USA > Nebraska > Nebraska history and record of pioneer days, Vol. VI > Part 9
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by such men as you I might overcome this habit that is dragging me down to heil." I said, "the best society is the church." He asked me if the cnuren would take him at once and thus throw around him a pro- tecting innuence. 1 said, "that is what the church is for." He said, "I'll go with you tomorrow (Sunday) state my case and condition to the members and ask to be received." At the close of the morning service the pastor, Rev. beans, gave an opportunity for him to make a state- ment, a vote was taken and he at once became a useful member; tak- ing up work in the Sabbath School, and became a great help to me as superintendent.
My advice to inebriates las invariably been to accept Jesus Christ as the only sure way to overcome the drink habit. As proof I will cite the case of a man by name of the Bouleware, living in Nebraska City, who both gambled and drank to excess; and when I advised him to re- form while in bed recovering from delirium tremens, he said he would prove that he could reform in his own strength. He had a decanter of whiskey and glass placed on a stand by his bed in easy reach, and for some time he refrained from touching it, but his system had such an irresistable craving he took a little, and a little more, until the desire knew no bounds, and he went down dying, doubly dying, into a drunk- ard's grave.
I received recently a splendid letter from Mrs. A. G. Wolfenbarger giving a detailed account of her husband's sickness, and death. I will always hold dear the memory of him who gave the best of his life in battle against the liquor tyrant. Upon one occasion we both met in the same town, at the same hotel. After the meeting in which he ex- patiated against the rum power with might and main, we at his sug- gestion slept in the same bed, and when disrobed he knelt down on one side of the bed and I on the other, both sending up a silent petition to God.
1512 El Dorado St, Stockton, Calif.
Augustine H. McLaughlin, pioneer rancher in Box Butte county and esteemed to be the oldest settler there, died at Alliance, December 21, 1922, aged 76. He homesteaded on the Niobrara in 1882, became a suc- cessful rancher, owning two sections of fine land, well-stocked. He was a soldier in the eighteenth Iowa Infantry during the Civil War. After the war he freighted across the plains and from Sidney to the Black Hills. He was a most interesting and attractive frontier character, typical of the best upon the border.
The Women's Club of Holdrege gave its program January 12, 1923 on the topic "Early Nebraska History." The program was in charge of Mrs. Sundbury and those who had place upon the program were Mrs. Ed- ward Gillett, Mrs. D. J. Fink, and Mrs. W. A. Dilworth. The wonderful natural beauties of Nebraska and the inspiring historical places and mem- ories were presented. The plans for marking historical sites in the state and the work of the State Historical Society were well presented. Pro- grams like this are well calculated to develop state and local patriotism and love of the region which is our home.
Isaac Preston, a member of the Omaha tribe, died at Walthill, Janu- ary 21, 1923, aged about 69 years. Mr. Preston was a good Indian, peace- able. loyal and industrious. He owned 160 acres of rich land on the res- ervation. He was keeper of the holv tent of the Omahas in which was kept the sacred white buffalo skin, formerly used in the religious cere- monies of the tribe. Some years ago this relic was stolen and sold to people in Chicago, who refused to return it to the tribe.
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WESTERN NEWSPAPER MEN
Two or three years ago a quiet, unobtrusive little man came casu- ally into the office of the Nebraska State Historical Society. His mode of talk, his mind, his habit, easily named him as one of a disappearing, almost vanished race,-the old time itinerant newspaper man. There is no mistaking the class. Quiet spoken, reticent, never boasting of ex- perience or achievement and yet with a grasp of the world of fact, fiction and philosophy that would put to shame the arrogance of the self-assertive individual so common in our day. It was only after half a dozen brief interviews and Christmas dinner together that the knowl- edge and ability of our new friend became patent. He was born near Davenport, in Iowa, long enough ago to have been a young man at the outbreak of the civil war. He enlisted in the 16th Iowa regiment and saw three years of service, nearly a year of it in Rebel prisons at Ander- sonville, Millen and Florence. He had rambled from the Atlantic to Pacific, had seen Mexico, Central America and Europe. He has known Joaquin Miller and many other celebrities in literary and political circles. He had contributed much in writing to the history of Iowa and was familiarly known to the newspaper men in Iowa as Clint Parkhurst. A volume of his poetry has just been printed by the Woodruff Printing Company. Poetry stamped with a breadth of information and some- times a fire of energy which surprises the reader.
