Reardan History Wiki - User contributions [en]

Reardan History Timeline

2024-01-20T15:11:37Z

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This timeline has events that are significant to Reardan and vicinity.

[Many of the items are red-linked as a reminder that text needs to be created for a particular event or thing.
{| class="wikitable" style="margin:auto"
|+ Historical Timeline for Reardan
|-
! Date !! Event
|-
| 1804-1906 || [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lewis_and_Clark_Expedition Meriwether Lewis and William Clark Expedition] passed through the region to the south via the Clearwater, Snake and Columbia rivers.
|-
| 1810 || Establishment of [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spokane_House Spokane House] by North West Company (absorbed by Hudson's Bay Company in 1821.) Site was abandoned in 1825 in favor of [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Colvile Fort Colvile]. This was the first European settlement of significance in Washington.
|-
| 1811 || Use of Indian trail as [[Colville Road|Colville-Walla Walla Road]] (Monument near Hite on US 2)
|-
| 1818 || [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Treaty_of_1818 Treaty of 1818] between US and Britain allows dual control of area north of the Columbia River and south of the 49th parallel.
|-
| 1835 || Establishment of [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whitman_Mission_National_Historic_Site Whitman mission].
|-
| 1836 || Establishment of Nez Perce mission at Lapwai, ID by [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_H._Spalding Henry Spaulding].
|-
| 1838 || Establishment of [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tshimakain_Mission Tshimikane mission] at Ford by Cushing Eells and Elkanah Walker. They camped near Sprague a year later. They wrote a Salish language primer which was the first book published in Washington (1842).
|-
| 1845 || Establishment of [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Paul%27s_Mission St. Paul's Mission] at Kettle Falls by Father DeSmet.
|-
| 1846 || Land south of 49th parallel ceded to the US by [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oregon_Treaty Oregon Treaty].
|-
| 1847 || The Whitmans were killed by Indians blaming them for deaths caused by measles. The mission at Tshimikane was abandoned soon there after for fear of the Indians, although there had never been any problems with the Indians there.
|-
| 1848 || Establishment of the [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oregon_Territory Territory of Oregon] (including present day Oregon, Washington and Idaho and parts of Montana and Wyoming).
|-
| 1850 || Establishment of [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Mission_State_Park Mission of the Sacred Heart] at Cataldo, ID. Father deSmet came from St. Louis in 1842 and had other failed locations before building this more permanent mission.
|-
| 1853 || A portion of the Oregon Territory is granted statehood. [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Washington_Territory Washington Territory] is created from the northern portion of the old Oregon Territory. Southern Idaho and a portion of Wyoming are also added to the Washington Territory.
|-
| 1863 || Idaho is made a territory and the present boundaries of Washington are established.
|-
| 1855-1858 || Yakima Indian War lead by [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chief_Kamiakin Chief Kamiakin] in [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Pine_Creek Battle of Pine Creek], [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/battle_of_Four_Lakes Battle of Four Lakes] and culminating in the [//en.wikipedia.org/Battle_of_Spokane_Plains Battle of Spokane Plains] (near Fairchild AFB). He united the tribes in the Pacific Northwest against the whites and had a fairly successful campaign, but was ultimately defeated by the endless supply of soldiers for the US army.
|-
| 1858 || Creation of Spokane County (including Lincoln and Douglas counties). It was annexed by Stephens county in 1864 and recreated in 1879.
|-
| 1858 || Creation of the [[White Bluffs Road]] which ran from White Bluffs on the Columbia River near Hanford to Lake Pend Orielle to open an all weather route from the Pacific to Montana. This trail ran east-west just north of Reardan.
|-
| 1858 || Creation of the [[Colville Military Road]] which ran from Walla Walla to Fort Colville USA (as opposed to Fort Colville, the Hudson Bay Company outpost nearby). This trail was the same as the [[White Bluffs Road]] in the vicinity of Reardan.
|-
| 1853 || Establishment of [//revisitwa.org/waypoint/camp-washington-monument/ Camp Washington] at Four Mound by new territorial governor Isaac Stephens. Some like to call this the first capitol of Washington State.
|-
| 1860 || [[James Monoghan]] establishes a post and ferry service on the Colville Military Road at "winding springs" about two miles upstream from the present day Long Lake Dam.
|-
| 1865 || [[James Monoghan]] and William Nix get Territorial approval to build a bride to replace the ferry at "winding ford."
|-
| 1869 || Russell M. Bacon starts raising cattle on Crab Creek and establishes first post office in Lincoln county in 1873.
|-
| 1871-1872 || Government surveyed the county which opened the area for homesteading. One of the Chief Surveyors was future Territorial and first state Governor Ferry.
|-
| 1878 || Arrival of first farmers, Henry Harder [age 37] and John Wickham [age 53] near Reardan.
|-
| 1880 || Establishment of [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Spokane Camp Spokane (now Fort Spokane)]. Fort was used for policing until 1890. In 1899 the post became a Indian boarding school until 1914 when it became a tuberculosis sanitorium. It closed in 1929.
|-
| 1882 || Platting of Fairweather by William F. Hooker and John W. Still.
|-
| 1882 || Joseph Lapray buys the toll bridge at "winding ford" from [[James Monoghan]]. He also establishes a saw mill "somewhere in Lincoln county" which will produce lumber for the bridge. This bridge becomes known as the [[Lapray Bridge]].
|-
| 1882 || Capps Station was the post office and stage coach station one mile north of Reardan on the stage route between the Spokane House and Camp (Fort) Spokane. John Stanford Capps was the post master.
|-
| 1883 || Creation of Lincoln and Douglas counties.
|-
| 1883 || Completion of Northern Pacific railroad.
|-
| 1885 || Arrival of Charles Buckman and Luke Ensor.
|-
| || Decline of the town of Fairweather.
|-
| 1988 || Completion of the Central Washington Railway through Reardan. Railroad station built in center of Lake Street.
|-
| 1899 || Post Office moved from Capps Station to just south of railroad station. W. H. McCoy was the postmaster and local druggist.
|-
| 1889 || Platting of Reardan by __ and __. The town is named after Charles Fairbanks Reardan, chief construction engineer for this section of the Northern Pacific Railroad.
|-
| 1889 || Washington is granted statehood as the 42nd state. Flag of six rows of seven stars lasted about eight months until Idaho became a state.
|-
| 1889 || Crop failed in hot dry summer and half of livestock die off in a cold hard winter. Nearly half of the land in the county was abandoned and seized by the Lincoln county sheriff for back taxes.
|-
| 1889 || Washington Grain and Milling company erected an elevator and later a flour mill.
|-
| 1899 || Opening of Fort George Wright near present day Spokane Falls Community College.
|-
| 1903 || Incorporation of Reardan.
|-
| 1904-1918 || Mule Day celebrated as a community event.
|-
| 1905 || Reardan has electricity provided by a local generator powered by a wood fired boiler and steam engine.
|-
| 1908-1910 || Construction of Little Falls Dam by the Washington Water Power Company (WWP). Nearly all materials for the dam passed through Reardan and were transhipped from rail to horse-drawn or tractor-drawn wagons.
|-
| 1909 || Lapray sells his bridge to Spokane and Stevens counties. Stevens county merchants protests equal shares with more populous and wealthier Spokane County, and eventually an unequal deal is made. The bride is now a public bridge without tolls.
|-
| 1909 || First Reardan high school class is graduated. It has three members.
|-
| 1910-1915 || Construction of Long Lake Dam. This was a much larger project and WWP built a railroad from Springdale down Chimakane Creek to cross the Spokane River just below the dam site. Although Reardan was not directly involved with the shipping of materials, it did furnish housing, meals and transportion to the dam site.
|-
| 191x || The rising waters behind Long Lake Dam flood Lapray Bridge. WWP purchases the bridge from Spokane and Stevens counties and agrees to build an new one with road access below the dam. This bridge will use the railroad bridge built for constructing Long Lake Dam. WWP is able to sell two of the three spans to the city of Spokane.
|-
| 1913 || 13 August [[1913 Blaze Destroys Block]] including a barn (livery stable), two saloons, a hotel, a barbershop, a watch repair shop, a restaurant, and V. A. Hard's Undertaking business. This was on the west side of Lake Street between the railroad tracks and Broadway Avenue.
|-
| 1917-1918 || World War I [[:category:World War I Veteran|Several area boys]] go to serve in the war.
|-
| 1923 || [[Harl Aldrich, Sr. | Harl Aldrich and family]] move to Reardan and he become Superintendent of Schools. He starts a girls basketball team and a football team.
|-
| 1926 || 3 August. [[1926 Fire | An arson caused fire]] burned the Bowie building (containing Hanel's drug store and the Sherman S. Bentley general store), Finrow's general store, the Re=rdan Gazette, and the Inland Hotel. The Reardan Farmers' State bank next door was spared. (Part of it is still standing as Reardan Fire Station.)
|-
| 1930s || Great Depression
|-
| 1941-1945 || [[Effects of World War II | World War II]]
|-
| 1945-1973 || Community Day was celebrated initially to raise money for the Red Cross and then the Reardan Memorial Clinic (now [[:Category:Memorial Library | Reardan Memorial Library]]).
|-
| Jan. 1952 || The Washington Grain and Milling Company grain elevator and mill burned to the ground
|-
| 1952 || The Reardan Grain Growers built the first two [[:category:Concrete Elevators| concrete grain elevators]]. The other four would follow in 1954.]]
|-
| 1952 || Beginning of first wave of the [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Revolution Green Revolution]. Within Washington state this was promoted by WSU professor [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orville_Vogel Orville Vogel] and his strain of Gains wheat tripled the yield for fertilized wheat in the early 1960s. Since then the yield of wheat had doubled again.
|-
| 1959 || Burning of the original Ranch House restaurant
|-
| 1959-1962 || [[:Category:Beautification Efforts | Beautification for Seattle World's Fair]] or [//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Century_21_Exposition Century 21 Exposition].
|-
| 1960 || Revitalizing of the [[:Category:Library | town library]].
|-
| 1966 || Moving of the town library to the [[:Category:Memorial Library | Reardan Memorial Library]]
|-
| 1970s || Changing of Community Day to Mule Days
|-
| 1980s || [[Father Aloysius Breznik]]
|-
| 1990s ||
|-
| 2000s ||
|-
| 2010s ||
|-
| 2020s ||
|}
[[category: Reardan History]]

Reardan Electric Company

2024-01-20T15:05:21Z

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'''Spokane Chronicle 16 March 1905 p9 c2:'''
<blockquote>
'''LOTS OF LIGHT FOR REARDAN'''
 The electric light plant recently installed at Reardan is giving great satisfaction, according to J. M McDowell, president of the company, who was in the city this week. "We started the machinery moving March 1," stated Mr. McDowell, and have been furnishing light to every business house in the city, with one exception. We have just started firing the residences of the town and by October I hope to be lighting nine tenths of the residences of Reardan. We are already carrying a load on our dynamos which more than pays for the running expenses. We furnish the city lights. Five 1200 horsepower arc lamps give great satisfaction. Our plant is run by steam and is 100 horsepower. It will be plenty large enough for all the needs we will have to meet in the near future. We are so fixed that we can readily install more machinery If we find it necessary."
</blockquote>
'''Tacoma Daily Ledger 18 December 1905 p6 c5:'''
<blockquote>
'''REARDAN IN DARKNESS'''
 REARDAN Dec 17 — On account of the breakage of the machinery the Reardan electric light plant has closed down and the town is in darkness for the first time since the establishment of the plant. The mishap comes at an unfortunate time as the Christmas stock of the merchants cannot be shown to good advantage by coal-oil light The lighting company has decided to put in a new engine and it will probably be three weeks before the plant is again in operation.
</blockquote>
[[category: Newspaper Clipping]]
[[category: Reardan Businesses]]

Reardan Electric Company

2024-01-20T15:04:52Z

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'''Spokane Chronicle 16 March 1905 p9 c2:'''
<blockquote>
'''LOTS OF LIGHT FOR REARDAN'''
 The electric light plant recently installed at Reardan is giving great satisfaction, according to J. M McDowell, president of the company, who was in the city this week. "We started the machinery moving March 1," stated Mr. McDowell, and have been furnishing light to every business house in the city, with one exception. We have just started firing the residences of the town and bv October I hope to be lighting nine tenths of the residences of Reardan. We are already carrying a load on our dynamos which more than pavs for the running expenses. We furnish the city lights. Five 1200 horsepower arc lamps give great satisfaction. Our plant is run by steam and is 100 horsepower. It will be plenty large enough for all the needs we will have to meet in the near future. We are so fixed that we can readily install more machinery If we find it necessary."
</blockquote>
'''Tacoma Daily Ledger 18 December 1905 p6 c5:'''
<blockquote>
'''REARDAN IN DARKNESS'''
 REARDAN Dec 17 — On account of the breakage of the machinery the Reardan electric light plant has closed down and the town is in darkness for the first time since the establishment of the plant. The mishap comes at an unfortunate time as the Christmas stock of the merchants cannot be shown to good advantage by coal-oil light The lighting company has decided to put in a new engine and it will probably be three weeks before the plant is again in operation.
</blockquote>
[[category: Newspaper Clipping]]
[[category: Reardan Businesses]]

Loan Default

2023-05-30T13:47:06Z

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{{draft}}
[[File:1918-misc-000a-auto-interurban-buses-broadway-lake-1600.jpg| thumb|center| 800px | Autointerurban buses in Reardan]]
[[File:1918-misc-000b-auto-interurban-buses-broadway-lake-1600.jpg| thumb| center| 800px | Close-up of Model-T]]
{{note|
This appears to be three buses with the lead bus towing the other two. The lead bus is also equipped with a V-plow and extra tires. Additionally there apears to be wood panels placed over the windows. Perhaps this is to help insulate a poorly heated bus on cold winter days. There are several men around the buses, so this appears to be some sort of planned event.
The Model-T on the right has the words "Spokane County" painted on their door. This appears to be an early sheriff's car, but it is well out of its jurisdiction.
An additional observation is the cigar sign over the parked buses. This is likely the sign of Sullivan's Smoke House. This implies that the burned buildings on the west side of Lake Street north of Broadway Avenue that were burned in 1913 have been replaced. That would place the vehicles on the south side of Broadway Avenue.
It also appears to be the spring of the year with meltwater and possibly some snow in the photo.

So what is going on here?

This could be a repossession to repay a loan. The Reardan Farmers' State Bank made large loans to the Autointerurban Company of Spokane in 1918 that were in default. The bank may have had to sue Autointerurban and the Spokane Sheriff may have been enforcing the court order.

}}

Across the street from left to right: grain elevators/ Schultz's Ford/Saloon (to become Community Hall), Smith & Sons Grocery, Confectionary/Restaurant, Lemley's Saloon.
[[category: Photos That Tell a Story]]
[[Category: Autointerurban Bus]]
[[Category: Lake Street]]
[[Category: Saloon]]
[[Category: Bar]]
[[Category: Smith and Sons Groceries]]
[[Category: Sullivan's Smoke House]]
[[Category: Community Hall]]
[[Category: Broadway Avenue]]
[[Category: Car]]

Recent Changes

2023-05-30T13:43:18Z

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There has been a change to the format of the website. The former website was produced by a "static page generator." The pages would be defined with MarkDown, a fairly common markup language, and then translated into pages which can be displayed on browsers. In the new website, pages are generated as needed and uses the same basic engine as Wikipedia (although without all of its bells and whistles). Pages are stored as a database and text within a page can be searched. It is easier to cross reference other pages. In general this should make it easier to navigate between the pages of the website.

Additionally anyone (at least initially) can contribute to the website. This allows more participation whether to correct typos or to add stories and photographs. This requires trust of the community (easy) and the internet at large (almost impossible). We'll see how it goes. If necessary it may become necessary to create a login and have that login vetted before modifications are allowed.

In reverse order of time, pages that have been recently added.
* Added two batches of photographs held by the [[:Category: RML Collection |Reardan Memorial Library]].
* Updated list of [[Eagle Scouts]] to agree with Community Hall plaque.
* Added list of inscriptions for [[Spring Creek Cemetery Inscriptions]] and [[Reardan Cemetery Inscriptions]]
* Added a list of all [[RHS Graduates|RHS Graduates]] to aid in finding students and graduation year.
* Added [[ RHS Composites|composites]] of all Reardan graduating classes.
* [[1918 Car Show| 1918 Car, Truck and Tractor show]]
* [[:Category:Photo by Otto Mahrt| Otto Mahrt's early photography]]
* [[:Category:Mule Days| Library archives of Mule Days (and Community Day) scrapbooks]]
* [[:Category:Reardan Memorial Library| Library archives of Memorial Library scrapbooks]]
* [[Category:Photos That Tell a Story| Page for photographs that tell stories or beg of stories]]
* [[:category: Beautification Scrapbook| Library archives of beautification scrapbooks]]
* [[:category: Royalty| Library archives of Reardan royalty (Miss Reardan, Jr. Miss, etc.]]
* [[:Category: Reardan Schools | School photographs by Dan Plaster and others]]

[[Special:RecentChanges | A more detailed (and automatic) listing of recent changes.]]

File:1910-rml-0206a-boys-with-horse-at-lake-and-spokane.jpg

2023-05-30T13:27:27Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Boys with horse at Lake Street and Spokane Avenue. (Held by the Reardan Memorial Library.)

