lines in Iowa, and the
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small part of Nebraska in which it operated. Since then, his terri- tory has been enlarged to embrace Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Mis- souri, Nebraska, Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and Indian Territory, or the entire Rock Island Railroad system in those states.
His first office in Des Moines was in a small frame building on the west side of Third Street, next to the alley, between Court Avenue and Walnut Street, and opposite the Blodgett House, partly built by the soldiers, first known as the Marvin House. It was the headquarters of the Western Stage Company, who carried all stuff for the Express Company. A. T. Johnson, the pioneer omnibus line man, was the stage agent, and collected the express charges, "Billy" often paying him twenty-five thousand dollars a month.
When "Billy" took the office, there was only a weekly service. He immediately had it changed to a daily service. There were no delivery wagons in those days. Everybody had to go after their packages. Some merchants used hand carts.
Immediately on his appointment as superintendent, he selected his messengers from the old, trusty stage-drivers and stage mes- sengers whom he knew well. The record of their service is worthy of mention. They remained with him as long as they lived. His employés may die, but they never resign. I recall a few of his old- time boys : George Butts, Aaron Stein, Winslow Billinger, John S. Magill, C. F. Chester, Fred. Kromer, E. M. Morseman-all dead except the latter-now President of the Pacific Express Com- pany. "Billy" was proud of them, and often declared the company never lost a dollar by any act of one of them. A photograph group of six was presented to "Billy" Christmas Day, forty-two years ago, and he prizes it highly as a reminder of early days, and a tes- timonial of true, trusty friends.
The oldest messenger in the service was Kromer, or "Dutch Fred.," as he was best known. He began stage-driving when nine- teen years old, drove with them westward to Des Moines, and on to Omaha. In 1861, he became a stage messenger from Des Moines to Omaha and Fort Kearney, Nebraska. When the railroad was completed, he was transferred thereto, and so continued to the end of his days, which came last year, at the age of seventy-six, having
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served sixty years without the loss of a dollar of the vast sums of money entrusted to his care. He was the very soul of honor and integrity, and of upright character. So implicit was the trust in him, "Billy" once said : "If I wanted to send away a million dol- lars, and it was mine, I would give it to Fred., without a receipt, and think no more about it, for it would be delivered if he lived to get there." Reminiscently, he went on to say: "In the early days, people were honest. There was very little robbery. Money and valuables were placed in common iron boxes. There would be a change of stage drivers every ten miles, but we never thought of robbery. Now, we would not send such a box around the corner in Council Bluffs without extra protection. There has never been but one robbery in Iowa of our company, and that was about eight o'clock on the evening of July Twenty-first, 1873, when Jack Raf- ferty, one of the best and most popular locomotive engineers who ever pulled a throttle, was killed. The train was coming east from Council Bluffs, and between Anita and Adair, in a deep cut on a sharp curve and heavy grade, suddenly the engine gave a lurch and went into the ditch. The cab was crushed and Jack was probably thrown against the reverse lever, and his neck broken. The reb- bers, of whom there were seven, Cole and John Younger, the notor- ious bandits, and five of the Jesse James Gang, had removed the spikes and bolts from a rail, and, with repes and straps, as the engine approached, pulled it aside. So quickly had Jack thrown the emergency brake, only the engine and express car left the rails. The passengers were severely shaken up, but not injured. Superin- tendent Royce, who was on the train, and "Billy" Smith, conduc- tor, rushed ont to ascertain the cause of the stop, when they were greeted with a fusillade of revolvers, and ordered to get back inside p. d. q., which, being interpreted, means, 'pretty d-d quick.' Royce discreetly obeyed, but "Billy" pushed ahead toward the engine, when several bullets whizzed through his trousers, and he retired. A Chicago man also came out and implered the Gang not to shoot innocent women and children.
"The reply, punctuated by a revolver shot, was: 'Get back inside. We ain't no commen highwaymen. We only rob the rich to give to the poor.' In the meantime, two of the most stalwart of
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the seven entered the express car, where John R. Burgess, another veteran messenger, still on deek, with over forty years of service to his credit, was guarding his treasure box. With three big revolv- ers leveled at his head, he was ordered to hand out his key. Thinks went through his head in haste, but he concluded his life was worth more than the contents of the safe, and he very politely presented the key, when the master of ceremonies directed him to open the safe, and do it quick, which John very slowly and reluctantly did. The money was quickly extracted. Several mail sacks were cut open, but no letters taken. Picking up several valuable registered mail boxes, they asked if they contained money. 'You can't prove it by me,' said John, and they were thrown down when they left the car. Overlooking a large amount of gold bullion, they mounted their horses and went away, the whole event not occupying over fifteen minutes. The money was what had been taken at stations between Council Bluffs and Adair, and amounted to only eighteen hundred dollars.
The robbers stopped for dinner the next day at a farmhouse a few miles distant, and thereby were fully identified. "Billy" and Dan Bringolf, then Sheriff, went down to Missouri to round them up, but soon discovered they were being "shadowed," though care- fully concealing their identity, for immediately on their arrival, "Billy" was visited by General Joe Shelby, who informed him he knew what he was there for; that the James boys were under his command, and couldn't be taken away. Everywhere they met a like rebuff, the chase was abandoned, and the robbers never caught.
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