Since his first visit Mr. Parkhurst has become better known to the editor of this magazine. After a good deal of insistence he was finally persuaded to write a brief story on Western Newspaper Men. This story is herewith published. It is in fact only the frame-work of a hundred stories gradually drawn out of the writer. No one knows the modern world so well as the thoroughgoing newspaper man. There are not many of him. There are still fewer of the old time newspaper men. For one who has served his own time at the printer's case and editor's desk there is no one quite so interesting as the thorough-going, old time newspaper man. The editor of this magazine is sure that he has every Nebraska editor in accord with him on this question. After living and wandering in thirty or forty states and countries Mr. Parkhurst is contented to make his home in Lincoln. He is a lover of little children and the sentiment is warmly reciprocated by them.
The nation whose unity he fought to preserve,-fought and lived in prison pens,-kindly provides for his necessities. A pile of books or newspapers, a table, a big window and occasionally a brief, always brief, word with a sympathetic friend furnishes what is more than food or shelter or raiment for the soul filled with memories of a busy and event- ful life and with the eternal longing for more knowledge. Here follows Mr. Parkhurst's story:
Western Newspaper Men
By H. C. Parkhurst
In musing on seventy-nine years of mortal experience, I have been wondering what I would have done had there been no types, presses, books or papers. A dull world it would have been, though "Satan still finds work for idle hands to do." Most of my busy years have passed in close contact with printer's ink, and when engaged a while at some- thing more novel, exciting or profitable, I remembered the words of an old-time friend: "Keep up your connection with the press."
That I have seen startling changes in mechanics and methods, is a matter of course. I have also had brought home to me many tragedies once regarded as inseparably connected with newspaper life. I have intimately known four publishers who were shot and killed; six editors who killed themselves with bullet or poison; and four or five who literally killed themselves with work. The number of scribes who were caned,
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clubbed, shot at or otherwise ill treated has been very many. Mishaps and bloodshed have occurred in plenty. There is not so much "live journalism" now as there used to be, but people still linger among us who, occasionally, consider it a public duty to "go gunning for an editor."
I heard the shots fired that killed Charles De Young, chief tounder of the San Francisco Chronicle. In various parts of the United States, for a long or a short period, I have been employed on about twenty-five daily newspapers, some of them of national fame. This varied experience, properly narrated, would make. an interesting volume, but I shall not write it. One matter might be touched upon, however, for the reason that "contempt of court" cases are beginning to be quite numerous. The first one I ever heard of I suddenly found myself involved in. As it ex- cited attention throughout the country, I will make brief mention of it.
In 1872 I was put to work on the Chicago Evening Journal as police reporter, and was soon afterwards made general court reporter, The excessive use of the writ of Supersedeas by the Supreme Court of Illinois had become an intolerable abuse. I was so impressed with the fact that, one day, I wrote an editorial severely criticising the Supreme Court, and handed it to Mr. Andrew Shuman, managing editor. It was no part of my duty to write editorial, and I had plenty of reportorial work to do, but I thought it would be a mental relief to roast the Supreme Court, and so I turned loose. The article was printed that afternoon. A couple of days afterwards an officer of the law arrived from Ottawa and arrested. Mr. Shuman, and also Mr. Charles Wilson, chief owner of the paper, on the charge of "contempt of court." Arraigned at Ottawa on the following day, Mr. Shuman contended that an act complained of must be committed in the actual presence of the court, or it could constitute no true contempt of court. This view was not taken by Chief Justice Lawrence, and Mr. Shuman was fined $200, and publisher Wilson $100. Mr. Shuman desired to refuse to pay, and to go to jail, and afterwards test the matter, but Wilson over-ruled and paid the fines.