[[Category:Horses]]
[[Category:Spokane Avenue]]
[[Category:Mattes' Lumber]]
[[Category:Lake Street]]
[[Category:People]]
[[Category:RML Collection]]

Template:Note

2023-05-29T17:52:08Z

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<div style="background-color: #fdfd96; border: 2px solid maroon; margin:5px; padding:5px;">
{{{1}}} <includeonly>[[Category: Note]]</includeonly>
</div>

Category:Note

2023-05-29T17:50:44Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "This page links all of the pages with notes."

This page links all of the pages with notes.

Test1

2023-05-25T20:03:50Z

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This page is for testing features of the wiki.

BASKETBALL (Continued)

On March 3, Reardan faced the very highly talented Fairfield team. They captured
first place in Spokane County. Reardan lead throughout most of the entire game, but
Fairfield tied the ball game up in the final seconds 47 to 47. Fairfield squeezed in one
more point than the Indians in the final overtime to win the ball game 51 to 50.

The following night they played Marcus, but just could not hit their previous stride.
They lost to Marcus by a score of 47 to 37.

Much credit goes to the boys who played on the basketball team this season. It was
a very successful season for the Reardan Indians even though they did not win any
championship trophies. It must be said that Reardan made those teams who did win
trophies hustle to do so

1948-49 BASKETBALL SCHEDULE

<nowiki>
**Home games (Conference)

*Away from home games (Conference)
</nowiki>

{| class="wikitable"
|-
! NOVEMBER !! !! !! Reardan !! Opp.
|-
!16 || Steptoe || HERE || 38 || 17
|-
!23 || Mead || HERE || 28 || 23
|-
!30 || Harrington || HERE || 17 || 35
|-
!DECEMBER
|-
!*3 || Edwall || THERE || 34 || 24
|-
!8 || Rathdrum || THERE || 26 || 29
|-
!**10 || Almira || HERE || 39 || 22
|-
!**17 || Davenport || HERE || 56 || 43
|-
!21 || Rathdrum || HERE || 36 || 38
|-
!28-29-30 || Lions Club Tournament || HERE
|-
!JANUARY
|-
! 4 || Lakeland Village || THERE || 45 || 31
|-
!*7 || Creston || THERE || 28 || 29
|-
!11 || Sprague || HERE || 69 || 41
|-
!**14 || Wilbur || THERE || 27 || 41
|-
!**21 || Edwall || HERE || 38 || 16
|-
!*28 || Almira || THERE || 37 || 32
|-
!FEBRUARY
|-
!1 || Harrington || HERE || 33 || 36
|-
!*4 || Davenport || THERE || 41 || 39
|-
!**11 || Creston || HERE || 33 || 30
|-
!15 || Lakeland Village || HERE || 61 || 34
|-
!**18 || Wilbur || HERE || 51 || 25
|-
!Whitworth Tournament
|-
! || Metaline Falls || || 57 || 55
|-
! || Fairfield || || 51 || 52
|-
! || Marcus || || 37 || 47
|}

[[Category:"Fire"]]
[[Category:Fire]]

File:1905-1915-otto-0245-base-ball-team-1600.jpg

2023-05-25T01:25:13Z

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Baseball team (Photo by Otto Mahrt)

[[Category:Photo by Otto Mahrt]]
[[Category:Sports]]
[[Category:Ball Park]]
[[Category: Town Baseball]]

Things To Do

2023-04-13T17:24:20Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: /* Work Items to prepare wiki to bring it up */

=== Work Items to prepare wiki to bring it up ===

* convert all pages of the current Hugo project
** [p] World War II (some broken links remain)
** [ ] Effect of WWII (rationing, scrap drives, bond drives, Grand Coulee Dam, Columbia Basin, clearing project, Manhattan/Hanford project
** [x] basic Cold War page
** [x] Time-line [ ] look into media wiki timeline tools for neater presentation
** [x] Miscellaneous stuff rolled in
** [p] White Bluff Trail (nice to include on modern map)
** [p] Colville Military Trail (nice to include on modern map)
** [x] Early PLSS maps for Reardan.. [x] make a list [x] download them [x] put on wiki
** [x] Reardan Memorial Library Scrapbook
** [x] Reardan Beautification Scrapbooks
** [ ] Photographs
** [ ] Photo Stories
** [x] The School ... maybe a timeline
*** [ ] history of school buildings
**** [ ] history of the school [ ] misc photos [ ] Otto's photos
**** [ ] Class of 1909 [ ] better photos of participants [ ] graduation invite/program
**** [ ] Class composites [ ] indexing of class members
**** [x] early history of buildings
**** [ ] 1979 buildings
**** [ ] 2019 remodel
**** [ ] School District maps [ ] redo or finish interactive map [ ] locate old school houses [ ] think about interactive Bing map
**** [ ] other stuff
*** [ ] Athletics needs hierarchical structure
*** [x] vo ag as far as it goes
** [x] Reardan royalty
** [x] Pioneer stories [ ] biographies from Big Bend book [ ] Robinson [ ] Raymer [ ] links for Plaster/Mahrt/Koeller/Wagner
*** [x] Aldrich family, Harl [x] Sr, [x] Jr. [ x] Lynn, [ ] Elise [x] Allen Towner
*** [x] Father Breznick
*** [ ] John Buckman [ ] update article on his killer/murder
*** [ ] Luke Ensor
*** [ ] McLain family tree
** [x] Mule Days scrapbooks
** [x] Otto's Photos [ ] his school photos
** [x] 1918 car show
** [ ] Reardan Library photos [ ] catalog rml- [ ] upload [ ] categorize
** [ ] categorize Wagner photos
** [ ] Dan Plaster Home Movies
** [ ] Stories posted to Facebook
** [ ] Categorize photos by year or decade
* History of businesses
** [x] List of businesses [ ] make more complete [ ] range of years for each business
* [ ] build tool chain to load documents and photos to wiki
** [x] build tool chain to push development wiki to online wiki
** NO convert md to wikitext... maybe use paradocs (paradocs isn't working, so use sed)
** [x] learn to use a wikibot to do some of this work, although mainly to add the initial pages, upload picts, etc.
** [ ] enhance the wikitext to include categories for wwii vets, vets, first-last, last-first, service branch, etc. --sortable table?
** [x] add links back to the main topic somehow --template with a box
** [ ] add links to all referenced service people
** [ ] fix the picture links
** [ ] kill the include index.md files and make better use of category capabilities
** [ ] updates the needs page
* [x] make room on server for more photos
* [ ] verify everything on hugo is in the wiki
* [ ] port the photos to the wiki
* [ ] purchase more room on the server as mecessary
* [ ] move the wiki to the real server
* [ ] cut over to the wiki format entirely leaving hugo behind

=== Other work items[edit | edit source] ===

* [ ] convert Some south Reardan homesteads to the wiki format..fix broken links, add stuff on Fairman
* [x] post all early Reardan township ownership info
* [ ] post Dan's 1960 photographs
* [ ] post more of Library's photograph collection
* [ ] post photographs from other collections
* [ ] Enhanced Cold War page with more links and pictures (polish a bit more)
* [ ] play with Mediawiki timeline widget and incorporate where possible
* [ ] include modern maps for early trails and roads
* [ ] include surveyor notes with PLSS maps
* [ ] add categories to each photo to make them more searchable [[:Special:UncategorizedFiles]]
* [ ] fix [[:Category:Pages with broken file links]]
* [ ] fix [[:Special:BrokenLinks]]
* [ ] fix [[:Special:WantedCategories]]

[[category: administration]]

Template:PageNumber

2023-04-13T00:52:56Z

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Without a Little Teamwork

2023-04-12T14:37:18Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: /* CHAPTER ONE: The Rich Story */

{{Huge| {{Center| '''Without a Little Teamwork You Can't Run the Ranch'''}} }}

{{Center|'''''<big>Sketches of a Reardan Pioneer and His Family</big>'''''}}

[This is family memoir by Margret Clare Wagner Johnson, the youngest daughter of Fred and Lena Wagner. The sketches for each chapter are drawn by Janeth Nash, the author's granddaughter. Copyright 1972 All rights reserved.]

Spelling and typographical errors have been corrected. Page numbers mark the bottom of the original pages. Photos may be enlarged by clicking on them. The image of a particular page can be accessed by clicking on the Page box on the right had side of the page. All photographs and drawings can be accessed at [[Without a Little Teamwork Photos|Without a Little Teamwork Photos]]. The sequence of page images can be accessed at [[Without a Little Teamwork Pages|Without a Little Teamwork Pages]]]

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-000-5-1600.jpg|Page 0-5]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-000-5a-reaped-wheat-jackson-fork-1600.jpg | Stack of cut wheat waiting to be threshed and portable Jackson fork. 1912
mcj-000-5b-unloading-header-box-1600.jpg | Unloading a horse drawn header box with Jackson fork. 1912
mcj-000-5c-seeding-1600.jpg | Woman (likely to be Rose) driving a team of mules and seeder.
mcj-000-5d-plowing-1600.jpg | Two teams of mules and horses likely plowing with three girls and man
</gallery>
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-001a-1600.jpg|Page 1]]}}
===CHAPTER ONE: The Rich Story===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-001b.chapter-1-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 1 sketch
</gallery>

It was an evening in June, supper was over, the dishes washed and
put away. Although the big clock on the shelf in the dining room had
shortly struck eight, the light outside was still radiant. A few cumulus
clouds in the west caught the afterglow of the sun, changing from coral
to rosy red to violet. Down by the lake the usual medley of noises, the
night hawks beeping, the killdeer plaintive and the blackbirds strident.
Co-mingled with the bird calls, the frogs croaked a leisured obligato while
in the scab rock above the lake coyotes had started their incessant yelping.

The Collie bitch hearing the opening of the front door, came bounding
up to receive an affectionate pat from Papa. Together they made the
last final round, closing the chicken house door securely against marauders,
checking a mare soon due to drop her foal and closing the granary
doors. Then Papa walked up to the road to watch Herman and Gus
playing catch. The baseball season had started again.

"How much longer will it take you to finish plowing the half section?"
asked Papa as the boys finished their nightly workout.

“Another ten days should do it I should think," answered Gus.
“There’s a lot of moisture in the ground. Good for the wheat."
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Upstairs in the two front bedrooms the girls were getting ready for
bed. Lou the oldest of the Wagner girls was more than ready. Since
Mama’s lengthy illness, the responsibility of caring for the house and the
younger girls had been largely hers. It had been a long day. How good
the bed felt. Bertie, who shared the bed and bedroom with Lou, was standing
at the windows watching the boys for a moment as she brushed her
long hair. Instead of going directly to bed she went down the hall and
slipped into bed with Minna and Rose.

By choice Anne, Minna and Rose shared the big southeast bedroom
so the smaller one over the kitchen could be used for a study. I was Anne’s
charge. She had been so delighted when Mama unexpectedly produced
another baby. I was her joy and delight. When I was too old for a
crib, I slept with Anne. Once in my sleep, thrashing about from some
frightening nightmare, I had rolled out onto the floor. Thereafter Anne
put down pillows by my side of the bed so if it happened again I wouldn’t
hurt myself.

At this time Anne, Bert and Rose were in their teens, Minna not
quite, while I was seven years younger than Minna.

Anne had already gotten me undressed and into bed. As I lay under
the covers my fingers traced the patches of the quilt. Mostly the patches
were dull in color, wool and practical, but they were made a bit more gay
with bright colored embroidery. They were scraps left over from the
yearly stint of clothes making. The blue plaid with red feather stitch was
from Rose’s Sunday dress, the brown homespun in cross stitch was Minna’s.
Mama taught the girls their embroidery stitches on these quilts at
the same time as she made practical use of the leftover bits of fabric.

Lou was the perfectionist and you could always recognize her work for
its flawlessness. Anne finally crawled in beside me, drew me into the
sheltering circle of her arms. The nightly episode of the "Rich Story"
was about to begin.

If you asked any of the girls to define rich, they would say, "Why,
you silly, to be rich you have to have lots of money." That we were rich
in love, security, happiness and laughter they all took for granted. Who
started the “‘Rich Story’ I have no idea. At the time I was too small to
have more than just vague memories about it, but I am sure the story
provided entertainment for the girls for months.

The plot of the "Rich Story" was of the simplest. The Wagners had
an unlimited amount of money. Each girl in her turn contributed her
imaginative bit to the ever recurring theme, as the family moved from
one adventure to another they were always surrounded by an endless
amount of money.

"Anne, its your turn tonight," said Rose.

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"Yes," chimed in Minna, "its your turn to tell tonight.”

Bertie anticipating the story added, "Now, Anne, what exactly happened
to Donald and Dorothy.”

In the story Lou was married and the mother of twins, Donald and
Dorothy. Anne’s great love of children necessitated her need to introduce
them into the plot. The twins recurrently were thrown from runaway Carriages,
were bedridden with malignant unknown diseases or other catastrophes
so Anne could tenderly nurse them back to health.

“Well, let me see." On and on her voice rose and fell in rhythmical
cadence as she developed her plot.

Finally Lou called out, “You kids be quiet in there. Its time for
sleep.”

Reluctantly Bert returned to her own bedroom. "Don’t you dare whisper
and tell any more after I’ve gone."

{{center| <nowiki>* * * * *</nowiki>}}

Papa was a past master at telling stories. His sense of timing,
showmanship and suspense made even the simplest tale sound exciting.
He would sit in the rocker after supper and the eight of us would gather
around him eagerly listening.

After Mama died in the summer of 1911, Papa formed the habit of
at leaving the ranch sometime in the late fall, traveling to California to see
and visit with his brother Charles and then on to San Francisco where
he took an apartment until early spring. I was never sure he was leaving
until I saw the battered brown suitcase come out from under the bed. It
was more than ample for his modest needs, extra long underwear and
trousers, a half dozen pair of socks, three or four striped shirts and perhaps
a celluloid collar. For safety sake he sewed a money pocket to the
inside of his long underwear. He kept an account at the Bank of California,
but he carried with him the cash needed for each season.

On the day of his departure his work clothes were neatly arranged
in the closet. Papa would go to the bathroom, grab the razor strap, hone
his strait edged razor for an extra close shave to last until San Francisco.
Normally Papa shaved about once a week unless he had business in Reardan.

For dress up occasions Papa’s suits were always serviceable black
serge, usually purchased from Miller, Moore and Flynn department store
in Spokane. He favored the Congress slip-on shoes of vici-kid with elastic
insets. They felt as comfortable as slippers which was important to Papa
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as he was troubled quite a bit with his feet as he grew older. I don’t
remember ever seeing Papa wear a top coat, but he was well padded with
long underwear during the winter months.

Last minute talk with Gus about farm business and winter repairs,
talk with Lou regarding the household and then the rest of us were lectured
on how we should behave while he was gone ending up with, “Be
good, mind and help Louise.” If the weather was inclement, Gus would
harness Mollie and hitch her to the buggy so Papa could have a ride into
Reardan. In fair weather, however, Papa preferred walking in by
himself. The train from Hartline to Spokane stopped briefly in Reardan
about ten.

“Morning, Fred. Ticket for Spokane? Oh San Francisco. Guess it is
time for your yearly trip down there." The agent and Papa exchanged
pleasantries until the steam train whistle reminded them of business at
hand. Two hours it took for the train to travel the twenty-five miles from
Reardan to Spokane as the line detoured at Deep Creek to offer service to
Cheney.

The Northern Pacific bound for Portland left Spokane at eight P.M.
Papa always traveled by coach. He denied himself all but barest of
essentials in order to give more to his family. The trip south was not too
unpleasant as there were always plenty of fellow passengers with whom
Papa could visit. After a short lay over in Portland, he caught the south
bound train.

For a number of years Papa had a small apartment on Mission
Street in San Francisco across the street from the old U.S. Mint. He was
happy there with his quarters and his location. Not too far away on Market
Street was the Crystal Palace Market where Papa did much of his
shopping. He was particularly fussy about his meat. As a little girl I
thought living across the street from the Mint was the most glamorous
location in the world. Papa toyed for a while with the idea of purchasing
the apartment building, but instead he finally settled on more wheat land
in Lincoln County.

I’m sure there wasn’t a single motion picture theatre on or near Market
Street that Papa did not attend. He loved the movies and went when
ever there was a change of pictures. Westerns were his favorite and he
enjoyed lots of action. After every performance Papa would come back
to his apartment, take down a little black book, jot down the story briefly
so he could refresh his memory when he got back home.

What did Papa do to entertain himself during the months he spent
in San Francisco? He was always so active physically when he was at
home that he probably enjoyed the months of leisured activity. He walked
a great deal so that through the years he gained an intimate knowledge of
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many sections of the city. Papa never missed a band concert on Sunday
afternoon at Golden Gate Park. He played quite a lot of pool and of course
always the movies. There were several retired sea captains from the merchant
marine with whom he became intimate. They spent hours telling
each other their adventures and then almost daily there was a pinochle
game in which Papa would make a fourth.

Papa usually arrived back in Reardan without any advance notice.
He would get off the four o’clock train and walk home. Seldom did he get
over the brow of the hill without someone spying him and calling out the
welcome news, "Papa’s home.” How happy we all were to see his beaming
face. One time, however, he had shaven off his mustache and I cried
when this strange man tried to take me in his arms and call me ''“Die
kleine Christina.”''

Each year after Papa went south we learned to wait for and expect
two parcels. From Sebastopol came several gallons of strained honey,
then shortly thereafter a hundred pound weight of walnuts. The walnuts
were kept in Papa’s closet. How great they tasted with big bowls full of
apples, or in the batches of candy. I thought they tasted especially good
when I filched them from the very large sack in the closet.

