History of Otter Tail County, Minnesota: Its People, Industries and Institutions, Volume I, Part 71

Author: John W. Mason
Publication date: 1916
Publisher:
Number of Pages: 765

USA > Minnesota > Otter Tail County > History of Otter Tail County, Minnesota: Its People, Industries and Institutions, Volume I > Part 71

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Jealousy and prejudice obscure reason. At the late meeting in the city hall, during a two hours' hot-air blast. but one valid objection was presented against the pending con- tract. and that was that the price to be paid for electric energy is too high. The argu- ment on that point was bald assertion, based on no fact or knowledge. The report of the city's expert, hired to tell us just that very thing, was ignored entirely. Anyone who sat through that ordeal seeing history repeating itself can answer pretty accurately, What is the matter with Fergus? .

THE CAPTAINS OF INDUSTRY AT PLAY.

The waiting for business was like solitary confinement. At such times the vicious resort to crime, the devout to prayer, while the neither vicious nor devout seek amusement whereby pent-up energy finds vent.

The form of these amusements varied with the tastes and inclinations of the different individuals. Charlie Hurd neglected the hotel business to play the banjo. Burt, his partner and brother, found relaxation from care of guests that did not come, in watching Charlie play, and making appre- ciative side remarks on the skill of the virtuoso, as the dance went on as Charlie "picked the strings." At a lull between sets, Charlie was sure to be called on to sing his thimblerig song: "You can't five-dollars me."

Jim Chambers, merchant. Scotchman and bachelor, forgot want-of- business cares at these dances. To see him "cut the pidgeon wing" in a pair of carpet slippers, tied on with tow strings, was enough to make any-

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one forget all earthly cares. These dances were at night; in the day time other recreations were in vogue during this busy season of trying-to-forget. Nichols and Dearborn, the druggists, played checkers from early moon to dewy eve, and then some; but the great body of business (?) men and captains of industry devoted their energies to the strenuous game of croquet; all but Dave Zaiser. He stayed in his lonesome rathskeller, and sought con- solation from the stein.

Dave weighed about two hundred and seventy-five pounds; an all- around German, broader than he was long, with a row of double chins clear down his stomach. At times he would look around his vacant shop and exclaim to himself : "Dees tam grasshoppers; dey drows me into bank- ruption yet, Vat?"

The Cowing and Chambers stores were on adjoining lots, set about one hundred feet back from Lincoln avenue, at the top of Austin's grade. The space between the stores and street made an ideal croquet ground. The hoppers had cleared off all vegetation, leaving the earth as clean as a tennis court. On this historic spot were played the continuous croquet games. The lone policeman-an "Italian from Cork"-was detailed to drive and keep the dogs off, and sweep back the grasshoppers. He was reasonably successful with the dogs, but the hoppers would break in. The players tied strings around their trouser's legs to keep them from climbing up on the inside. Jim Chambers had a double set of strings, one pair around his pants legs, the other to hold his carpet slippers in place.

When a champion game was on, Charlie Hurd encouraged the con- testants with his banjo and song, "You can't five-dollar me."

Anthony Cowing, called "Fatty," understudy of his brother, George F., worked hard at the game and perspired. He was the bouquet of the bunch. He ran off with his wife's sister and was heard of no more. His dereliction was a scandal to the croqueters, but left them more room for play. George F. was a good sport, but had the asthma; his heavy breathing often caused a discord with Charlie's banjo, a disagreement of sounds that would not have been tolerated in later, symphonic days.

Slim Sims, too indolent to play, was wont to stalk out to the grounds and punctuate the game with sarcastic remarks on the players, their flukes . and mishaps, with never a word of praise for a masterstroke.

Gus Gunderson, clerk in Sim's drug store and blind pig. he played, too. In a beauty contest, Gus would have been marked zero. It was said that he never looked in a glass but once, i. e., looking glass. That was enough to last him his life time. The grasshopper protectors at the end of his legs were the most harmonious part of his dress. The old simile, "bean-pole," described his form, but not his features. His nose was long and crooked

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in three directions, up, down and laterally; his mouth opened on a steep slant across his face and shed saliva at the lower outlet. His salivary glands were always on the job, and never stopped for meal time. But the cuss, Gus, could play croquet.