This action of the Supreme Court created astonishment in Illinois. From motives of rivalry and enmity, two dailies in Chicago commended the court's action, but all other publications in the city viewed it as a blow at the freedom of the press. The weekly papers throughout the state almost unanimously condemned the Court. The Atlantic Monthly (Boston) published an article concerning the matter, and quoted the offensive article entire, and partially condemned it, but only mildly supported the court. All eastern daily papers that expressed an opinion, took sides against the court. A state election was near at hand in Illinois. Chief Justice Lawrence and two of his associates were candidates for re-election, and with press and public against them they fared badly, being disastrously defeated. One justice also resigned, and the entire Supreme Court was reconstituted, and the evils complained of were rectified-for the time being at least.
Most of the newspaper men I knew in former days are gone. Like actors on a stage they played their parts, won praise or blame, and made their exits-as great and small must do. To advance presidential prospects Gen. John A. Logan was, for a considerable time, a silent partner in a Chicago newspaper company. It was often my duty to confer with noted persons, such as Joe Jefferson, Henri Rochefort, Le- land Stanford, Gen. Terry of the Broderick-Terry duel and others I might name. Mr. Jefferson was the most unassuming, pleasant, and democratic of all of them-a contented, friendly gentleman who was not in any hurry at all, and was only too glad to give you the information. you needed. I took a great liking for him. In those days I often met Melville Stone, one of the editors of the Post and Mail, who was sup- posed to be dependent on his salary. Instead of money he had ideas. One of these was that a daily paper could be printed in Chicago and
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sold at a profit for a cent a copy. He was ready to discuss the matter with any proper person, and talked a great deal on the subject. Some people laughed at him; others merely disagreed with him. I was out west when he finally put his thoughts into living action. How he got started I don't know, but his efforts culminated in the Chicago Daily News-morning, noon and evening. From the very start it proved suc -. cessful-financially, and in every other way. Some years afterwards Stone sold out at a big figure and went into the banking business. He was not "cut out" for it, but, nevertheless, made a very good vice pres- ident and made some more money. Then he suddenly quit banking to . accept the post of chief manager of the Associated Press of the United States with his main office at New York City. Although well along in years he was still in the harness two years a go, and had just published a fine volume of reminiscences that were worth reading. In spite of lamentations men do get rich in journalism as well as in anything else. Stone got rich, and has also wielded a wide personal influence for good.
Romance and grievous misfortune were strangely intermingled in the career of a reporter I knew intimately for a long time. An old, eccentric and very wealthy publisher married a girl whose unusual beauty caught his attention. In a year or two he died, leaving a great publication on the hands of an inexperienced girl-little more than a school girl or child. Much confusion ensued. Some one had to visit the lady continually for consultation, instruction and authority. The reporter I speak of was assigned to the task, and performed his duties so thoroughly that he soon married the blooming widow, and by his advice she sold the valuable paper and the immensely valuable real estate to a newly formed company, and the happy pair retired from business cares and went on a long trip to Europe and the Mediterranean lands. In a year or two they returned. The reporter wa energetic and ambitious; he had to be occupied, he was a good newspaper man, and he had a superabundance of money. He decided to start a new daily paper. This created rivalries and enmities. He ran his new paper on the sen- sational plan, cut and slash at everything and everybody, and really seemed on the road to swift success. One day, without his knowledge, and through the blunder or the intentional treason of a trusted sub- ordinate, some improper advertising appeared in the paper. The matter was unnoticed, to all appearances, and the blunder was repeated. Then the law was invoked. The young publisher was arrested on a charge of felony. Several trials took place. For a long time the case con- tinued in the courts. A bushel of money was spent in maintaining a desperate defense, but, in the end the pubisher had to go to prison. There was no escape. He accepted his fate with much fortitude. But by the time he had served his sentence his costly newspaper property had been wrecked. Almost his last dollar was gone and he and his heart-broken wife were glad to scrape enough money together to fly from a scene of calamity and sorrow. No one knew where they went, or sought to find out. -
Another case was quite as bad. A newspaper publisher who became a millionaire, and afterwards embarked in banking, railroad building and other schemes till he was supposed to be worth millions, finally came in contact with many charges of tremendous defalcations. With a big staff of noted lawyers he fought the case for years. He wrecked and lost all his properties and landed at last in prison. After serving part of his sentence he received a pardon, but died a week after his release.