It was in the spring, however, when Papa returned that we received
the best eating treat of the year. This was a big double crate of navel
oranges which Papa checked through as part of his baggage allowance. I
was his willing helper as we arranged eight neat piles on the dining room
table. “Mudge, Minna, Res-la, Bertie, Annie, Lulu, Hammie and Gus," I
chanted over and over as the piles grew larger and larger until the crate
was empty. Papa never ate any himself as he always said, “I get plenty
of them in San Francisco.”

Each one took his special pile of fruit to his own secret hiding place.
Each decided his own rate of enjoyment, some like me greedy to savor
and relish in an incredibly short time, others like Lou spreading out the
taste thrill as long as possible. It was only once a year that we had oranges
to eat. They were too expensive to buy in Reardan or Spokane. Occasionally
for the Fourth of July picnic Lout might buy an orange and a couple of
bananas to all to the other fruit in a gelatin fruit salad.

I loved to hear Papa talk about the big Orange Fair in Cloverdale.
Every few years Papa and his fried Captain Wieprecht would take the
ferry boat to Sausalito where they caught the Northwestern Pacific train
for Cloverdale. They could go up in the morning, see the exhibits and
catch the evening train back. This trip was made sometime in February
when the oranges were ripe.

The first night Papa came home signaled the beginning of our story
telling sessions. After supper we all gathered in the dining room. The
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kerosene lamp shed a puddle of soft light on the surface of the table while
the corners of the room held dark mysterious shadows. Some sat at the
table, some on the corner couch while others relaxed on the floor near the
fire. Papa found himself comfortable in his favorite rocking chair. While
we all waited with eagerness, Papa scanned his little black book.

Most of the stories Papa told were those he had seen in the movies.
If they were not dramatic enough to suit his taste he would embellish the
plot as he went along. Many movies were made from Zane Grey’s novels
so I am sure we heard these tales. Most of Papa’s stories had very little
of sex or love in them. If there was a girl involved in the plot it was in a
very minor role. The big thing was action, blood and thunder tales of
cowboys and Indians pitting their strength against bandits and outlaws.

Papa always used the German language in telling his stories to us
children. I think he always found German a more comfortable language
as it offered him greater nuances in tone and color. Sometimes when I
was still quite small, I would be so frightened by the events of the story
that Anne would have to leave in the most exciting part to put me to bed.
Sometimes I fell asleep before the story session was over. Then Papa or
Gus would carry me upstairs to bed where I would find myself in the morning
and wonder how I ever got there. By the beginning of the First World
War the rest of the family had grown beyond the stage of story telling, but
I was Papa’s audience for several more years.

Books and stories — books and stories. They were the leavening that
raised our busy work-a-day lives into a wonderful shared pleasure. Whenever
any sit down kind of group work needed to be done, out would come
the latest book we owned. One of us read while all the others kept fingers
busy.

When we were growing up the amount of detailed work involved in
the preparation of food was prodigious. From late spring until early fall
there was an endless procession of food to be processed. First came the
red currants to be picked and made into jelly. Then for pies and for sauce
we canned gooseberries, strawberries and cherries. At about the same
time the first of the garden produce needed to be taken care of. Garden
peas, three or four large wash tubs filled at a picking, had to be shelled
and canned immediately. After the Fourth of July the Gravenstein apples
were ripe. Bushels of apples from our three big trees were peeled and
made into sauce. String beans, corn, tomatoes, plums, peaches and pears
came on later in the summer and early fall. The shelves in the cellar
became more and more crowded with filled half gallon jars ready for the
coming winter. It was not unusual to have six to eight hundred quarts of
produce stored away.

Because of severe winter conditions, we were not able to raise our
own peaches. Usually in September after school started, Lou and Papa
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would make the yearly trek with horse and wagon to Peach, a little hamlet
on the Columbia River. They would be gone for two or three days to
pick and bring back several hundred pounds of peaches which were then
laid out on newspapers in the upstairs study to ripen. Every few days
enough would be ready for a canning batch. In the meantime we all had
our fill of the fresh fruit. As soon as I got home from school and had
changed my clothes, I’d select three or four ripe peaches, peel and slice
them into a large bowl. I’d top this with cream so thick it had to be
spooned out of the crock. It made a dandy snack before it was time to
bring in the cows.

Getting the food ready for the table or for canning was usually done
on the front porch with its protective roof. Often a faint breeze came off
the lake making this spot the pleasantest place of all to sit and work.
Sometimes we gossiped or visited, sometimes we harmonized in song,
but if there was a new book in the house, one of us was spared from work
y to read aloud for all of us to enjoy.

I guess Mama started the tradition of reading aloud while hand work
or was done. The idea of education and culture was never out of her sight.
While she spent so many years of her life in poor health and was limited
in her physical strength, she always found time and energy to read aloud
to us.

There is for me a vague memory, a sort of half shadow tactile one.
I am perhaps between three and four years old. Mama is propped up on
pillows on the couch in the dining room. I am lying at her feet listening
to the musical cadence of her voice which seems to wash over me in gentle
happy waves. Would the girls have been embroidering on the patches for
the quilts? Perhaps.

Long after Mama was gone I found in Papa’s closet a book of German
fairy tales, entitled "Lena Fafer." The German script I could not
read, but I enjoyed the pictures and Lou used to tell me the stories.

Reardan had no kind of a library. The books we read were the
books we owned. At Christmas time there was always a book for each
of us of one sort or another. The story about a horse "Black Beauty" and
about a dog "Beautiful Joe" were two of my treasured gifts. I cried over
them both for years. Aunt Barbara and Uncle Joe lived a scant quarter
mile from us on the Erdman place. Uncle Joe sold bibles and religious
novels. Surely some of his stock that proved to be poor sellers were passed
on to us.

Probably Aunt Barbara gave me several of the Elsie Dinsmore
books. Elsie was a young girl endowed with modesty and saintly virtue.
On one occasion, in one of the stories, Elsie’s father gave her a new velvet
a bonnet and velvet muff. She put on the bonnet, admired herself in the mirror
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and stroked the muff enjoying its sumptuous texture on her skin. Suddenly
she recoiled from this devilish temptation of pride and thrust the
gifts aside. On Sunday as she and her father were leaving for church, he
asked her why she was not wearing the new outfit. "Oh, I cannot," she
replied, "I will be thinking about my bonnet instead of God." I read
these books with relish, but I was never tempted to follow in her footsteps.

Another book of mine, religious in content, was "St. Elmo." Elmo
came from a very affluent family. He was pictured as a rake and a sinner
in every conceivable term for about three hundred pages. In the nick
of time, however, he changed his evil way and became a minister. More
than once after reading St. Elmo I considered joining the foreign missions
our church was always talking about, but somehow I always managed to
change my mind. The thought of leaving home was more than I could
bear.

There was one other book that I probably read weekly during the
time I was about twelve. It was entitled "A Young Girl’s Wooing." Many
a time Lou would call me, call me and call me to gather the eggs, fill the
wood box or do some other chore, but if I were safely hidden in the apple
trees or out in the granary, I could ignore her calls and continue the story.
The plot involved a dear sweet gentle young maid who out-maneuvered
an unscrupulous rival for the love and affection of her brother-in-law’s brother.
In all possible situations the heroine excelled in her bid for the young
man’s affection. The rival sang Verdi with much aplomb so our gal took
secret voice lessons until she could polish off Wagner arias with the greatest
of ease. I think the final episode that clinched the romance was when
the young girl saved the man from financial ruin when he was caught short
on the market by putting up her own securities as collateral. I had no
idea at the time what being caught short was all about, but it sounded
impressive.

Bertie probably brought home “The Scarlet Letter" and "Little Women"
which she must have purchased for some of her English classes.
Most of Jean Stanton Porter’s novels were around the house for reading
and rereading. When Herman married Martha Knudsen, she brought to
their new home a complete set of the novels of Alexander Dumas. That
was a real windfall for me to have access to so many books at once.
Martha was very generous in allowing me to take them home for reading, one
at a time.

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===CHAPTER TWO: Early Boyhood===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-009b-chapter-2-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 2 sketch
</gallery>

We really know very little about Papa’s background. When he finally
came to Washington, took out a homestead claim and became a United
States citizen, his life, work, attitudes and thoughts were of the present
and future, not the past. When I contracted smallpox in July of 1916 and
Papa and I were quarantined for a month in a tent up by the spring, he
concentrated his time and effort to keeping me happy and alleviating my
homesickness. We walked for miles in the warm sunshine checking the
ripening grain, sitting above the lake to spy on the house we could not
return to and watching the traffic on the county road. To amuse me Papa
often sang in his clear baritone voice. When I tired of this he would turn
to story telling. I especially enjoyed hearing about his life back in
Germany as a boy so he talked quite a little about it.

Papa left Germany sometime in his early teens, sent to a relative
or acquaintance in Oshkosh, Wisconsin to learn the baker’s trade. About
the time he was eleven Papa became a rebel. He enjoyed the basic mechanics
of learning, the math, reading and writing, but rebelled against the
militant teachings of his professors.

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"What’s so great about the Kaiser?" he asked his Father. “The way
the Herr Professor talks you would think he is God himself. Day after day,
all we hear is "Deutchland Uber Alles." Why does Bismarck think the
Germans are better than anyone else?"

As he grew older Papa became more and more a non-conformist.
Always vocal in his opinions soon he was drawing the attention of the
school authorities.

“How can we cope with a son like this," the Mother and Father asked
of each other.

When Charles, the oldest boy was conscripted into the army, Papa
said, “They won’t get me. I’ll run away.” Then it was arranged that Papa
would be sent to America.

Under Bismarck’s consolidation of the German States into a unified
German nation, Saxony occupied a central position. On the Saale River
in Saxony Weissenfels, a town of considerable importance during the
feudal ages, was situated. On November 3, 1855 Papa was born either
here or in a nearby village of Leizling. Papa spoke about the central
Square surrounded by homes around its perimeter with fields extending
beyond. When the village was first laid out this undoubtedly served as a
safety measure. The house and barn were unified under one roof. In rural
Europe today it is still common to see this type of one structure building
providing shelter for both man and his livestock. As children accustomed
to extensive out buildings in ample distance from the house, we thought
this was terrible funny. “Imagine living in the same building as the cows.”

Mattilda, his mother, was a peasant, his father, Charles, a petty
bourgeoisie. Probably his family were small estate owners. During this
period in European history, the vestiges of the old feudal structure still
hung on with stubborn persistence against the integrating tide of democratic
ideas. There was still a very wide gap between the classes and a rigid
scale of snobbery. Against this background, why did Charles step beneath
his class and marry a peasant? From the Wagner point of view he
committed a cardinal sin. Grandma was a shrewd woman with a driving force
that would not be dissipated until she obtained her objective. One of her
daughters-in-law, I think it was Adolph’s wife, said, "Grandma was plenty
smart. She would have made a good lawyer.”

Grandpa we never knew, but his portrait which at one time graced
the parlour wall and later was delegated to the upstairs showed a gentle,
sensitive face, full, direct eyes and a kindly mouth. As was common he
wore a full beard and mustache neatly trimmed. My guess is that once
Grandma made up her mind to have him, he didn’t have a chance.

The house in Leizling or Weissenfels with its small acreage was
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settled on Charles Wagner and here he and Mattilda set up housekeeping.
The fact that through her husband, Grandma could assume the right of
the landed property, small as it must have been, was something she could
never forget. After her husband’s death. when Papa went back to Germany
to bring his Mother to Reardan to live with us, Grandma continually
belittled her daughter-in-law whose father made a living as a school
master.

"Why in the world my son would marry a good for nothing like you,
I'll never know" Grandma expressed in word and action again and again.
“What did your Father have that amounted to anything? How much land
did he have? Nothing, nothing, nothing.”

Obviously this created a tension in the household that finally became
unbearable. Mama was not enough of a fighter to stand up to a strong
personality such as Grandma’s, but instead would dissolve into tears. A
compromise of sorts was reached when Grandma was moved to the house
on the quarter of land just west of the home place. Grandma didn’t want
to stay alone nights, so each evening after supper Bertie was sent to spend
the night with her. That nightly half mile walk through the fields was
often fearful, especially when the yelping coyotes seemed so near.

Grandpa was a gentleman, a product of his environment and upbringing.
As such, he could never demean himself by physical work. It
was left to Grandma to do the back breaking work in the fields, sowing
and reaping the crops, caring for the livestock and looking after the
children which she produced in routine regularity. Papa, christened Frederick,
was the second child, his brother Charles was two years older.

What was Grandpa’s love was the violin. He must have had a better
than average talent playing always with kindred musicians. I doubt
that this offered any sort of financial return as Papa always spoke of the
land as producing their living. At times there were very meager rations
for the children. "I’m sure the stomach trouble I’ve had through the years
developed when as a young boy I ate and swallowed food that was too
hot so I could have my share," said Papa each time he periodically went
on a hot cooked cereal diet.

As soon as the two older boys were able to hold a violin in their
hands they were given lessons by their father. By the time Charles was
eleven and Papa was nine, they earned small sums of money playing for
the village dances.

Papa made the trip to America by himself, embarking at Hamburg.
He neither spoke nor understood any English. While there undoubtedly
were many German people also making the crossing with whom he could
converse, still it must have been a bewildering experience. Somehow or
other he made his way to Oshkosh where he stayed several years learning
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how to become a baker. He was very unhappy in Oshkosh and threatened
more than once to leave.

The transcontinental railway was opened in 1869. This opening of
the West brought a flood of immigrants from Europe as the railway
executives launched a wide scale advertising campaign in the major cities of
Europe. Travel offices were available to offer information about the
journeys to the settlers and to entice them to the particular part of the West
which was serviced by the railway that opened the office. Glowing stories
of the unlimited opportunities were carried in most of the largest papers.
If the articles were to be believed the West was a veritable "Land of Milk
and Honey." In the barracks where Uncle Charles was stationed the
soldiers talked about and sold themselves on the idea of making the crossing
to the United States as soon as their tour of service was finished. It wasn’t
long after Charles returned to his home that he left and made his way to
Oshkosh.

“Fred," said Charles as soon as he contacted Papa, "how about
joining me and going west to California? I understand there is a wonderful
opportunity for any young and ambitious fellow out there." He drew
from his pocket a clipping from one of the German papers.

“I’m not quite finished learning my trade here,” replied Papa, "but
I’m sick and tired of this grind. I’m willing to walk out on this and join
you.”

The two brothers secured enough provisions to last the trip, the other
necessary supplies and boarded the Kansas Pacific for the trip across the
plains and into California where they disembarked at Sacramento.

Although Papa had been in this country a number of years, he had
lived with a German family where the mother tongue was spoken almost
exclusively. He did, however, understand some English, surely much
more than his brother Charles, fresh from the old country. There
had always been a rapport between the two and especially in a strange
environment they wanted and needed the support each could give the
other. Under these circumstances their choice of finding a job was limited.
Finally they heard that field hands were needed near Chico for the
harvesting of wheat. Both the brothers were active and industrious. They
so impressed their boss that after harvest was over and the other help was
laid off, they were asked to stay.

Malaria was still a fairly common disease in the Sacramento Valley
during the seventies. The following spring Papa came down with a severe
siege of malaria, the only illness in his entire lifetime. The chills and fever
persisted until his boss advised Papa to go to a higher altitude until he
could get the disease out of his system. In easy stages Papa walked first
to Chico and then east out of the valley to the mountains. Where Paradise
stands today a burly mining community called Pair-of-dice, so named by
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the gold miners, was situated. Mostly it was jerry built, a conglomeration
of shacks and tents. This was Papa’s destination as he hoped to find some
of kind of light work to earn his keep until he had fully recuperated. A
voluminous woman in an advanced stage of pregnancy was outside a log cabin
of on the near side of town. Papa watched her for a few moments as she
hung out her clothes. When she noticed him he smiled and began a
conversation.

“That is quite a job you have there.” Papa could be most
ingratiating when he chose.

“Yes,” she replied as she looked over the stranger who spoke to her.

“You live here?”’

“I live in Chico, but I came up here to get out of the heat of the
valley.”’

“It's a scorcher down there. I had to leave to try and get over this
malaria I picked up down there. Seems to me I feel some better already
although I still get some pretty bad spells.”

“This is the best place to get rid of it. I’ve known several people
who have come up here for that very reason.”

“I have to find some kind of light work to earn my keep while I’m
here,” continued Papa. "Don’t suppose you know of anyone that needs
a little help for a few weeks?"

“No, I don’t.” The strange lady studied him for a few moments and
then volunteered, "I need some help in the kitchen and in the house.” She
looked down at her swollen figure wordlessly.

“It may take me a few days to get the hang of what you want done,
but I believe I could fill the bill. I’m pretty handy.”

“Know anything about cooking?”’

“Just finished learning the baker’s trade back in Oshkosh. I’d have
the no trouble on that score. As a matter of fact I’d say my bread is as light
and tasty as any you’d find. I’d be most obliged just to work for my board
until I can get my strength back. I hate to admit it, but I’m still pretty
weak.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Fred Wagner.”’

“I'm Mrs. Larsen. Mrs. Oscar Larsen. My husband has business
interests in Chico, but he will be here in a few days. Stay for a day or so
and I’ll see how you work out. Then when my husband comes up we'll
see what he says.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-014a-1600.jpg|Page 14]]}}

During the weeks that followed, Mrs. Larsen found Papa an avid
student. Not only did he take complete charge of the kitchen, but when
the baby came there was no one as gentle and efficient in caring for the
little one.

Some months later when Papa finally got over his spell of malaria
he told the Larsens he thought he should be going back down to find work
again and to see how his brother was getting on.