Chittenden was too dignified to indulge in anything so childish. He would stalk by the game, looking neither to the right or left, with a super- cilious curl to his upper lip and wrinkle to his nose as though he were passing a tannery.

Austin did not play, but enjoyed looking on at times and telling the captains of industry how a town ought to be run. Sam Nichols was another who did not play, though he was a croquet fan. He used to bring a chair out to the grounds, sit down, throw one loose-jointed leg over the other and let it swing, while he told the admiring crowd how "Bill" (meaning United States Senator William Windom) asked him to come up here and "harmonize the conflicting elements." His efforts at "harmonizing" were about as effective as the war on grasshoppers.

Old Mr. Head would be there, with his ear trumpet hung to his neck, and put a strain on the vocal cords of every one with whom he opened up communications.

Uncle Vickery was a constant spectator, too old to play, but would stand around combing his gray whiskers with his stiff fingers and listen to the wrangle over the rules of the game. These discussions were the fore- runners of the later day, free-silver, hot-air blasts, and just about as sen- sible.

The ladies did not play; reason-grasshoppers.

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CHAPTER XXXIII. WHO'S WHO IN EARLY FERGUS.

By John W. Mason.

There is a rumor afloat that our "city fathers"-illustrious men, all- are contemplating the erection of a new city hall and establishing therein a "Hall of Fame", in which shall be admitted only the names of those who have served on the city council as mayors or aldermen. That would constitute a menagerie of notables whose names and fame are worthy of perpetuation ; but the scope is too limited. Others there be who have wrought in humble walks, and who are entitled to the homage of an inquisitive posterity.

We have no word of disapproval to offer against this worthy and patri- otic undertaking of our city fathers. We only wish to extend and enlarge the idea and establish herein a "Who's Who" for the less fortunate, but no less honorable individuals who have lived and wrought in the Otter Tail county metropolis.

"They also serve who only stand and wait".

The roster of fame is restricted to a very limited space. This will explain the omission of many names worthy of record in a list of notables among the proletariat. So we dive down into the "dark, unfathomed caves of ocean" and rescue a few, only, of the "gems," that their "rays" may scintillate and be seen of people living and people yet to come.

DOCTOR GOODALE.

The first pastor who regularly preached in the Presbyterian church was Doctor Goodale, a perfect type of the old-school gentleman. Loved by all who knew him, his greeting seemed a benediction. He was possessed of dry, delightful humor and a weakness for the chase. Every second Sunday after the morning service here, he used to drive out to Western and preach in the afternoon. On these occasions he would put his gun in the back of his buggy for Monday shooting on his way home. Some, wickedly disposed, said that he could not always resist the temptation for a shoot on the Sabbath, but no one really believed that. One time he forgot his Bible, and relating the fact to his good wife on his return, she remarked: "Well, doctor, I'm sure you did not forget your gun."

JAMES M. GRAY.

There was another character here in those days-James M. Gray-in many respects the antipodes of the doctor, but of as kindly a nature as ever warmed the breast of man. With all his good qualities he had his faults. What shall I say? Well, he never heard Doctor Magelson's paper on "Some-

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KNUD PEDERSON.

K. H. BRANVOLD.

HON. SAMUEL RIDER.

DAVIS BURBANK.

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thing About Drinks." Doctor Goodale was fond of going hunting with Gray, and at such times the doctor always took with him a bottle of clear cold tea. Gray always took a bottle of something that looked like tea, but was not. One time after driving out to the hunting ground, while unloading and arrang- ing the sportsman's paraphernalia, these two bottles got placed side by side. The doctor, in his haste to get away for game, picked up the wrong bottle and put it under his arm and started off. Gray discovered the error before many steps were taken and hailed the doctor, telling him of the mistake. "Yes, yes," said the doctor, "I'll exchange. My bottle would be better for you, but I don't think yours would be better for me." Poor Gray, he has gone the road all must go, and I know of no character more deserving of the broad mantle of charity. There was that in him which often brings to the mind a verse of the poem by John Hay, entitled "Jim Bludsoe:"

"At the last great day of judgment, I'd take my chances with Jim, Long side o' some pious gentleman Who wouldn't shook hands with him."