A generation ago-longer ago than that-John P. Irish was widely known through Iowa, Nebraska and adjacent states. As a newspaper publisher, fine public speaker, politician and leading citizen of unblem- ished name, he won attention and respect. With high qualifications for a brilliant political career, he never seemed to "hit things right." There
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was always something the matter. For various reasons he "pulled up" and went to California. There he became "Col. John P. Irish;" he had fame and influence; he made money; he established a daily paper at the large flourishing city of Oakland, and at the same time was ap- pointed chief editor of a daily paper in San Francisco. He had every- thing he wanted but political success. That always evaded him. I knew Col. Irish almost from my boyhood, and could say most flattering things of him, but it is unnecessary. Some weeks ago I was startled and grieved to read that he had been killed by a street car in Oakland. He was eighty years of age.
HISTORICAL NOTES
The Gibbon Historical Society, in cooperation with the ex-service men there, has published a placard with the latest accepted rules re- lating to the display of the American flag. Enough copies have been printed to supply every school room in Buffalo county. The State His- torical Society is glad to acknowledge receipt of one of these cards. Early Richardson County Poem
The first dentist in Richardson county, Dr. R. D. Messler, died at Falls City, November 23, 1923, aged 74. He came to Richardson county in 1866. He was a musician, active and influential and with a kind ยท spirit that endeared him to all . Some years ago he wrote an original poem which may find an appropriate place here as an evidence of the type of thought held by pioneer Nebraskans:
I had a dream last night, Of strange and wondrous mien, Which showed that in our slumbering hours Things are not what they seem.
Methought I heard a trumpet's call Far distant yet so loud I sprang up from my slumbering bed And found my robe a shroud
And looking down I saw my couch A grave beside a wall Matted o'er with weeds and grass That grew both rank and tall.
A headstone gleamed amid the grass, My name engraven on; The day of birth, the day of death, And the fragment of a psalm.
Crumbling granite marked the spot Where once the church had stood Where in life I'd worshipped, With the Brotherhood.
Standing round on every side Were friends in life I'd known, No one moved or spoke a word The trumpet still was blowing.
Sparkling dewdrons glistened On every shrub and flower All nature seemed in sweet accord T'was Resurrection hour.
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The trumpet hushed, a sweet voice spoke, That gave our souls a thrill It echoed back from mountain top From valley, plain and hill.
"I'm the Christ the Lord anointed I have for you a place prepared, Glory in the highest glory, Wake ye Nations everywhere."
E. T. Best, editor of the Neligh Leader, died at that place November 23, 1923, aged 73. He had lived at Neligh 38 years. The editor of this magazine well remembers his first acquaintance with Mr. Best, when we were fellow Antelope county editors, in 1884-1887.
Joseph Owen died at Shelton, November 21, 1923, aged 74. He came from England to the United States in 1863, had lived more than fifty years in Buffalo county and was one of the few survivors of the first settlement there. During the past year Mr. Owen rendered important services to the Hall county Historical Society, by taking its members to the exact spot where the old trail, sometimes called the Military Road, sometimes the California Trail and sometimes the Mormon Trail, crossed the county line from Hall into Buffalo. A granite boulder now marks the spot he took them to with the certainty of personal contact fifty years ago.
The November, 1871, Storm.
The famous blizzard of 1873, frequently called the "Easter Storm" was not the only destructive storm of the pioneer years. Recollections of the November storm in 1871 are revived by Jay Turner of Harvard, in the Harvard Courier. In the interest of recording these recollections of great blizzards this magazine gives space for a part of Mr. Turner's report as follows:
Mr. Turner and Albert Moger, both boys in their early twenties were living in a dugout about a mile and a half north of Harvard. They were putting in their time plowing and expected to keep fairly busy throuout the winter because they had been told that it was pos- sible to plow most any day and there was plenty of ground to be plowed. On November 15th they spent the day plowing as usual, only it was so warm they went barefooted all day and had to stop frequently to let their teams cool off.
The next morning they awoke, convinced that it was time to get up, but it was still dark. Upon investigation they found that they were "snowed in." They dug the snow back into the room and succeeded in getting out. Mr. Turner climbed thru the hole and the moment he hit the surface his hat went racing with the wind and was not seen again until the following spring. They managed to get to their stable and care for the horses which were about snowed in and without food. The boys themselves were so short on rations that they ate nothing the first day. The blizzard raged for two nights and three days and cleared the third night. The weather bureau at Lincoln reported a temperature of 17 below with a seventy mile wind and it goes without saving that it was just as bad, if not worse, out here on the prairie where the wind had a clean sweep without even a house between here and Grand Island to stop it.