“Fred," said Mr. Larsen, "I have an interest in a restaurant down
in Chico. I’ve just lost my meat cook and I need a replacement. I think
you could fill the bill. As a matter of fact I was thinking about offering
you the job on my way up here. I’d want you to take charge of the place,
run it, do the buying and of course the cooking.”

After some discussion regarding the work, responsibility and wages,
the two men came to an agreement. Papa returned to Chico. First of all
he wanted to see his brother again, and speak to the farmer who had hired
him in the first place to let him know he was not returning to work.

"Well," said the farmer, "looks like you have yourself quite a job.
How old are you anyway, Fred?”

“I’ll be nineteen this coming November.”

There were two waitresses, a dish washer and a cook’s helper. All
the help lived on the floor above. The girls shared a bedroom, the two
men did the same, while Papa as chief cook and manager had the third
one to himself. Early in his employment he learned to barricade his
bedroom against the amorous assault of one of the waitresses. Papa had a
healthy fear of contracting any social disease. The room and board was
part of the salary. Wages were low, hours were long. It was not unusual
for Papa to work fourteen to sixteen hours a day. He was frugal with his
money and during the time that Papa cooked in Chico he managed to save
most of the salary.

This job was one of marking time while he looked around to see
something that really appealed to him. What he really wanted was land.
Papa was always questioning, asking or reading any matter that
pertained to land acquisition. Finally he and Charles heard that land in the
Oregon Territory was to be opened up for homestead. They talked it over
and looked into the best way to make the trip north.

"Just think, Charlie. Imagine owning a hundred and sixty acres of
land. What do you think our folks would say to that?”

Finally they contacted a group of settlers who were going north to
the Willamette Valley. Arrangements were made to join the wagon train.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-015a-1600.jpg|Page 15]]}}

After they got to Portland they could find others for the trip east. They
shopped carefully for the right wagon, horses and other necessary supplies.

We know few details of that trip. In the Grants Pass area there
Was rumor of Indian unrest so watch was posted each night. Also during
the day riders scouted ahead of the main party for any Indian sign, all the
men of the group taking their turns. It must have been taken in a leisurely
manner as there was a lot of livestock that could not be moved too quickly.
Papa’s skill in bread making earned him the job of camp baker.

The Oregon Steam Navigation Company, which held the monopoly
of river traffic on the Columbia, wanted the Bg Bend area developed to
increase their downstream traffic of goods. George Atkinson, a Congregational
missionary, was one of the first men to analyze the soils and
experiment with the possibility of growing wheat in the area he called
the Inland Empire. His praise of the area as a wheat growing Eden was
a boon to O S N’s own plan to increase river revenues. They hung their
advertising programs on this peg. “Wheat, wheat wheat. The best wheat
Country in the world to be found only in the Big Bend of the Columbia.”

The advertising posters along the water front in Portland appealed
to the Wagner brothers. They decided to §0 up river and have a look for
themselves. Papa and Charlie must have used one of the O S N river
barges for their trip from Portland up river going as far as The Dalles
or Umatilla. From there they would have traveled the old Oregon Trail
to Walla Walla.

They first settled near Waverly about thirty miles southeast of Spokane
on Latah Creek. They found work temporarily with an established
a settler there by the name of Kingbaum. Mr. Kingbaum especially liked
Papa and tried to interest him in one of his daughters. While Papa was
not sold on the daughter, he did like the region and would probably have
taken up a homestead in this area, but here the Indians intervened. A
band of Nez Perce Indians up from Steptoe Butte raided the area burning
homes, grain and driving off livestock. In caves along the creek Papa
and Charles protected the Kingbaum livestock and their own horses and
supplies while the family banded with other settlers. When things simmered
down the Wagner brothers decided they would try their luck elsewhere,
where they might find the Indians more peaceful.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-016a-1600.jpg|Page 16]]}}

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-016b-minna-and-grandmother-teressa-wagner-1600.jpg | Minna and her grandmother Teressa Wagner
mcj-016c-teressa-wagner-germany-1600.jpg | Teressa Wagner in Germany
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-017a-1600.jpg|Page 17]]}}

===CHAPTER THREE: This Is My Land===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-017b-chapter-3-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 3 sketch
</gallery>

The early archives of Lincoln County are kept in the basement of the
Court House in Davenport. I asked the county clerk if I could see the
original certificate that made Papa a proud land owner of one hundred and
sixty acres of rolling prairie. It took some time before she finally found
the dusty tome, its pages yellowed with age.

On page eighty-two in the yearbook for 1888 we find the following —
“There has been deposited in the General Land Office of the United States
a certificate of the register of the land office of Spokane Falls, Washington
territory, to secure Homesteads to actual settlers on the public domain.

The claim of Fred Wagner has been established and duly consumated
in conformity of the law, May 26, 1888.

Grover Cleveland, President of the United States.”

Thus, officially did Papa take legal claim of the southeast quarter of
section four, township twenty-five, north of range thirty-nine.

In 1862 Congress passed the Homestead Law. In its provision, a citizen
of the United States could acquire one hundred and sixty acres of public
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-018a-1600.jpg|Page 18]]}}
domain provided he lived on the land for five years, made his home on it,
cultivated the ground and paid a fee of about sixteen dollars. Between
1862 and 1900, 80 million acres were released to Homesteaders.

While Papa and Uncle Charlie were not citizens of the United States
when they filed for a homestead, they had taken out first papers. The
government decreed this was an article of good faith and as such they
were permitted to secure a claim provided their final papers had been
taken out before the five years were over.

About a year and a half before Papa became legal owner of the home
place, on November 16, 1886 at Spokane Falls, Territory of Washington,
he appeared before the Judicial District Court. Two witnesses, Moon
Getty and James Leslie testified that Fred Wagner had fully complied
with the laws relative thereto, namely that he had resided in Washington
Territory for one year, and in the United States for at least five, and he
behaved as a man of good moral character. Swearing before Judge
George Turner his allegiance to the United States of America, Papa was
admitted to citizenship.

When Papa and Uncle Charlie decided to leave the Waverly district
and seek an area where the Indians were more peaceful, they traveled by
horseback northeast to Spokane Falls. Here they stayed for several weeks
exploring the country round about. There were two requirements they
especially wished to fulfill when they finally decided on a parcel of land.
One was that the claim had easy access to water, the other that it be as
near a railway loading point as possible.

The Northern Pacific Railway had been authorized in 1864 with the
government extending generous grants of land to the company. Every
other section of land along the right of way was deeded to the railway.
Construction began in 1864, but it was not until seventeen years later on
June 25, 1881 that the Northern Pacific rails were finally laid into
Spokane Falls.

The following year a town called Fairweather was plotted by Hooker
and Still of Cheney. This was along the proposed right of way for a
branch railway from Cheney in a westerly direction, servicing the land
of the Big Bend area and then making connections with the main line to
the coast at Hartline. In 1889, Fairweather was renamed after C. F.
Reardan, engineer of construction of the line.

It was in this area, twenty-five miles by wagon road from Spokane
which followed old Indian trails across the White Bluff Prairie that Papa
and Uncle Charlie decided to settle. The year was 1883.

A mile north of Reardan the prairie is level land, then it gently dips
into a small hollow. On the east side of the hollow is an outcropping of
rim rock. At the base, a small lake. Today it is pretty much silted up,
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-019a-1600.jpg|Page 19]]}}
but when Papa arrived the lake was clear, eight to ten feet deep, and
several acres in size. The boundary line of the quarter section Papa
selected to homestead ran through the center of the lake. Above it to the
north a swelling hill of sage and scab rock. At the back end of the
quarter were several springs that ran pure clear water summer and winter.
In the draws that contoured the base of the hills the timothy and other
grasses were tall and luxuriant.

“Yes,” said Papa in talking it over with Uncle Charlie, "This place
will suit me very well.”

Uncle Charlie selected a quarter of land a mile further north. This
also had natural springs. The big requirement of a water supply had been
satisfied. Pleased with their choice, they returned to Spokane Falls and
filed their claim.

Early summer was already warming the hills when Papa returned
to Reardan, His wagon was piled high with tools and household supplies.
In slow, reluctant plodding, the cows followed behind, tethered by thongs to
the rear axle to keep them from straying. A span of four horses pulled
their load through dusty ruts onward to the west.

The governor of Washington Territory had this to say about the
pioneers, "Nearly all the newcomers were of a superior class of settlers for
few would undertake to remove themselves to a part of the country as
distant as this. Without ample means of vicissitudes of at least two
seasons, it would be impossible to survive.”

Well, there was money saved through the years for just this under taking,
there was a willing mind, a sturdy body.

Looking over the lay of the land Papa decided the hill above the
lake was the most advantageous for safety and security to build his sod
dugout shelter. With pick and shovel he dug deep into the earth, saving
the upturned sod as support and insulation for the logs that formed the
roof. The alder trees that were clustered against the hill by the lakeside
were felled to provide timbers for the roof.

When the hay and grasses ripened, Papa took his scythe to cut them
and raked them into piles until they were dried. Then again the hay was
mounded up into stacks to provide feed for his animals in the long winter
months. His own provisions were easy to obtain. Prairie chickens and
rabbits were more than plentiful, a single shot would provide a meal or
two. Flour and salt were easily stored staples for bread to add to his diet
of meat. For a change of pace occasionally Papa would ride to the
canyon four miles north for a mess of trout which were abundant in Spring
Creek.

Capps Place, a scant mile away, was the stage stop on the old Fort
Spokane route. It also served as post office for the area until 1889 when
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-020a-1600.jpg|Page 20]]}}
the post office was moved to Reardan. Papa could ride over in a few
minutes to visit with the Capps and any interesting wayfarer. Papa and
Charlie helped each other often when work needed more than one hand for
accomplishment.

But however busy he was, however weary, Papa would take a few
moments here and there to listen to the song birds, to watch the setting
sun or to admire the bloom of a wild flower.

As the home place was near the old Indian trail, the Indians
continued to camp by the lakeside when they were in transit from one area
to another. This practice Papa never attempted to stop. As long as he
had charge of the ranch any Indian was welcome to spend the night on
the place, with ample food provided for the horses, and milk and eggs for
the Indian and his family.

Papa was rather proud of my piano playing ability and often he
would call me in to play some of his favorite tunes for some bypassing
Indian. I can still remember some stoical, silent Indian, complete with long
braided black hair, atop of which sat a stiff black hat, sitting in the
parlor until my piano piece was finished and then Papa ceremoniously
escorting the same Indian out the door. What the various Indian braves
thought of my accomplishment was never vocalized. Perhaps they
considered this as accepted ritual before the giving of gifts of food. As I
remember, no Indian wife was ever invited into the house to hear me make
music. This was an honor only accorded to the men.

It always amazed me to see the skill with which Papa was able to
communicate with the Indians. He was not much of a linguist, but his
pantomime was excellent and with the necessary descriptive actions to
suit the words, his mixture of German, English and Chinook somehow
always got across.

One story of Papa’s that was one of my favorites, I heard many,
many times when I was a little girl. Papa was still living in the sod house
above the lake. A cold southern wind had brought with it a dismal wet rain.
As Papa came in from work he looked out across the lake where he saw the
thin smoke of a camp fire. Nearby was a wagon without cover, but from
that distance he could not make out exactly how many were in the party.
He went into his house, stoked up the fire, cooked and ate his evening
meal. Then, as was his custom when anyone was camped at the foot of
the hill, he went down to talk with his over-night guests. Secure in the
warmth of his heavy mackintosh, he strode down to the camp.

The Indian, huddled in a blanket with his back to the wind, was
warming himself over the glowing coals. In the bed of the wagon the
squaw was on her knees, leaning over and crooning to her babies.

“How,” said Papa with a smile of welcome on his face.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-021a-1600.jpg|Page 21]]}}

“How,” answered the brave, at the same time scanning Papa’s features.

Desultory conversation about the weather, the feed for the horses,
times and conditions followed. Finally, the Indian spoke about his two
sons who he said “Were heap big sick.”

Then for the first time Papa turned his attention to the occupants of
the wagon. He looked at the little fellows huddled in the wagon bed under
deer skins, felt their foreheads and immediately ascertained the seriousness
of their condition.

“Hot, hot, too hot," said Papa demonstrating with his hands on his
own forehead. "Sick, much sick. We take boys up hill to house. I see if
I can get fever to come down. Yes?”

“Yes."

Papa took the larger of the two boys and cradled him in his arms
as he strode away toward the house. The squaw picked up the other lad
and wordlessly followed. The Indian stayed behind just long enough to
see that the horses were hobbled, the fire banked and then he also made
the climb upward.

The one room shelter was filled to overflowing as all entered. In a
moment the lantern was lit to cast an eerie glow over the room and its
occupants. Papa placed the two little fellows in his bed, covering them
with all the bedding he had available. Some form of infection, probably
scarlet fever, had sent their temperatures soaring. Hour after hour Papa
applied cold compresses. He made a mixture of kerosene and sugar
which he fed to the boys in small amounts from time to time. Hour after
hour through the night, through the next day and on into the second night,
Papa nursed the boys with all the skill and tenderness at his command.
Finally the fever broke, the boys fell into a natural sleep, and Papa turned
to the father.

“It’s all right now. Boy get well, boy get well."

Was Papa cognizant of the prevailing Indian philosophy as practiced
by the Eastern Washington Indian tribes? Indians were in the habit of
killing any medicine man who misused his powers as far as illness was
concerned. A medicine man was first of all a sorcerer. If magic failed,
the capacity to cure the sick vanished. To the primitive mind, only
success in recovery of patients made for a healer. If a patient died, so
according to tribal law, should the medicine man.

From the Indian point of view, Papa had taken on to himself the
responsibility of a medicine man. With this act, all that followed was his
doing. Knowing Papa, I’m sure even this would not have stopped him
from offering help where it was needed.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-022a-1600.jpg|Page 22]]}}

Fortunately the fever broke, and after a restful sleep, the boys were
well enough to travel.

When Papa first took over the homestead, he occasionally lost a
horse or a cow, as it was then still open range country and only a brand
identified the owner of the stock. Some must have been rustled by passing
Indians, others just strayed too far afield. After word was passed along
the Spokane River about his medicinal powers, the Indians came more
and more to trust him and respect him. From then on Papa would send
word along the line that a brindle cow, or a piebald pony was missing, and
the Indians would keep an eye out for the stock and return it to him if
they found it.

One day several months later, as Papa came in from work, he
found on his doorstep, a pair of soft deerskin embroidered and beaded
moccasins. A grateful mother was returning her thanks.

The seasons passed one to the other in rapid succession. Gradually,
more sod was turned under and the ground was readied for planting.
Although there was scant rainfall each year, about ten to fourteen inches,
the accumulated humus from decaying grasses turned back into the
ground, made for an excellent growing medium for wheat. The first
wheat was flailed by hand onto a blanket, the same primitive method that
is still in use in underdeveloped areas of the world. When we watched the
Filipino peasants flailing the ripened rice stocks, tossing the plastic
blankets on which it was piled into the air to let the wind catch the chaff,
I thought, ‘‘Why this is exactly how Papa did it so many years ago.”’

In a year or so, work was started on the railway. This brought
many construction workers, which in turn developed a need for goods and
services.

Conrad Scharman, a German, was on the lookout for a place to
start a meat market and thought our part of the country offered possibilities.
The development of the Inland Empire was still in flux, Spokane,
Cheney, even our town was bending every effort to become the hub. Scharman
liked the Reardan area, thought it offered him good business possibilities.
He was scouting around for a source for his meat supply.

“There are a couple of bachelors north of town,”’ he was told, “Why
don’t you see what they have to offer.”

With this as a lead, Scharman mounted his saddle horse and started north.
He stopped first to talk to Papa. There was an almost instant
rapport between the two men, a feeling of mutual respect and trust. It
marked the beginning of a friendship that lasted a lifetime.

"How many steer do you need?" asked Papa.

"I can't rightly say just now. Guess I'll have to play it by ear."

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-023a-1600.jpg|Page 23]]}}

"You have a place to slaughter yet?”

“No, not yet, but I’ll make some arrangements. Just now I’m trying to line
up my supply.”

“Well,” continued Papa, "I’ll be glad to take care of the slaughtering
for you if you like. I’ll need some kind of a holding pen, but there is plenty
of grass and water here. Come winter I’ve made arrangements to go
down the canyon and split some rails so I can put up a corral."

Details were gradually worked out to the satisfaction of them both.
It was a good source of money that Papa needed to build a house and to
buy equipment. The extra work that this entailed meant nothing to Papa.
He was young, he was strong and he was ambitious. His farm was going
be built solid and permanent.

Papa took roots in this prairie country. A happiness and a pride
deep within him more than compensated for the toil and back-breaking
labor. “This is my land" was the song in his heart, and finally, on May
18, 1888, this became a fact recognized by law.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-024a-1600.jpg|Page 24]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-023a-momas-house-in-germany-1600.jpg | Moma's house in Germany
mcj-024b-fred-wagner-lena-gabellein-1600.jpg | Fred Wagner and Len Gabellein wedding photo
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-025a-1600.jpg|Page 25]]}}

===CHAPTER FOUR: The Farmer Takes a Wife===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-025b-chapter-4-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 4 sketch
</gallery>

It was a Sunday morning in late fall. There was a crisp, sparkling
and invigorating feeling to the air. The frost of the night had etched the
cobwebs on the grasses into delicate patterns. The smoke from the chimney
arose straight into the sky, not a breath of wind was near to challenge
its upward flight.