It is at such graves that we are constrained to stop and consider. Before we can judge aright, we must know aright. The book of no man's life is opened at all its pages. Some are sealed and their contents only known to his Maker. May it not have been this which led to the injunction of Christ: "Judge not that ye be not judged?"

"Who knows the heart? "Tis He alone Decidedly can try us ;

He knows each chord-its various tone, Each spring-its various bias; Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it;

What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted."

The struggle of our pioneers for material wealth and municipal growth had its pathetic side, along with the humorous and sometimes grotesque. The struggle of existence is a solemn thing at all times. Men came with high hopes and ambitions for success and happiness; but the harvest of many was only failure and disappointment. The reality was not like the dream, and they moved on with the great tide ever setting towards the western shore. They moved out of our midst and life-maybe to success, maybe to greater disappointments, maybe to death-we cannot tell; but the spirit that prompted the unrest never dies. It has been marching on since before Columbus sup- plicated at the foot of thrones for aid to embark on an unknown sea in search

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of an unknown world. It burned in the breasts of the Pilgrims as they stepped on Plymouth Rock to confront, in a strange land, savage beasts and still more savage men. It possessed the courtier Cortez when he renounced loyalty to Velasquez, burned his ships behind him and pressed forward into the interior for the conquest and plunder of a civilization, better in some respects, than his own. It was the moving power of the treasure seekers, who, stopped by the sea at Golden Gate, sought and found in the bowels of Earth that for which man will barter ease, honor and the hope of salvation itself. That spirit has encompassed and subdued this whole continent. It has planted the habitations of civilization and the concomitants of steam, electricity, the printing press, the school house and the church from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and has swept, forever, from the American continent the last vestige of a frontier.

LEVI SARTWELL, CAPTAIN OF INDUSTRY.

By right of early settlement and great achievement in the industrial world, the name of Levi Sartwell deservedly stands high in the column of "Who's Who".

The First Presbyterian church was built on the hill on Whitford street across from the Henry G. Page residence. The substantial methods of con- structing foundations under buildings, now adopted by architects and con- tractors, were not then observed. There was an "alleged" stone footing under this old temple, but the erosion by water, frost, and time in a very short period reduced it to such a state of ruin that one could throw a cat through it with- out injury to the cat or much damage to the wall.

A pair of enterprising and inquisitive pole-cats, in search of a habitation and a home, discovered what they were looking for and moved in under the church. They had not occupied their new domicile long before they began to make themselves felt, greatly to the discomfort of the occupants of the first floor. It was but a short time before plenary proof was forthcoming that the family below was increasing in number.

Many were the schemes discussed for ejecting the trespassing tenants. No one seemed anxious to serve the writ, and it was finally agreed that the most effective and safe method would be to stop the holes in the wall at night while the occupants were out on their noctural search for air and food. This plan was tried, but failed, and exercises in the church became less and less inviting as time went on. It was difficult to maintain a devout state of mind in such an atmosphere, and the congregations began to thin out and decrease as the increase went on below. A stranger could pick out the homes of the communicants of the church by the amount and character of the clothing airing on the lines.

Something must be done; vigorous measures were demanded and, as a

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last resort, the deacons called in Levi, the janitor. He proposed an offensive campaign, and believed that the "undesirables" could be gotten out of the "trenches" by trapping. The deacons went into executive session to consider Levi's plans, and their consultation resulted in an offer of one dollar for every skunk caught, little or big.

Well, Levi caught pole-cats, all right, and to such an extent that the Sunday morning offering soon became insufficient to pay the bounty earned each week. It was finally discovered, through an efficient spy system, that Levi, instead of exterminating the Mephitis, was actually propagating them. His depletion by trapping was just about equal to the natural increase. He was court-martialed and dishonorably discharged, but not till he had comman- deered the whole church exchequer. His accumulations enabled him to retire from active business for several months, which gave him time to air out in seclusion.

VICTOR LANDQUIST.