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One man living on the south side of town froze to death in an at- tempt to reach aid. He and his son were living in a sod shack and had no food. They stayed there one day but saw they could not stay the storm out so started with the wind in their faces to locate the four houses which constituted Harvard. The father gave out long before they reached them, and the son just managed to get to one of them before he dropped.
The storm came on so suddenly and was so entirely unexpected that the people were completely unprepared. Many were like the boys, Turner and Moger, who lived on bread made of flour and salt, and snow water and coffee made from the same dirty snow water. Several lives were lost thruout the county and thousands upon thousands of cattle were lost in the storm.
Early Days in Webster County.
"Uncle Si," correspondent of the Guide Rock Signal, is writing installments of Webster county history. Very interesting are these pioneer recollections. Among them is one of a command of cavalry which crossed the Republican river in June, 1870. From it we take the following interesting paragraph:
A little while after the cavalry reached us the heavy government wagons began to reach camp. We wondered how they got those heavy wagons across creeks and canons as there was no bridges or roads. Then they showed us how it was done. They would stretch heavy rope cables across a bad place and swing the wagons across on them. The next night after the soldiers had marched on we waded the Republican to our house on the north side and were soon asleep. We were awakened . by McCallum who whispered that a great body of Indians were ford- ing the river just below our cabin. We jumped into our clothes, crawled down to the river bank and laid there flat until morning. We could hear them go down into the water on the south side of the river and wade across one after another. - The night was very cloudy and the darkness was awful. We could not see the Indians and were afraid of being discovered by their dogs. Morning came and to our surprise and joy we saw thousands of buffalo on the north side where there were none the evening before. The land where Guide Rock now stands and away to the north, east and west was a great moving mass of these big beasts. It was they who had been crossing the river.
There was plenty of game in 1870, in the Republican Valley. Here is a recollection of that time in hunting.
One day Uncle Si,
When the weather was dry,
Took his gun from the pegs on the wall;
Took his hat from the rack,
And said he'd be back,
He was just going hunting, that's all.
There was plenty of game,
Then out on the plain,
No matter which way he should go;
The buffalo feeding,
And antelope leading,
Where the green, waving grass liked to grow.
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He felt he had pluck,
Now if he had luck,
He might get a'turkey to fry;
With prairie fowis plenty, Might shoot about twenty,
Of quail that were hiding near by.
But the day went amuck, He didn't have luck, He shot no big game, anywhere; And so all that he got, Tho he used lots of shot,
Was just a big "Indian scare!"
HISTORICAL NOTES
An old civil war drum recently came to Griff J. Thomas of Harvard, from his comrade of the civil war, Richard Trist, of Racine, Wis. The drum was a token of union between these two men, friends in boyhood and more than friends in the army. Near the time for Muster Out for both, the Wisconsin comrade sends the drum to the Nebraska com- rade. The Nebraska State Historical Museum has a place for this drum when no longer used by either of these veterans.
HOW GRASSHOPPERS STOPPED UNION PACIFIC TRAINS
. John Jacobson of Lexington was born in Denmark Jan. 15, 1849, and settled in 1871 at what was then Plum Creek (now Lexington) on the Union Pacific railroad. He has lived there ever since, working for many years as section hand on the Union Pacific, and homesteaded about four miles west of Lexington. He made a sod house 10x12 with a dirt floor, one window and one door and lived there alone until he proved up. A recent interview with him, printed in the Lexington Pioneer, contains many things of interest, but the most important contribution in it is the detailed story he gives of grasshoppers stopping railroad trains on the Union Pacific and the reason why they stopped the trains. This story is one of the stock stories of the Nebraska pioneer life. It has been told, with variations, thousands of times, many times by people who did not know the circumstances. It has often been regarded as a frontier lie. The detailed account of Mr. Jacobson is therefore worth preservation in the historical annals of Nebraska. Here it is:
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