Papa was shaving and trimming his mustache. While he worked, his
mind was busy inventorying his summer accomplishments. The first and
biggest job done was the new house, built this time, not on the hill, but
close by the county road. The money that Mr. Scharman had paid him
had made it possible to buy the lumber. On several of his trips into
Spokane Falls, Papa had brought back rough sawn pine, a foot in width and
four inch battens. With a saw, claw hammer, chisel and a keg of square
topped nails, along with the lumber, Papa plunged into the task of building
himself a real house. That this was a new venture, about which he
knew little, daunted him not in the least. To an outsider, the house may
have looked jerry-built, but to Papa it seemed a palace. How much more
spacious it was than the dugout shelter on the hill! How big the kitchen
seemed, the bedroom downstairs and the full loft overhead for storage!

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-026a-1600.jpg|Page 26]]}}

In addition to building the house, Papa had broken ten more acres
of sod. The wheat, now all harvested, had yielded a sizeable crop. The
hay was all stacked in a crude shelter for feed for his animals through
the coming winter. Yes, all in all, it had been a good year.

Still there was a nagging ache he could not define. What was this
restlessness that made him so pernickety? "I know what is bothering me,"
he said to the mirror on the wall, "I need a wife and children to give this
place a completeness. Now, where am I going to find a wife?"

Unmarried women were almost non-existent around the Reardan
area. Goodness knows, there were few enough women of any kind, let
alone some marriageable ones. Papa mulled the problem over in his
mind for several days. Finally he thought, "I’ll go see the Erdmans.
Barbara may be able to come up with a good idea.”

Papa went down to see Uncle Charlie. He was rather vague.
"Charles, could you keep an eye on my stock and the place for a few days?
I haven’t seen the Erdmans since we left Waverly. Thought I’d ride down
that way and see how they are getting along.”

Louis Erdman had been one of the first friends Papa had made
when he came into the Washington area. Erdman had come west from
Wisconsin, had herded sheep for a time and then taken out a homestead.
He had met and married Barbara Gabelein, who also came out to
Washington Territory with a family by the name of Swartz.

The last few miles, Papa kept urging his mare to hurry. He
thoroughly enjoyed the companionship and good conversation of these two
dear friends. At supper, relaxing at the table, Papa turned to Barbara
with a smile, "Barbara, I’m not getting any younger. I do feel that I’m
in a position now to support a wife and family, but I don’t know where
I’m going to find a wife. I’d like someone just like you, if I can find her.
I don’t suppose you happen to have an unmarried sister back in Ger many?”

Barbara laughed, "Why, Fred, thank you for the nice compliment.
It does happen that I do have a sister back home. It is my sister Lena, who
is three years younger than I.”

"Really? Tell me all about her.”

"Well, she is my only sister and sort of-my baby. I pretty much had
to look after her when Mama died and Papa remarried. I’ll tell you what
I can do. I’ll write to Lena, tell her about you and invite her to come out
to Washington. I think I have a photograph somewhere.”

Barbara picked up the family album that lay on the table, turning
the leaves. “There,” she said, "that’s Lena. Do you think she looks like
me?"

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-027a-1600.jpg|Page 27]]}}

Papa studied the picture carefully. "I like her face. It’s so much
like you in many ways. I think I’m half in love with her already. Lena,
eh? Lena, it’s a pretty name.”

Finally, Barbara got up from the table to clear and wash the dishes.
The two men continued to sit around the table enjoying their beer. There
was much talk — about Papa’s new house, Louis’ new acquisition of
land, about the crops and weather. In a day or so, Papa returned home,
pleased with the progress he had made and content to await further
developments.

In the meantime, Barbara wrote to her sister in great detail about
Papa; what he was like, what he had and how much she and Louis liked
him. "Come on out and meet him, Lena. I think you would be happy with
this man," she concluded.

When Mama received Barbara’s letter, she read it and reread it.
Lena Gabelein was twenty-four years old. She hated to admit it, even to
herself, but many in Bayreuth considered her an old maid. Did she have
the courage to make that long trip all by herself? Would she find a good
marriage at the end of her journey? Lena dearly loved her father and
was loathe to leave him, but her step-mother, who had married her
father when Lena was five, still managed to frustrate and embitter her.
There was much soul-searching before Lena finally made up her mind to
come to Washington Territory.

Weeks passed as Mama packed and readied for the trip. First of all
were the hope chest things put in the bottom of the melon-topped trunks.
There were the hand-loomed linen cloths, towels, sheets and pillow cases.
Each piece carried in red the letters L. G. and were numbered, apparently
as they were finished. One, thirty-seven, eighty-five as each came off
her loom. Then, the beautifully embroidered pillow shams, the goose
down pillows and the bedding, all part of her dowry.

All the clothes Mama owned and all she could afford in new ones,
were packed next. She never did get over her love of pretty clothes. How
she must have loved the one that was made to’wear at her wedding. The
photographs, taken the day Mama and Papa were married, gives one an
idea of what it was like. A brown two-piece heavy silk with the bodice
outlined with a pleated yoke of some heavier material, perhaps satin, was
neatly fitted and gold buttoned. The sleeves also had a band of the same
material finished with a trim of two-inch wide woven lace. The same
lace was fashioned into a collar to frame her pretty face. The skirt was
floor length, voluminous, falling in soft pleats. Over it, as added
embellishment, was an extra short half-skirt draped to one side. Her hat, a
sailor, with its high crown covered with hand-made flowers, would also
have been lovingly packed in her commodious luggage.

At last, Mama started on the long, frightening trip across the ocean.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-028a-1600.jpg|Page 28]]}}

Her uncle Charles Gabelein and his four children came to meet the ship
to welcome her. Uncle Charles had a very flourishing carpet business
in New York City. His home reflected in comfort and charm, his rising
affluence in the business world.

Several weeks were spent in New York City, resting, sight-seeing
and getting to know the younger cousins. Finally came the day for traveling
on. Her Uncle Charles and family said good-bye to a reluctant, frightened
woman as they saw Mama off on the train. After what seemed an
eternity, the train stopped at Spokane Falls. Barbara was there to meet
her.

What visiting, what chattering followed, as the two sisters were
again united. Lena must see everything in Barbara’s house, must get to
know Louis, who was so kind and good. Lena, in her turn, must tell all
about the family, her trip and her New York experience.

At last, word was sent to Papa, who came to the Erdman place as
soon as he could make arrangements to leave his own. Papa galloped up
to the house, sprang from the saddle, eagerly ran up and knocked on the
door. A comely young woman answered his knock.

“You’re Lena, aren’t you?" She nodded affirmative. "Well, I’m
Fred Wagner. Come along with me while I water the mare and bed her
down. We might as well start getting acquainted.”

Side by side they walked down to the watering trough. While the
horse was drinking his fill, they took time to look at each other. "I trust
him” thought Lena, while "She’s just what I want" was Fred’s inward
conviction. It was as easy as that.

Soon, plans were made for the wedding. Papa would go back home
and return to Spokane Falls with a wagon so they could bring on, not only
Mama’s things, but supplies they would shop for together. The Erdmans
would bring Lena, traveling by light spring wagon in which they could
stow all of Lena’s baggage.

On June 27, 1887, Lena Gabelein and Friederich K. Wagner were
married in the German Lutheran Church of Spokane Falls. Mama was so
pleased to find such a church. This was a service familiar to her, the
vows were spoken in her native tongue. It was a good omen. Louis and
Barbara Erdman were the only witnesses to the ceremony.

After the service, they probably went to the California House on
Howard and Trent Street for their wedding dinner. There would have
been wine and beer on this festive occasion. Mama said Papa was a little
tipsy from the wine. Looking at the wedding picture, one can imagine
that Papa felt rather care-free at the moment in spite of his new
responsibilities.

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There was a tearful good-bye from Mama and an auf Wiedersehen
by Papa, as the Erdmans left to return home. The honeymoon was over
all too soon. As they went shopping for supplies the next day, Papa bought
a western side saddle as his wedding gift to his new bride. It was a luxury
he felt he could hardly afford, and yet, he wanted Mama with him
when he rode after the cattle and other livestock.

It was, in many ways, a difficult adjustment for Mama. There were
so many days of loneliness and isolation, such a strange contrast to the
urban community she had always known. The Indians coming by the
house frightened and startled her as they moved so quietly and appeared,
so it seemed, out of nowhere. The coyotes howling through the night set
her nerves on edge, but the utter stillness seemed even worse to cope
with.

She found her strength and security in Papa. Only when she was
with him did she feel safe. He was intuitive of her need and in many
unexpected ways, supplied her the courage she did not have herself. For
instance, Mama was afraid when she made the last nightly trip out to
the outhouse by herself, the long shadows of dusk were eerie, or the night
blackness scary. So Papa always took the time to walk out with her. He
would stay close by and whistle until she was finished. That whistling
made all the difference in the world to Mama and her feeling of security
returned to her in ample measure.

Perhaps the feeling of insecurity was in part due to her early
childhood. Her own mother died of pneumonia when Mama was five, Barbara
was eight, Conrad, the oldest, was eleven and the baby, George, was two.
Grandpa Gabelein was a schoolmaster in a boys school in Bayreuth, Bavaria.
He was at a loss to care for his children, so a few months later he
married a spinster lady. She had apparently known the family. In fact,
she had attended the funeral of his first wife. On the day of the funeral,
the lady had made up her mind to become the second Mrs. Gabelein. She
had started her campaign by ogling the bereaved husband and father at
the service. With his need for a wife and her desire to become one, it
was only a matter of a decent interval before the children had a new Mother.

However, the new Mrs. Gabelein wanted the husband, but tolerated
the children as a necessary evil. There was never any feeling of affection
between the new mother and the family. The children learned early to
support and comfort each other. As soon as they were old enough, they
were required to do the heaviest kind of physical labor. The brunt of the
new Mrs. Gabelein’s malice was borne by the two girls.

Grandfather Gabelein had a comfortable home and was able to give
his children certain advantages, which other people could not do. He
wanted his girls to have music lessons, but opposition from the
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step-mother made it impossible. However, the boys were educated in music and
from her brothers Mama learned to play simple tunes. They also received
a better than average education, as their Father, who must have
been an excellent teacher, taught them at home. From her Father, Mama
developed a thirst for knowledge that she tried to pass on to her own
children.

More and more pioneers began to settle in the Reardan area. Many
of them were German. The newly married Fred Wagners welcomed the
newcomers, especially if they spoke the old familiar language. Papa and
Uncle Charlie had written so enthusiastically to the family back in Saxony
about the Washington Territory, that first one and then another made
the trek out. There was Adolph, who settled on the quarter just west of
Papa’s place. Then sister Mollie Frankie and her husband came to farm.
Brother Gustave also came out west, but he drifted around and only
occasionally came to visit. Gustave was the jolly one, and Mama and
Papa always looked forward to his stay with them with a great deal of
anticipation. Finally, there was Gottlied, who was in the Reardan area
for several years before he left. One more sister, Minna came out to
Qshkosh, so there were not too many of the Wagner clan left on the river
Saale.

Mama, after two years of married life, was expecting her first
baby. It had been over two months now since she had felt life within her.
How she hoped for a boy. "Sons are so important to their Papas," she
thought. The baby was due in December, which was good, as Papa’s work
outside was at an ebb then and he could give her some help. He’d be good
help with the new one, she knew, as she had watched Papa nurse a sick
animal, or with surety assist a cow or a horse with a difficult delivery.

An evening in early October, as Mama went to bed, she thought her
back seemed to be bothering her more than usual.

"What could I have done today that makes my back ache so?” she
confided to Papa. She moved over into the comforting circle of his arms.
"Guess it isn’t too much," she concluded, "I seem to feel better already
now that I’m in bed."

About a half an hour later there was another stabbing back pain,
and then later, there was another. Mama awakened Papa, panic in her
voice. "Fred, I’m afraid the baby is coming. How can it, when I still
have a couple of months to go?” With speech, her fear was released and
she melted into tears.

"Now, now, Lena, everything is just going to be fine. If our little
fellow comes early, well and good. It may turn out to be a false alarm.
Just to be sure, I’ll ride over after Grandma Garber and she’ll be here
in no time at all. I’ll also get word to Rose Harder to come as soon as
she can.”

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After what seemed an eternity, Mama finally heard the welcome
voices outside. Grandma Garber came into the bedroom and took
complete command. She was an old hand at delivering babies. "The first
baby always seems pretty bad, but we’ll have you through this soon" was
her first statement.

The pains were increasing in regularity and intensity. What Grandma
Garber observed, as she examined Mama, was that the birth would
not be a normal one. In a non-commital way she quietly spoke, "Fred,
come into the kitchen." When they left the bedroom, she turned to him
and in a most serious manner continued; "Lena is going to have a hard
time. It’s a breech case.”

Momentarily he paused, thought over this statement, and then
answered, “Do you mind if I ride over and get Doctor Coolbaugh?”

“If you feel that is what you want to do, that’s all right with me. I
know how you feel about a first baby.”’

Papa went into the bedroom. He knelt down by the side of the bed
and cupped Mama’s face in his strong gentle hands. "Lena, Grandma
Garber tells me the baby is coming buttocks first. I want to go get Doctor
Coolbaugh. You know I'm depending on you to bear up until I get back.
I'll make it as fast as I can."

Again, for the second time that night, Papa mounted his horse. His
ride was much longer this time, as Edwall was eighteen miles away. The
sky was full of stars. In a few moments, his eyes accustomed themselves
to the night’s half-light. Swiftly and surely his horse galloped on.

It was still dark, but morning was not far away, as the two men
drew rein and entered the house. In moments, Doctor Coolbaugh took
over. Only the moans from Mama’s lips and the swift commands of the
doctor filled the room.

At last it was all over. Doctor Coolbaugh held a little pint-sized |
baby in his hands. A slap or two on the buttocks, a little gasp, a whimper,
thus from time immemorial the final act of birth.

"He’s all there. All that’s needed for a boy. But he is mighty little."
The Doctor hefted him in his hand. "I’d judge he weighs about two, two
and a half pounds, maybe. Don’t know whether he’ll make it or not, Mr.
Wagner. Keep him warm, even heat if you can manage it.”

The weary Doctor washed his hands, cleaned his forceps, put them
in his bag and prepared to leave. Papa walked out with him. "Thank
you so very much. My wife, Lena?" his voice trailed to a whisper, as
tears filled his eyes.

“Don’t worry about her. She’ll be all right. And if the little fellow
doesn’t live, there will be others."

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Meanwhile, Grandma Garber had cleaned up and swathed the
new baby. When Papa returned to the kitchen, she was ready with her
orders. "I want a box, a little wooden box that we can keep on the oven
door. It will be a good place to keep the baby warm. We’ll keep the door
open, keep a steady, low fire and that should give this young man a
chance to grow. Rose is a good, dependable girl, even though she’s only
sixteen, and between the two of you, you’ll make out fine.”

Rose Harder stayed about ten days. As there was only the big bed
in the house, Rose slept with Mama while Papa made a pallet for himself
in the loft. Thus, the first of the Wagner children slowly, but surely
continued to grow.

Thereafter, babies made their appearance with regularity. By October
of the following year, a baby girl, Louise was born. A year later, twin
boys were born, who survived only a few days. Papa built a little casket
for them, and with heavy heart Papa and Mama, with a few sympathizing
neighbors, gathered on the hill above the lake for a burial service.

One more boy, Herman, was born and then in steady succession one
girl after the other—Anne, Bertie, Rose, Minna. I came along seven
years later, but that’s another story.

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===CHAPTER FIVE: Morals and Manners===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-033b-chapter-5-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 5 sketch
</gallery>

Papa made us walk the straight and narrow, and there was to be no
shilly-shallying either, in the process. He took the responsibility of
fatherhood very seriously and was determined to see that we would grow up to
be upright, honest and moral offspring of whom he could be proud. There
were times when, I am sure, he must have wondered where he failed,
but that didn’t stop him from trying. As a child, I was sure he preached
on behavior at any drop of a hat. I thought I learned not to listen to him,
but I guess I absorbed more than I realized. When you came right down
to it, Papa set an example by his own actions, which was probably the
best training of all.

He set a high standard of morality for himself and expected the
same from others. When one of his brothers moved the fence posts from
their common survey line to gain a bit more land for himself at Papa’s
expense, Papa took his case to court to prove his right, and never spoke
to his brother again. This action of our uncle’s, our Father would have
been incapable of doing, and I think he was especially hurt because he
had to acknowledge to himself that his brother had feet of clay.

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On the other hand, when the county assessor made his yearly call,
Papa was human enough to depreciate the worth of his livestock, his
machinery and other possessions, to keep his taxes as low as possible. This
was a case of bargaining, or horse trading. He enjoyed a battle of wits
and was not above bragging to us later, if he thought he had been rather
clever.

It must have been when I was in the fifth or sixth grade when I
learned the magic words “Charge it.” I’m not sure how long this went
on, but I guess several months. I’m not exactly sure how it started, but
Velma Clinton and I were at the Fountain, Reardan’s only sweet shop,
having a banana split. Apparently I didn’t have enough money to pay
the bill, and the owner said I could charge it to my dad. I didn’t tell Papa
about it, but I just sort of kept dropping in occasionally for the same
delightful treat and going out saying, "Charge it to Fred Wagner."

In Reardan, the merchants sent out statements once a year, usually
about the first of September when the harvest was almost over and farmers
had their pockets full of money. It was customary to carry an
account from year to year without adding interest. A big cigar, a bag of
candy and a handshake usually finished the final transaction.