Victor Landquist was the big Swede who came here with Jacob Austin as clerk in the latter's hardware store, where rat skins were bought and stoves sold in the winter seasons. Victor's fame rests, principally, on the fact that he started the first brick-yard and made the first bricks in Otter Tail county. This was away back in 1872. For miles around the city of Fergus Falls, a clay subsoil is found beneath the black loan. This clay, to the novice, seems admirably adapted for making brick.

Victor, being an enterprising young Swede, selected a tract of land lying about one mile north of the village and started his brick-yard. In due time he had the kiln completed and kindled the fires for burning. The product was pronounced excellent. The brick were of a light cream color, and when struck together rang like a piece of steel. Soon after the kiln was uncovered, a heavy rain came on, and after it cleared up, Victor went to his brick kiln and found it a great mass of crumbled clay.

In nearly all of the clay in this part of the country is found small lime stone, varying in size from a grain of wheat to a pea. One unfamiliar with brick making would overlook this condition of the clay. That was what caused Victor's failure. After these particles of lime are subjected to fire and then become wet they "slacken" and destroy the brick. . Since that time very limited beds of clay have been found here free from lime. These have been worked only to a slight extent, on account of the small quantity discov- ered, hence our brick industry has been small. Others have profited by Vic- tor's experience, but it was a "dear school" for him.

Victor was a valiant soldier in the "rat war". He was about six feet four inches tall, well proportioned, muscular and an athlete. It was a sight to see him charge a pack of rat-skin buyers surrounding a granger's sleigh,

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clean out the crowd and bear the pelts in triumph to the store of the "Rat King." His Titanic exploits will long be remembered as a part of the early history of Fergus.

WILD BILL.

Big Bill Wilson was a b-a-d man. He admitted the fact, and his admir- ers, who all stood in awe of him, believed it. He was not only b-a-d, but he looked it. Large, well built, bearded, furrowed and cross-eyed, with a voice that sounded as though it came from his boots, he seemed exactly the charac- ter he proclaimed himself. Hero worship is more intense on the frontier than anywhere else, and the demigod there who received most admiration is the physical bully believed to be b-a-d. The boys looked up to Bill as their ideal hero who could "lick his weight in wild cats," while the grown-ups stood in awe for the same reason.

Just how Bill acquired his enviable reputation is hard to explain. He was not quarrelsome; was never seen in a fight or in a mood to provoke a "rough house." True, he was wont to tell, in rather an indifferent way, of feats of prowess, most blood-curdling affrays against great odds, but this he did not so much by open boasting as through some subtle influence emanating from his personality when recounting adventures. I have since come to believe that his huge bulk, deep voice and cross eyes were responsible for the awe he inspired.

The young fellows were particular admirers of Bill; courted and deferred to him on all occasions, and, at times, inclined to be aggressive when Bill was around and they felt that he was on their side. Should such aggres- siveness be resented, as was sometimes the case, one glance from Bill's ugly eye was sufficient to quell any outbreak. Metaphorically speaking, Bill was adorned from head to foot with scalps from his many victims. He received most modestly all adoration bestowed upon him, and was never known to contradict any of the current stories of his prowess and blood-curdling exploits.

He used to work in the pineries in winter, come down with the drive in the spring and "rest" in town till time to go to the woods in the fall. On one occasion when a school meeting was to be held, feeling ran high and a hot time was expected. One faction, by all odds the largest, got Bill on their side. If trouble came, he was a great asset, and the young fellows hoped there would be a scrap. The meeting took place in a vacant store building, and all voters were out. Boys too young to vote came also, as it was in the air that Bill would get into action before it was over.

Among the opposition was a lawyer, Newton H. Chittenden, afterwards superintendent of schools. He was nearly as big as Bill, but in all other ways his antipodes. He had served as lieutenant in the army in a Wisconsin regi- ment. Cold, reserved and self-possessed, he was not popular-quite the reverse.

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Physically, he was without an equal in town, outside of Bill. Of course, Bill was more than a match for anybody.