This method of billing was my downfall. I was in constant state of
ambivalence. One moment I suffered a very guilty conscience at what
I knew was wrong, the next I was up in the clouds, as I savored each
mouth-watering spoonful of strawberry and vanilla ice cream, chocolate
sauce, pineapple sauce, banana and chopped nuts.

How was I ever going to get that bill paid without Papa knowing
about it? I tried everything I could think of, to no avail. Papa, once while
walking home, had found a poke containing seven hundred dollars in
gold. If he could do so, couldn’t it be repeated? For weeks and weeks,
as I walked the mile and a half to school and then back home again. I
kept my eyes glued to the front and side of the road, hoping against hope
to find enough to take care of my dilemma.

“If Papa searched around until he found the man who lost his
money so he could return it to him, well, that was his business," I mused
to myself. "Of course, if I really found a lot I might just keep out enough
and return the rest."

Florence Moon, in a moment of confidence told me, "If you really
want a wish to come true, then take anything made of iron that you find
and put it under a flat rock. Make your wish with your eyes closed and
it is sure to come true." All the nuts, bolts or nails that came my way,
I towed away under a big slab of shale I found down by the lake. I
figured if one article would do the trick, a whole bunch would be better.
Fervently, I wished again and again, "Please oh please, let me get that
bill paid."

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-035a-1600.jpg|Page 35]]}}

Well, my wish did come true, but not in the fashion I envisioned.
Papa found out. I got a dreadful scolding, but Anne sort of cushioned
the blow by getting Papa to give me a little allowance.

If Papa was inclined to scold or lecture us about our behavior,
Mama used the more direct method of a good swat on the behind. When
Herman was about eleven, there was a time that Mama spanked him
every day, whether he needed it or not, just to be on the safe side. As
she became ill and lost her energy, she asked Papa to take on the job. He
didn’t really think too much good came of spanking and the only time I
got it was when Papa lost his temper. When he had to take on a spanking
job for Mama, he’d whisper "Now yell good and loud" as he put us
over his knee. He’d slip his hand off in such a way that it didn’t hurt
much.

Mama wanted her girls to be gentle, ladylike, neat and as beautiful
as possible. We all learned to love pretty clothes, because Mama
loved them so much. She had a number of beauty aids, as for instance,
the buttermilk massage on face, arms and hands every churning day.
The skin did feel soft, but we must have smelled like a dairy. There was
a weekly washing of long hair, scalp inspection and danderine application
and endless brushing. One cupboard was filled with homemade
cold cream, glycerine and rose water hand cream and other recipes we
found in the Delineator magazine.

Lou was Mama’s best pupil when it came to neatness. When she
became chief housekeeper, she waged a never-ending war on the dust, the
mud or the dirt. Windows were washed and bonami polished weekly,
the woodwork wiped down with a damp cloth, while lamp chimneys had
to be washed and polished with newspaper any time they showed a smudge
of smoke. Yearly, the Brussels carpet of red cabbage roses and green
leaf design on a beige background, was taken up from the parlor floor,
put on the clothes line and beaten with a flail until no more dust would
come out.

In 1908, Lou went into Spokane for ten weeks to attend dressmaking
school. She learned to draft patterns, design, cut and sew the intricate
fashions of the day. Several years later she returned to Spokane for a
course in millinery. Her hats were as beautifully made and styled as her
clothes, as she seemed to have a natural aptitude for this type of
creative work. The sewing machine was kept under the big window in the
dining room and almost daily, Lou would find some time to do a bit of
sewing for one or the other in the family.

One letter of mine, still extant, gives this bit of information: ‘‘I
have a new coat out of Resla’s old one.’’ I remember that coat, a brown
woolen fabric with a big plush collar and a muff to match. The material
for the trim was apparently new, the basic fabric re-utilized. I loved
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that coat and almost wore down the pile of the plush by stroking it. Papa
often sat in the rocking chair in the dining room, watching as I stood on
the table while Lou adjusted hem lines. He always had some comment
to make. Lou would say, "Now Papa, that is the fashion this year,” if
he questioned a particular style. He was usually willing to be convinced,
although often he had to make up a joke about it.

The weekly washing, especially in the summer time, was an all
day job. The long white stockings I wore were usually grass stained and
had to be smeared with butter before they could be put in with the white
things to be boiled. Sheets, towels, petticoats, corset covers, all were
boiled on the kitchen stove for twenty minutes before they were put in
the washer, which was agitated by hand. The laundry soap was made
at home from the animal fats and lye. Lou usually made the soap
out-of-doors in the fall. The clothes line was filled to bulging and often Lou
would take time out to admire the whiteness of the clothes.

Tuesday was the day for ironing. From after breakfast until the
noonday meal, there were at least two ironing boards in use with half
a dozen sadd irons heating on the stove. It took time to iron the cotton,
voile or dimity dresses, all flounced, gathered or ruffled in some degree.

Rose made spasmodic attempts at discipline or elevating the family’s
cultural level. As I was the littlest, I was usually her most likely
target. In the Youth Companion, she had read this little nugget in "Household
Hints." "To break children of the habit of crying, catch their tears
in a saucer." Since the near fatal bout of dysentery, or summer
complaint as it was called at the time, I was a sickly little girl. It must have
been frustrating to the rest of the family to hear me sniveling and see
my frequent tears. Rose decided she and Minna should try out the saucer
cure on me. Needless to say, every time they came running with a
saucer, I yelled louder than ever. Maybe it worked or maybe it didn’t, but as
I grew older and stronger, the crying finally stopped.

Another gem Rose picked up from the same magazine was this: “It
is very impolite to blow your nose while at the table. Ask to be excused,
go to the corner of the room, and with your back to the table, try to
accomplish the task with as little noise as possible." Since colds were a
common occurrence at our home during the winter months, Rose was
always badgering us to try out this method of gentility. I believe Minna
went along with Rose on this campaign, but even their efforts finally
petered out.

Rose was the dramatic member of the family. With her verve,
sparkle and innate enthusiasm, it was inevitable that she would be at
the top in declamation contests or debates at school. Along with Catherine
Driscoll, the girls debated on "Shall utilities be privately or publicly
owned?," defending the negative side of the question all over Lincoln
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-037a-1600.jpg|Page 37]]}}
County until they were the undisputed champions. I guess it followed, as
the night the day, that Rose would attempt to suffuse this talent on her
baby sister. For months we met in private sessions in Papa’s bedroom
until I could declaim to her satisfaction, such gems as "My Captain,
My Captain” or “Napoleon’s Fall at Waterloo.”

When Minna and Rose went to Washington State College and entered
the school of Home Economics, one of their courses was in home
decoration. This called for an updating on the home front on the first
weekend they were home. I don’t remember what all they did, but the
girls took all the family portraits off the parlor walls and put them in
the upstairs study. Papa was stubborn in his insistence that they remain,
Rose was likewise that they go. They hit an impasse, until finally Papa
gave way when Mama’s portrait was placed in his bedroom where he
could see it when he awakened in the morning.

In May of 1916, Anne graduated from St. Lukes Hospital as a registered
nurse. We had had our Buick only a few months, but Herman
had taught Lou how to drive, so the five sisters and Papa went in to see
the ceremony of Anne getting her cap and pin. It had showered following
the electrical storm of the early afternoon, and the air had a sweet, clean
feeling. Outside the hospital, the purple lilacs were in bloom, as well
as the snowballs (viburnum opulus sterile). Inside, the same flowers
were profusely used to decorate, the air almost cloying in their perfume.
We were so especially proud of Anne, as she had made such an effort to
become a nurse. She quit school at the end of the eighth grade and after
an interval of several years, she returned to the Reardan schools to take
her high school training so she could enter the profession of nursing.

Anne was a born nurse, and got along wonderfully well with both
doctors and patients. Best of all, Anne loved the maternity cases. At
that time, women with babies stayed in the hospital at least two weeks,
not even daring to put a toe on the floor. Most of the upper middle class
patients had a private nurse for twenty-four hour duty. A cot was placed
in the patient’s room, and here the nurse got what sleep she could. Anne
soon learned to awaken at the slightest noise, to provide a glass of water,
a bedpan, a rub or just a bit of comforting. Usually, the patients took
their nurse home with them for at least another week.

Living temporarily in so many different homes, Anne was influenced
and impressed by the beauty of so many of them. It wasn’t long
until she wanted something in kind for her‘ family. Cretonne in bold
flower patterns was especially popular. Under Anne’s guidance, we
bought cretonne like mad in blues, pink or rose, calsomined the bedroom
walls in matching pastel colors, and painted the woodwork white. Drapes
at the windows, bedspread and bolsters became a veritable kaleidoscope
of gaiety. With money made from nursing, Anne bought white painted
bed frames and night stands. We painted the old fashioned bureaus to
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match, added multi-color rugs and then stood back to admire our handi-work.

Another thing that made life exciting when Anne came out to visit
us, was the tasting of strange and unaccustomed foods. The first grapefruit,
the first turkey, the first chestnut stuffing, as well as mayonnaise,
she introduced to the family. Mayonnaise we soon learned to make at
home, adding the oil very slowly to the egg yolks, beating like mad to
keep it from curdling.

In the English department, Bertie took complete charge. She was
always correcting our mistakes in grammar and expanding our vocabulary.
I learned to say isn’t instead of ain’t, and not to say bellyache, as
the hired men did. One spring, we made a game of using one new word
a week. It was surprising how many of the words became familiar
friends.

In spite of all the work to do, Lou always planted a flower garden
for summer color. Just outside the dining room window in the lawn, stood
an old fashioned yellow moss rose. Its blooming period was fleeting, but
through the weeks it lasted, it was a shower of delight. To the south of
the house stood a row of lilacs, about eight bushes. Papa always got
carried away when he had pruning shears in his hand, so our bushes were
sparse on bloom. Two long rows of sweet peas, well fortified with animal
manure, bloomed through the summer. By the time they were finished,
the asters came on, as well as dozens of gladiolus. I so enjoyed cutting
the flowers and arranging them in the various glass containers we owned,
that it never seemed like work. I shudder to recall my artistic efforts,
but at the time I thought they were beautiful.

The rock formation at Aunt Barbara’s place we always called the
rock pile. Little warm pockets in the creases of the rock wall would provide
heat to bring the buttercups, the glass slippers and yellow bells into
bloom, often while the snow still stood on the ground. The first I picked
usually went to the teacher, but always a few were brought into the house
as a special treat. Later in the season, there would be sheets of color on
the scab rock and around the lake. Many times we picked as many as a
hundred different varieties in just one Sunday afternoon stroll. For
company dinner on Sunday, we would not have flowers on the table, but there
was always a vase on the piano and on the sewing machine.

Mama was very religious, so while she was still alive, the minister
and family were often asked after the service, to come and have a bite
with us. The bite would consist of a heavy, substantial meal, usually
chicken baked in sour cream, mashed potatoes, homemade bread,
feather-light dumplings which we slathered with sour cream gravy, several
vegetables, salad with sour cream dressing, hand turned ice cream with
fresh fruit in the summer, otherwise canned fruit.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-039a-1600.jpg|Page 39]]}}

On this Sunday, the minister was seated next to Mama. He had
had several helpings of chicken. It was almost time to clear the table
for dessert, when Mama asked the minister, "Won’t you have a little
more chicken?"

“It is so delicious, I think I will" was his response.

Our food was always served family style. The platter of chicken
was at the other end of the long table.

“Fred, will you please pass the chicken down this way?"

The platter, which had been used for the meat, was a large, heavy
one. On one side there remained one lone wing. As it was passed from
one to another along the way, it came to Rose, who suddenly decided she
wanted that piece herself. With a deft motion the wing was transferred
to her plate and then she passed on the empty platter.

Her object lesson that day was reinforced with a good swat on the
backside.
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-039b-margret-1600.jpg | Margaret
mcj-039c-minna-margret-rose-1600.jpg | Minna, Margret and Rose
</gallery>
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-040a-1600.jpg|Page 40]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-040b-ann-at-15-1600.jpg| Anne (age 15)
mcj-040c-ann-at-st-lukes-graduation-may-1916-1600.jpg| Anne, May 1916 Graduation at St. Luke's Hospital in Spokane, Washington.
mcj-040d-ann-at-st-lukes-graduation-may-1916-1600.jpg| Anne, May 1916 Graduation at St. Luke's Hospital in Spokane, Washington.
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-041a-1600.jpg|Page 41]]}}

===CHAPTER SIX: Security “Wagner Style"===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-041a-chapter-6-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 6 sketch
</gallery>

Christmas was the time of excitement and gaiety, Easter, at least
for me, the time of make believe, spring the time of adventure and exploration,
but harvest time brought to fruition the strife and effort of the
year, the culmination of hope and endeavor. It was the climax of our
year. From the first appearance of tender green sprouts of wheat, to the
final delivery of the last wagon load of ripened grain to the warehouse,
we talked, lived, breathed and concentrated on "THE WHEAT.”

Each morning, before Papa sat down to breakfast, he paused outside
where, with his hand shaded over his eyes, he surveyed the east.
Each day he made his own weather report. Through the years of affinity
with the land, he had developed a ether feeling for every nuance of
temperature change.

“Yes, it’s going to be a fine growing day," purred Papa as he sat
down to tackle his big bowlful of mush. Or, at times it would be, "I’m
afraid it’s going to be a scorcher,” or hopefully, "The air smells like rain."

Whatever the weather, it was our number one topic of conversation.
After this was dispensed with, then talk might include the nation, the
world, or politics. But always we came back to the weather and its
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-042a-1600.jpg|Page 42]]}}
probable effect on the wheat. Reardan country is lean in precipitation.
Before the days of fertilization, development of hardy smut free varieties
of wheat or weed control, the single biggest factor that determined the
yield of the crop was the weather.

“By thunder, this is good land," reiterated Papa with a confident
refrain. "Wheat’s going to hold at eighty cents a bushel. Looks like the
winter wheat should make twenty-five bushels an acre." With Papa’s
optimistic outlook toward life and his determined effort to make it a good
one, we were nurtured always with a sense of security.

Wheat provided our big cash crop. There was token cash from eggs
sold to Driscoll’s Drygoods Store, or surplus cream sold to the Creamery,
or, on occasion a heifer or two, or an extra porker. But it was the wheat
money that paid the taxes, the yearly bill at Driscolls’ or Finrows, or
new machinery. Always, the wheat provided some money to be banked
and saved toward some future time when there would be enough to buy
more land.

A farmer in the early nineteen hundreds was largely dependent on
his own efforts to produce the good life. The tangible efforts of his endeavor
were most visible in the fall. The full basement under our cement
block house would be bulging. By late September, when the last peaches
were canned, most of the empty Mason half-gallon jars had been refilled.
Shelves from floor to ceiling on the east wall would be filled to overflowing.
Bushels and bushels of potatoes filled the north bin. At the foot of
the stairs was a big barrel of sauerkraut, and another of dill pickles. The
machinery for cheese making and the wheels of home-processed cheese,
the boxes of winter apples, the beer barrel and the elderberry wine, neatly
bottled, filled the additional space. Two or three cats usually made the
basement their domain and did their part in keeping down the mouse
population. In between times, they sprang up the stairs to the landing
whenever the kitchen door leading to the basement was opened, meowing bu
for an extra handout.

The smokehouse, out near the barn, filled with hams, sides of bacon
and rounds of sausage, also buttressed our feeling of plenitude.

Papa always made a good sausage. It was quite a job to grind, season
and encase the several large wash tubs full of meat. There was a festive
quality to sausage making. It all took place out in the yard under
one of the apple trees. The crisp fall air, faintly redolent with smoke
drifting down from northern timber fires, the warm Indian summer sunshine,
the odor of the meat, the ground black pepper and other seasonings,
all combined to add to the euphoria of the occasion.

There was a ritual to assembling everything needed for the yearly
proceedings. First, Papa would bring out the substantial wooden bench
on which was clamped the heavy-duty grinder. The pans, seasonings,
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washtubs filled with cubed pork were so arranged to economize on effort.
Sitting comfortably astride one end of the bench with the grinder at easy
access in front of him, Papa would work steadily. If this occurred on a
non-school day, I’d be sitting or playing close by. Papa was a great visitor,
so we would talk it all over as he worked. Sometimes I watched the
little squiggles of the lean red meat and white fat as it came out of the
grinder holes, sometimes I’d draw imaginary houses in the warm dust,
or else watch the swallows circling around and around overhead as they
made ready for their migration south.

The sausage was of two types. The one used for frying was only
lightly smoked. For this, Lou made casings from flour sacks, each sack
split and sewn lengthwise to make two. The other salami type sausage
was sheathed in the conventional casings made from the cleaned small
intestines.

Of course, preceding the sausage making, came butchering time.
This usually took place well after harvesting was over. When the frost
began to etch the spider webs lying close to yellowed grasses, and night
temperatures fell consistently, then it was safe to kill the hogs and perhaps
a cow. With the cooler weather, the meat could be processed and cared
for without spoilage. The only way we had to preserve meat was by smoking
or canning. For this reason, we ate a great deal of pork.

On slaughtering day, mostly I stayed on the sidelines until after the
pigs were killed. They were then immersed in a big scalding vat so their
bristles could be softened for scraping. As the pigs were hoisted onto the
crossbars, all spanking pink, they looked rather appealing. Papa would
hone his butcher knife to razor sharpness, and dismember the carcasses
with all the aplomb of a virtuoso.

One time Papa called me into the yard when he had finished the
butchering. He held in his hand a balloon, a gift for me. It was made
from an empty and cleaned bladder, inflated and secured to a wheat
straw.

“Ah, Margret, how is that for a dandy balloon?”

Since toys of any kind were a special occasion, I must have been
truly pleased. It seems to me, as I look back over the years, that it didn’t
matter how busy Papa was, he could always find time to fashion some
simple toy for my pleasure. If we were herding cows along the road near
the Schwartz place, he’d stop by the clump of willows growing there, to
find a branch that could be cut and made into a whistle. I don’t know
how many sling shots he made for me. I’d take a pot shot at the black birds
that ate so much grain, but I doubt if I ever killed one.

One year Papa made me a merry-go-round. He sunk a pine log
about twelve inches in diameter into the soft earth not too far from the
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well and on the way to the chicken house. With rocks and mud, he tamped
the dirt until the log was firmly secured, leaving about three feet above
ground. On this he centered a substantial plank with a backrest on one
end. The plank was arranged on a swivel so it could turn easily when
pushed. I would sit on one end and papa would push the other. Round
and round he’d go, faster and faster until we were both breathless.

Another factor that made life seem so secure living with Papa, was
his habit of discussing his business with his family. We always knew
exactly what we had and how much. When Mama died, Papa had deeded
over to each of us eighty acres of land, which represented her half of the
community property. As Gus was the oldest, it was right and fitting that
he should receive the best parcel and so on down the line until I, as
number eight, received the least desirable.

Our bank in Reardan may have had a vault. If so, I never knew
about it. We had our own secret hiding place for valuables, and it was
accessible to any member of the family. The built-in china closet on the
dining room side had three large drawers beneath the glass cupboards.
If you lifted out the bottom drawer, you would find two good sized tin
containers that probably, at one time, held pipe tobacco. One box held the
various deeds to property. In the other, Papa kept the tax returns, bank
books and certificates of deposit.

Often Lou had to delay making purchases until the interest was due
on a C. D. I’m sure Papa knew exactly the date for each one, but if he
was anxious for cash, he would take out the tin box and check again, just
to be sure he wasn’t in error in his reckoning. Many times, if I were at
a loss for something to do, I’d take out the tin box myself and count our
money just to see how much we had.

More than once I longed to tell Velma Clintan, Laura Buchanan or
one of my other friends how rich we were, but somehow I never did.
Agnes Driscoll, whose father owned Driscolls Drygoods Store, confided
to me once with a cross your heart secrecy,

“Father buys from the Spokane Dry Goods.”

I was impressed.

The hired men were paid in cash. During the harvest, when we
had several men working for us, each one would line up after supper on
Saturday night to receive his wages. Payday, Papa would come home
from the bank with twenty dollar gold pieces in his pocket. He usually
held them out to me to play with under his watchful eye. I thought they
were the biggest, shiniest pennies I had ever seen.

Usually, Papa gave me his tacit permission to eavesdrop on his
business dealings. However, there were several times during the year
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when the conversation was definitely man talk, and then I understood
I was ''de trop''.

In the spring, the sheep herders brought their flocks from the south
to the mountains for summer pasture. It was their custom to lease grazing
privileges for the spring trip and again in the fall, when sheep were
returned to winter quarters. Although Papa was a cagey bargainer, he
maintained a good rapport with the sheep men and for years an amicable
agreement was reached. It was always settled with a handshake and a
shot of whiskey.

The ewes were still lambing during the spring trip, and I was pretty
sure of a gift of one of the orphans. Anne usually assumed responsibility
for the new babe, bottle feeding it with patience and care. We had many
lambs through the years, each of which we named ‘‘Emmy Dear.’’ Some
of the rams, as they matured, became rather pugnacious and we gave
them wide berth when we were out in the corral. One spring, one of our
“Emmy Dears" butted open the front gate and made a pass at Rose, who
was picking sweet peas. He knocked her down and bruised her rather
badly before our calls brought Papa running to the rescue.

It was serious business when the time came to pay the threshing
bill. We cut and stacked our own grain, and then Papa would contract
with a neighbor to complete the job. The day Mr. Gray came to be paid,
Papa would be freshly shaven and would wear a clean denim jacket over
his overalls. Fresh cigars and a bottle of whiskey were brought forth to
sweeten the transaction.

The goal of buying additional land was always part of Papa’s dream,
but often that dream had to bend to the harsh reality of life. Sickness was
the biggest corrosive to the nest egg.

Mama’s prolonged illness over a seven-year duration, was by far
the most expensive. The constant friction between Mama and her
Mother-in-law must have been an important factor in her illness. Papa was
gentle, really very gentle most of the time, but on rare occasions his
temper would blaze forth with such intensity, that all hell would break loose.

One morning he came into the house to find Mama dissolved in tears, as
Grandma was tongue lashing her with more than her usual venom.

“By God," yelled Papa, beside himself with frustration at the constant
bickering, “this is the end. There will be no more of this.”

He shoved Grandma out of the way, caught her off balance and
knocked her down. Her ribs were broken in the fall. She went to Uncle
Adolph’s for a few weeks, and then returned to our home. Papa set her
up in the cabin on the quarter west of the home place. She continued to
live there until her death.

About 1904 Papa moved his family into Spokane. He thought the
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change of environment would help Mama feel better. They stayed in
Spokane for a school term and then moved to Petaluma, where Papa thought
the warmer climate might be beneficial. During this time, Papa leased
the ranch to Peter Schwartz.

Uncle Charlie, Papa’s favorite brother, his wife and family had
moved to a small farm in Sebastopol, which was not too far from
Petaluma. Aunt Emma and Uncle Charlie had seven children, approximately
the same ages as our seven. When they were still living on the White
Bluff Prairie, not too far from Spokane, Aunt Emma and Mama had
decided they had enough of child bearing and had consulted the Reardan
Doctor, who fitted them each with a contraceptive. For six years, this
device was very satisfactory.

One day, however, shortly after we moved to California, Mama and
Aunt Emma were having one of their intimate visits. Mama, who was
forty-two years old at the time said, "You know, Emma, I’m sure I’ve
reached the age of menopause. I have a notion to quit bothering with
anything any more.”

"Well, Lena, I’ve just about reached the same conclusion myself.”

Shortly thereafter, both women became pregnant. It must have
been almost at the same time, as my cousin Alfred was born on October
twenty-four shortly before twelve midnight, and I came along about five
hours later. This unwanted pregnancy must have taken an additional toll
from Mama’s waning energy.

By the spring of 1906, Papa felt he could no longer stay away from
the home place, so he sold the house in Petaluma, and shortly before the
San Francisco Earthquake and Fire, returned north with his family. He
installed his wife and younger children in a house he bought in the Union
Park District of Spokane. With the boys old enough to help, and sixteen
year old Lou old enough to cook, the four of them returned to Reardan.

Mama liked her home in Union Park. She wanted a new home on
the ranch just like it, if possible. In between the farm work and other
responsibilities, Papa, with the help of Reverend Strayfeller of the
Reardan Evangelical Church, built the two story house. In the few remaining
years of her life, Mama spent little of it in her new home. She was in and
out of hospitals, additional trips to California, and one trip back home to
Germany with her sister Barbara as her companion, always hoping to
find the miraculous cure.

The tender care and solicitous concern that Papa showed for his
wife and for all of us when we were ill, made us all feel especially secure.
As Minna said in one of her letters to me, "With Papa near me, I knew
nothing could ever happen to me. What a wonderful feeling to know Papa
could solve all problems.”

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As Mama grew weaker, Papa tried to tempt her with every delicacy
he could think of. He built a pigeon cote and raised pigeons, so
Mama could have squab. He sent to California for out-of-season fruit.
Annie said, “I watched every mouthful Mama took, wanting so badly to
have one of the strawberries myself.”

During the spells when Mama was home, occasionally she felt strong
enough to make some calls on her close friends, Aunt Barbara, Mrs.
Scharman or Mrs. Wollweber. The night before, Anne would brush Mama’s
hair, dampen the front part, and plait it into small braids so it
would have some slight resemblance of curls the next day. Mama always
dressed in her best and tried to make herself as attractive as possible
when she went calling. Papa would carry her out to the buggy. The
two of them went off together, while the rest of us hung on the fence
watching them leave.

It was during one of the hot dog days of August, the heat shimmering
over the garden, the curtains inside the house drawn early against the
sun. Mama and Papa were in California, the boys were harvesting, and
the girls were sitting on the front porch peeling Gravenstein apples for
canning. Minna was being especially silly that day. Everything she did
would send us all into gales of laughter. Finally, the ringing of the
telephone came to our attention, a long ring and a short one. That was our
call on the party line and Rose put down her pan of apples to answer.

“No,” said Lou with a sudden flash of psychic insight, “I'll answer.
I know Mama’s gone.”

Western Union was calling the message that Papa was returning
immediately to Reardan with Mama. She had just died.

Mama lay in state in the parlor. The heady fragrance of carnations
filled the room. All through the night Papa sat next to the casket. In
later years, Anne often told of hearing Papa’s sobs through the night.

I came downstairs early the next morning, and peeked into the parlor.
Papa was still there. He took me in his arms and with my small
hand in his, we patted Mama’s face. The tactile feeling of unresponsive
cold flesh brought home to me the reality of death. Somehow, it was easier
sharing that knowledge with Papa. I was five years old.

After Mama’s death, the tobacco box hidden under the bottom
drawer in the dining room was pretty empty, a few receipted bills from
hospitals and doctors, the death notice from the Reardan Gazette, a
photograph someone had taken of the funeral flowers. All the available cash
had been spent on Mama’s illness. The only thing that remained intact
was the house, the stock and the land unencumbered.

Once again, however, the Certificates of Deposit began to accumulate.
Almost before we knew it, there was enough laid by so Papa could
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start looking around for a likely buy of good wheat land. He found what
he was looking for near Mondovi, a little village seven miles west of the
ranch. There were three quarters of good, fertile land, four hundred and
seventy acres, to be exact, as ten acres had previously been deeded to
Mondovi Village for a cemetery. Papa and Gus negotiated the deal. Gus
bought the single quarter with the gray weather-beaten house and barn
and Papa bought the half section. The price, $30,000, paid in cash. The
year was 1915, and in way of celebration, Lou and Gus accompanied Papa
to California for the winter and to visit the San Francisco World Exposition.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-048-1a-1600.jpg|Page 48-1]]}}
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-048-2a-1600.jpg|Page 48-2]]}}
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<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-048c-fred-and-lena-wagner-1600.jpg | Fred and Lena Wagner in Petaluma, California 1906
mcj-048-1b-lou-rose-anne-minna-bertie-1600.jpg | Lou, Rose, Anne, Ninna, Bertie 1906
mcj-048-2b-top-gus-lou-herman-bottom-ann-rose-bertie-1600.jpg | back: Gus, Lou, Herman; front: Ann, Rose, Bertie
mcj-048-3b-louise-1600.jpg | Louise
mcj-048-3c-margret-clare-six-months-1600.jpg | Margret Clare at six months
mcj-048-4b-louise-herman-gus-1600.jpg | Louise, Herman and Gus
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-049a-1600.jpg|Page 49]]}}

===CHAPTER SEVEN: The “Appeal to Reason"===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-049b-chapter-7-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 7 sketch
</gallery>

Papa was a socialist. As far as I knew, there were only two socialists
in all the Reardan area, Papa and his friend Otto Wollweber. There
surely must have been others, as the state of Washington during 1887 and
1889, had the greatest number of registered Socialists in proportion to the
population of any state in the union. The Wollwebers lived in the Crescent
country, about four miles north of us, and I don’t believe Otto ever came
to Reardan without stopping by the ranch. The two men were great cronies.
Papa especially admired Wollweber’s keen mind. He was as well
read and informed as any in the community. He influenced Papa a great
deal in.his political philosophy.

When Otto stopped by the house, the men did one of two things...
discuss politics, or have a game or two of Five Hundred. I must have
been about nine when Papa taught me how to play the game, and I often
made a willing fourth with Papa as my partner.

Privately, Papa would tell me, "Now Margret, if you possibly can,
let me get the bid so I can play the hand. I know you play a fine game
for a little girl, but if we are going to beat the Wollwebers, I’d better take
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-050-1600.jpg|Page 50]]}}
over because I know the game so well." He had confidence in his expertise.
Over the years of playing solo, five hundred, or pinochle at the pool
hall in Reardan, he enjoyed the reputation of being one of the best. The
games were played for merchandise instead of money. Papa usually took
his winnings in candy. It was rare indeed that he did not have, when he
got back home, a big sack full stuffed in his pocket. Usually I got the
job of dividing into eight piles, the peanut clusters, the hore-hounds or
other varieties of hard candy.

Mr. Wollweber loved to smoke a pipe, but he would be so busy
talking, that half the time the flame would go out.

“Will you get me a match, Margret," he’d say. "I’d go out into the
kitchen to get several of the big diamond matches from the container
that hung by the kitchen stove. "Looks like all I do is smoke matches,”
he always quipped.

The "Appeal to Reason” was the official publication of the Socialist
Party. Papa subscribed to this weekly for years. He read it thoroughly,
discussing the articles with anyone who was around to listen. When I
was a teenager, I used to argue with him about socialism. Not that I
knew anything about it, but because most of my peers’ folks were
Republicans, I couldn’t see why we couldn’t be. Being a dissenter
didn’t bother Papa in the least.

The increase of economic power into the hands of the trusts
accelerated after the Civil War. Probably, in no other field of expansion, was
this more prevalent than in the railroads. When the railroads to the west
had been chartered by the United States Government as a public highway,
in theory, freight rates were to be levied with impartial justice. In
practice, it didn’t work out this way, as rates were set for all the traffic
would bear. Rates from east to west were cheaper than from west to
east, making it less expensive to ship manufactured goods than wheat,
which was the major commodity from the northwest. Freight rates had
no bearing on the distance covered. For years, Papa discussed and cussed
the unfair differential between the long and short haul tariffs, mostly
because it affected our wheat shipments.

The railroads maintained powerful lobbies in Washington D.C., and
most of the legislators were under their control. The LaFollettes of
Wisconsin, the Granger movement and Farmers Unions, along with the
Socialists, tried in various ways to bring about change in the laws and the
election of more honest public officials. Papa was never interested in
entering any kind of politics. His entire life was centered in his family.
However, he felt duty-bound to express his opinion at the polls. One year,
he forgot to vote for a member of the local school board, and, although
the man of his choice was elected, he moaned for days in being derelict
in his civic obligation.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-051-1600.jpg|Page 51]]}}

Papa strongly believed in private enterprise, but he was adamant
in working for social justice for the common man. Eugene Debs, the
founder of the Socialist party, advocated the following social legislation:
an eight hour day, old age pensions, unemployment insurance, industrial
accident insurance, annual minimum wage, abolition of child labor, free
text books in public school, and unionism.

Jim Hill and the Great Northern was Papa’s greatest adversary, but
a close second was J. P. Morgan. Seldom a day passed, without either
one or the other being dammed.

With Papa’s strong aversion to fighting, killing or war in any form,
it was inevitable that he would take a position of non-involvement in the
European 1914-1918 conflict. I am sure that the fact that Debs was a
pacifist, was one reason why Papa so admired the man. Each morning, as
Papa read the headlines telling of the number of war casualties; his
heart went out to each and every one. After the United States entered
the war, Reardan, as in fact all of the nation, seethed with anti-German
sentiment. Because Papa was so vocal in his stand of non-aggression, we
received more than our share of ostracism. However, when Gus entered
the army, part of the emotional furor against us lost its force.

Two of the books in our meager library were bought by Papa. The
first was a biography of Eugene Debs. It was probably too old a book
for me, but I did look at the pictures. The other was Upton Sinclair’s “In
The Jungle." Debs granted Sinclair five hundred dollars to research
conditions in the Chicago stockyards. The novel powerfully portrayed the
brutal exploitation of the slaughterhouse workers. I read the novel many
times, not daring to believe that conditions could be so terrible. As I
remember, what bothered me most of all in the story was how the family
had to sleep in shifts, as there was only one bed. The impact of that
book was so great, that years later, when I went to Chicago to attend
Northwestern University, the first thing I did was to take a tour through
the stockyards.

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<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-052b-mule-day-parade-1600.jpg| Mule Day Parade in Reardan
mcj-052c-mule-day-parade-1600.jpg| Mule Day Parade in Reardan
</gallery>

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===CHAPTER EIGHT: Mule Day===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-053b-chapter-8-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 8 sketch
</gallery>

John Mann, one of our neighboring farmers, had an idea. He mulled
it over in his mind for several weeks, and talked it over with his wife.
The more he thought about some sort of a community day for Reardan,
the better he liked it. He approached several of the more progressive men
of the community. At last, an informal meeting was called to formulate
plans and set up some sort of a business structure. The men included W.
H. Padley, teacher at the high school, G. H. Finrow, who owned the
general store, E. E. Noble of the Reardan Bank, George Reeves, who had
the butcher shop, W. E. Hanning and John Mann.

“Reardan is a good town," said Mr. Mann. “We need to advertise
it with some kind of yearly fair. This will give the people in the community
something to look forward to, take an interest in, and it may bring
some more settlers into the area.”

After much talk, there developed a tentative agenda. First of all,
you couldn’t have a day of celebration without a parade and a band. That
was number one on the list. Then, of course, there had to be a ball game
in the afternoon, because everybody liked baseball. Community
participation could be developed further with foot races for the young, horse
races and a bucking contest. The day could end with a dance.

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"How about the little ones," someone added. "Couldn’t we make
some sort of an arrangement to have a merry-go-round? That is always
a sure-fire drawing card.”