Well, as was anticipated, things got warm at the meeting. Chittenden claimed that some had voted oftener than the law allowed and entered a vigorous protest. Now or never was the time to bring out Bill. The outra- geous accusations by Chittenden must not go unrebuked. The boys insisted that Bill must resent it. He worked his way slowly through the crowd, most of whom were cheering him on, and demanded of Chittenden a retraction of his vile slander. Chittenden, instead of retracting repeated the charge, when Bill gave him a slight shove. At that Chittenden grabbed him by the shoulder, turned him around, then took him by the collar and seat of the pants, rushed him through the crowd to the door and released him with a kick that sent Bill into the middle of the street. The riot was put down, but not by Bill. The next morning showed a decrease in our population. Bill was gone, and the places that formerly knew him, knew him no more.

BERT MELVILLE.

Bert Melville was the first lawyer to locate in Fergus Falls, away back in the spring of 1871. He came from no one knows where, and when he left, went to parts equally unknown. He was an undersized man, of good form and feature, bright mind, congenial and, but for one thing. might have made a success of life. His taste and habits of life were too convivial for even the frontier of those early days, and that is saying a great deal. He knew more than the average adventurer of the far West at that time, which showed that at an earlier period he had devoted some attention to books. At the date in question his eyesight was so effected by his habits that he could read only with great difficulty. His mind was receptive and his memory good; being thus fortunately endowed, he got most of his knowledge of the law in a case by discussing it with others. He was adroit in this method of acquiring know- ledge, shaping the discussion along the lines on which he wished information. and so directing it that before he was through he knew all that the one he was consulting knew, and had heard read to him decisions he was in search of, but unable to find without such aid. He was an excellent talker and, with the information thus picked up, would go into court and make a legal argument on the law and facts in the case delightful to listen to. In this way he gained a reputation for legal knowledge which his real merits did not deserve, but which, nevertheless, made him interesting and spectacular.

In his .dress he was not prepossessing. One with his habits could hardly be that, but his Sunday costume was always neat and unique. On that day he would don a pair of white pique trousers, a white vest of the same material, white stockings and low slippers, but coatless. He would generally start off

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in that rig and spend the day at Elizabeth, where beer was plenty, and other drinks of a stronger nature if desired.

So caparisoned, he started out one Sunday for his usual resort. That afternoon there came through Fergus Falls a party of three or four men from Alexandria on their way through the county to Detroit, in Becker county to the north. They drove a team hitched to an old army ambulance, which was commodious enough to hold the party, a couple cases of beer and a keg of whiskey. These necessary supplies were sufficient for a long outing for the party as originally made up.

They were all in a joyous and sociable mood while in Fergus Falls, and it may be assumed that it so continued until they reached Elizabeth. There they found Melville, who was likewise joyous. The day was perfect. Bert was sociable, companionable and looked neat, so he was invited to join the party and accompany it to Detroit. Trust Bert for not refusing an opportunity of that sort, when acquainted with the supplies contained in the ambulance.

The weather changed; rain came on and they did not reach Detroit for two days. During all that time Bert camped close to the keg, and with such assiduity that when they got to their destination he had outworn his welcome. There he was told that if he wished to go to Fergus Falls, he would have to walk; that they had had all of his company they desired, and did not propose to run the risk of a drought by keeping him any longer.

Well, Bert was fifty miles from home, and in his Sunday suit, already sadly demoralized by the rain. His slippers and suit were illy adapted for a fifty-mile tramp through the mud, but the effort had to be made-and he started for home. His first day's trek brought him to Pelican lake, twelve miles from Detroit, where he arrived footsore, but sober. He stayed all night with a farmer by the name of Peabody, somewhat convivial like himself. "A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind," so Peabody loaned Melville a big mule and a buckboard to convey him back to Fergus Falls. Friends were on the lookout for him, being at a loss to know the cause of his long absence.

A few of them, along toward night, gathered in front of Sim's drug store, over which Bert had his office. As they stood gazing westward beyond the hill, then in the center of town on Lincoln avenue, they saw first the flop, flop of the mule's ears above the horizon, then came the head, neck, body, and finally the buckboard in which sat Melville, covered with mud from foot to head, with not a show of white about that erstwhile immaculate Sunday suit.

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History of Otter Tail County, Minnesota: Its People, Industries and Institutions, Volume I, Part 71

Author: John W. Mason Publication date: 1916 Publisher: Number of Pages: 765

Author: John W. Mason
Publication date: 1916
Publisher:
Number of Pages: 765