“What are we going to call this celebration?"

The men mulled this question over for several minutes. Someone
said, "How about Reardan Fair?" someone else came up with "Reardan
Celebration.”

“I’ve been thinking maybe, Mule Day.”

There was a pause, a smile and soon a general chuckle. "Mule
Day, eh?" Well, mules were important to the economy of the farming
area. There was lots of mechanized farm equipment by 1904, although it
was not self-propelled. Draft horses and mules were needed in abundance
to provide the pulling power. Mules were intelligent. They stood up well
under heavy use, their stamina, by and large, was better than horses.

“Mule Day?" It would make good newspaper copy. And who better
to glamorize, on this day of celebration, than the good old steady,
dependable mule.

Thus it was, that Mule Day became an important day in Reardan
from 1904 through 1916. By the time the United States had entered
World War One, Reardan people were too busy producing wheat to think
about a Mule Day.

All of us Wagners were really excited each year, as June time and
Mule Day rolled around. Gus and Herman had been working out for
weeks every evening after supper. Gus was the star first baseman of
the Reardan Baseball Nine, while Herman, for a season or two, played
center field.

On "Mule Day” day, we were up extra early, getting all the chores
done and getting ready to get into town in time for the parade. I’d stand
at the front gate, watching the steady stream of farmers and Indians passing
by. From Wellpinit came the Indians, many of the young bucks on
horseback, leading their bucking broncs, the families in light buckboards,
usually followed by a mangy dog. Most of the farmers from the Crescent
Country and from the Canyon I knew, so I could wave and call a greeting
to each as they passed. Especially, I kept my eye open for an entry
for the parade. How exciting to see a span of mules, groomed and curried
to within an inch of their lives, pulling a RED replete with red, white
and blue bunting.

Long before parade time, the town was full of farmers and visitors.
Down by the ball park was a convenient spot to park the wagons. Horses
were unhitched, watered, fed and tied up. While the men were busy with
these chores and visiting with one another, the ladies would be bustling
around, rearranging food boxes. Poor indeed, was the box that did not
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contain fried chicken, potato salad, homemade bread, pickles, relishes,
and for sweets, pie, cake and cookies. More often than not, a freezer of
hand-turned ice cream, packed in ice and rock salt, was stashed away
under the front seat out of the heat of the sun.

Every year that I can remember, Mrs. Scharman always invited us
all for the mid-day dinner. It was so nice for us to have the use of her
comfortable home for the day. When Mama was still living, she would
rest and relax at the Scharmans, vicariously enjoying the celebration, as
first one and then another would come back to tell her all about the excitement.

Each year, I was so afraid there would be no merry-go-round, but
each year there it was, as magnetic as always. All the money Papa gave
me, all the extras I usually had slipped to me through Gus or Herman in
the way of nickles and dimes, I spent on the merry-go-round. It was near
being in Seventh Heaven as it was possible to be, just riding around and
around on a rocking horse, and listening in a half-hypnotic trance, to the
siren call of the calliope.

By ten o'clock, the main street of Reardan was jam packed with
grandmothers and mothers holding babies and holding on to small fry.
The men were huddled together in groups, to discuss crops and the weather.
Young swains were idling in and out of the crowd, eyeing their
favorites of the moment. The pulse of our town was at its gayest.

Finally, someone called out, “They must be coming. I hear the
Band." And so it was, that each year Mule Day officially began. In the
financial report of 1910, the Mule Day Committee spent $65.00 for the band.
This must have been an import, probably from Davenport. The band could
come on the morning train, play for the parade and take the afternoon
train back at four o’clock. On one occasion, there was the drum, but no
drummer, so Papa took over. With his musical background, his perfect
sense of rhythm, this would offer no difficulty for Papa. I can still recall
my thumping heart and the lump in my throat, as Papa marched by,
erect and confident, the only one without a uniform, beating out the time
on the big bass drum.

Always, there was friendly rivalry among the contenders for prize
money. Blue ribbons were fine, but it was especially gratifying to receive
part of your recognition in cash awards. In 1910, $453.50 was awarded by
the Mule Day Committee for various events, which included parade entries,
best colts, bucking contest, horse races and foot races. When Herman’s colt
won a blue ribbon, we were ecstatic.

I remember, with poignant heartache, one foot race I was badgered into
running. Because my feet had grown too rapidly, because my
legs had grown too long too fast, I was probably one of the most awkward
persons ever to have been entered into a foot race for girls ten to twelve
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years of age. There were three of us, Velma Clinton, Lillian Pullian and
myself. The prize money was fifty cents for first place, twenty five cents
for second. Both the girls were excellent runners, and it was almost a
foregone conclusion that I should be the cow’s tail. I didn’t even come
in close, and as I saw them sprint ahead of me, my eyes filled with tears
of mortification. Gus tried to console me by slipping me a quarter, but it
didn’t really help

On a day as important as Mule Day, the Reardan ball club usually
imported a pitcher and catcher from one of the better Spokane county
league teams. $25.00 was awarded to the winning team. Reardan had
several excellent hitters, but the pitching staff was the weakest part of
the ball club, hence the hiring of outside help.

It was with much pride that the six Wagner girls entered the ball
park in Gus’ company, admitted free because he was on the team. Always,
we expected him to hit a home run, and often he would oblige, as he
was known as a slugger. Gus was big and rangy on first base, always
likable and a big hit with the fans.

Probably, the bull session at home after the day was over, was al most
as interesting as the game itself. The boys would recount every
play, describing every pitch, the knuckle ball, the slider, the out-drop, or
curve, as each was deployed in the strategy of the game. We all became
real baseball fans.

One year, Papa told us we wouldn’t be able to go to Reardan for
Mule Day. The mustard in the flat needed pulling, and there was enough
urgency to the task, that Papa felt he couldn’t spare us for even a day
at this particular time. One job that was always set aside for us girls,
was mustard pulling. In one of the batches of seed wheat, brought in by
the railroad in the early nineteen hundreds, there was a weed seed that
took over the cultivated land like wildfire. It was a form of wild mustard,
which farmers soon labeled Jim Hill Mustard as a derogatory allusion
to the Northern Pacific’s president. This weed grew to luxuriant size,
robbing the ground of precious moisture. In addition to this, the stalk of
the plant, which had become dry by the time of harvest, gummed up
the works on the header. The only method of control at that time, was
to hand pull the mustard after it had matured enough to be easily spotted,
but not yet beyond the blooming stage.

Usually, we all rather enjoyed pulling mustard every spring. We
would take a gallon crock filled with cool well water flavored with sugar
and vinegar along with us and shelter it in a pile of pulled mustard stalks.
Whenever one got thirsty, a drink of this vinegar water was very refreshing.
All of us wore hats to ward off the sun, our gingham or calico house
dresses, sturdy black shoes and stockings. In addition, we would take
worn out black stockings, cut off the feet and slip these over our arms to
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-057-1600.jpg|Page 57]]}}
protect them from the sun. It was a companionable sort of work as we
covered the field in strips, pulling the weeds as we came up to them.
A fine time for visiting.

On this particular day, all of us felt thwarted and angry because
we couldn’t go into town for Mule Day.

“T am so mad,” said Anne, as she vigorously yanked on a large
mustard stalk.

“I hate Papa,” chimed in Rose.

And Minna added, "How can Papa be so mean.”

Bert said, "It wouldn’t be quite so bad if we were working up on the
half section where no one could see us, but right down here on the flat,
everybody can see us as they go by.”

It was about ten o’clock that Papa walked down the road to check
on the progress of the work.

“You’re good girls. I think you’ve done enough for the day. What
do you say to quitting and going into town?”

We couldn’t get back home, bathed, dressed and into Reardan fast
enough.

There was one other Mule Day that all of us remembered very well.
We all had had a fine time. After the ball game, we returned home
for chores and supper. Occasionally, Papa would stay in town to have a
game of solo at the pool hall with Billy Adams and a few others of his
card playing cronies. When he finished his game, he would walk the
mile and a half home. This particular evening there was no concern over
Papa’s absence.

Minna, who had been outside, came rushing into the house. “I hear
Papa up on the hill and he sounds funny.”

We all hurried outside. In the calm still of the evening, Papa’s
voice carried down the hill, across the water and on to the front porch
where we stood listening. He was singing away to the top of his lungs
one moment, the next, his voice idled away so as not to be heard at all,
and then again increased in crescendo.

“What in the world is the matter with him?” asked Lou.

“He sounds drunk to me," answered Herman. "I guess our old
man has a laughing jag on. Come on Gus, let’s go help him home.”

It was the first time, and I guess the only time, we saw Papa
intoxicated. He was still singing, gay and carefree, as the boys led him
into the house and put him to bed. All six of us girls dissolved into tears.
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-058-1600.jpg|Page 58]]}}
We had seen too many alcoholics in the country and had developed a
healthy dread of its consequences.

The next morning, we heard the story from a very hung over and
sheepish Papa. He and Billy Adams had seen one of their friends, who
was a bottle nipper, hide a full quart in a culvert down by the depot. The
man was afraid of the tongue lashing his wife would give him, if she
spotted him with a bottle. His idea was to leave the liquor cached away
for the day, and return for a nip whenever the urge became too powerful
to be refused. Papa and Billy Adams decided it would be great fun to
commandeer the whiskey. After they did so, and had the bottle at hand,
it seemed silly not to sample the contents. By the time they were finished
with it, both were mighty tipsy.

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-058c-bertie-minna-margret-rose-off-to-school-1600.jpg | Bertie, Minna, Margret, and Rose off to school.
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-059-1600.jpg|Page 59]]}}

===CHAPTER NINE: The Old Ball Game===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-059b-chapter-9-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 9 sketch
</gallery>

Gus played first base for a couple of seasons for the Medical Lake
team in the Spokane County League. I believe the team was sponsored
by the State Institutional Hospital for the Insane and Feeble Minded. At
least, the ball park was not in the town, but across the lake on state property,
not far from the hospital complex. The playing field was well laid
out at the foot of the hill on which the buildings were located. Substantial
bleachers provided ample room for several hundred spectators. The Hospital
Administrator, an ardent baseball fan, arranged for the more trusted
inmates to attend. After the noonday meal on Sunday, the patients would
march in some semblance of formation, two by two, and handcuffed together
as a deterrent for runaways, out of their barred prison-like abode
and down the hill to a special section of the grandstand. A male orderly
marched at the head and foot of the procession, while several others
were nearby to keep the patients from straying. Most of them seemed
to enjoy the outing, clapping and applauding indiscriminately, or else
making repeated trips to the water bucket or the toilet.

Gus’ room held an assortment of baseball memorabilia. In the
closet were bats and gloves, uniforms and caps. A cardboard box held
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-060-1600.jpg|Page 60]]}}
the press releases clipped from the Spokesman Review. Propped up on
top of the dresser, was a large picture of the team proudly displaying their
victory trophies.

Baseball opened up an exciting new world for our brother, and
vicariously for all the rest of the family. Although Medical Lake was
sixteen miles from Reardan and about eighteen miles from home, Gus
pedaled back and forth each Sunday on his bicycle. About half of the
way was paved, but the rest was over graveled roads. However, he never
considered this any kind of a hardship, because he loved the game so
much. He was so tall, rangy and relaxed at first base. His expertise in
fielding and at bat, his affable nature all combined to make him a very
popular player.

Whenever we could manage it, we would hitch Molly and Cayuse
to the light spring wagon for a day’s trip to the Lake for a picnic and
to watch Gus play. We would pack up the usual bounteous lunch, with
fried chicken, shrimp salad and homemade ice cream. Our first stop
was at Camp Comfort, a lakeside resort with camping and picnicing
facilities. In the dressing rooms, we would change from our starched
petticoats and ruffled cotton dresses into the nondescript, shapeless gray
cotton bathing suits, which we rented. None of us were very good at
swimming, but we enjoyed the refreshing coolness of the water. Of
course, the piece de resistance was the baseball game in the afternoon.
No one watched the game more avidly than we, or applauded more if Gus
made a good catch or slammed out a hit.

After the game was over, we usually went up to the hospital to
make the rounds of the wards and call on patients from our part of the
country. There were generally several that we knew. Often our greetings
were ignored, the vacuous stares on their faces spoke only too pitifully
of their retreat from reality, but occasionally a glimmer of recognition
would bring forth a smile, or‘a plea of "Please take me back home
with you." Most of the patients were there for months or years. Therapy
was almost non-existent. About all that was offered the patients was containment
and restraint from self inflicted harm.

During the playing season, the postman often had a fan letter or
two to leave in our mailbox. Gus enjoyed these letters of adulation,
and usually shared them with us. One year, a Miss X wrote weekly, the
letter postmarked from Spokane, usually came after every game which
she apparently saw. The stationery was mostly pale pink and slightly
perfumed. After her salutation of "You Great Big Handsome Kraut,”
there followed several pages of admiring observations about Gus and
his plays at first base or at bat. That she hoped for a reply was obvious,
as she always included a P.O. box number.

One spring, I had found a little beer barrel-shaped whiskey bottle,
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-061-1600.jpg|Page 61]]}}
pint sized, under a culvert on the county road. It was one of my treasured
possessions. In one of Miss X’s letters, she had made this comment, "How
about sending me a big barrel of sauerkraut? Ha Ha.”

One evening after supper, as Gus was sitting in the big rocker reading
the paper, I approached him with my little bottle clutched tightly in
my hand.

"Dauffle," I called by my special pet name for him.

"Yes, Mudgie." He took me on his lap.

“I have my little barrel. Do you think it would be clever to fill
this with sauerkraut and send it to Miss X?”

Gus’s eyes filled with laughter, and a big smile broke out over
his face.

“Why, Mudgie, I think that is a wonderful idea. How did you ever
think of it?"

It was a supreme sacrifice to offer my treasure, but his enthusiasm
made it all worthwhile. He finally sent it on its way, the only response
Gus made to this particular fan.

Often, when we walked back and forth to school, someone would
pick us up and give us a ride. Invariably, if people were strangers and
they asked us our name, in response to the reply of "Wagner," they would
ask if Gus was our brother. How proud I was to say “Yes.”

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-061b-picnic-at-medical-lake-before-baseball-game-1600.jpg| Picnic before a baseball game at Medical Lake
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-062-1600.jpg|Page 62]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-062b-reardan-baseball-team-1600.jpg | Reardan baseball team
mcj-062c-medical-lake-baseball-team-1600.jpg | Medical Lake baseball team
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-063-1600.jpg|Page 63]]}}

===CHAPTER TEN: Five-F-One===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-063b-chapter-10-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 10 sketch
</gallery>

It was supper time in late summer, and Lou, Gus, Herman and
Papa were enjoying their meal in the dining room of the new house, now
almost completed. Just a few days before, linemen had changed the telephone
from the old house to the new. It was mounted on the outside wall
just beside the front door, an impressive piece of equipment with bells,
cranks and fuses ornamenting the shiny golden oak exterior. When the
telephone rang, all the family automatically stopped the conversation to
listen to the rings. One long, then one short. Yes, it was our ring on the
party line.

Lou got up from the table to answer. “Hello . . . Hello . . . Mama, is that
you?”

Mama was still in Spokane, living out in Union Park with the rest
of the family. One did not make a long distance telephone call except in
dire emergency, so Lou’s voice was instantly fearful as she called Papa
to the telephone.

“Fred,” sobbed Mama, “the baby is so sick. I’m afraid she will never get well.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-064-1600.jpg|Page 64]]}}

Instantly Papa was reassuring her, giving her comfort and moral support.

“I’ll be in on the morning train.”

In 1906, milk was sold in bulk from house to house, raw, unpasteurized.
Probably, it was from drinking the milk that I contacted a severe
case of intestinal dysentery, which at that time was commonly called summer
complaint. The pediatrician prescribed blackberry brandy diluted
in water. I became so emaciated, that Papa carried me on a pillow. During
the hot, muggy days that followed, Papa walked me back and forth
in the comparative coolness of the cellar, crooning and pacifying me,
willing me to live. For years afterward, the family usually said, "Oh
yes, Margret is a sickly child.”

The first telephone system in Reardan was installed in 1903. Service
was sketchy and unpredictable, but in spite of its shortcomings, there
was probably no one single item that made life more bearable for the
isolated farmers’ wives, than the telephone. When I was in college, I
did a term paper for a psychology course on “Insanity in Rural America."
I wasn’t really too surprised to find in my research, that the greatest
incidence of insanity was among farm women. I had seen and known
too many of them hospitalized at the Medical Lake State Insane Asylum.
The telephone brought people together.

I was out of school an hour earlier than the girls. Especially during
the cold winter months, when hungry coyotes stalked too close for
comfort, I looked for a snug, warm place to wait for them, so I could
have the security of their presence on the two mile walk home. Driscoll’s,
a general store, was probably the favorite spot. I thought Driscoll’s so
opulent. It boasted two entrances, one gave access to the grocery department,
the other to the dry goods. In the center of the store, the big pot-bellied
stove with its cozy warmth, drew me like a magnet. I kept company
with Mr. Price’s fat cardboard tailor, that held a tape measure with
aplomb in his outstretched hands. Driscolls only carried overalls and
denim jackets in stock, but a man could order a suit on a made to measure
basis. If Agnes finished her practicing early in the day, she would
occasionally join me in her father’s store. Emboldened by her presence,
we would take time to lean over the pickle barrel to inhale the wonderful
aroma of dill and vinegar, check the peanut butter barrel, where oil from
the peanuts surfaced to form abstract patterns, or hang around the cracker
barrel hoping for a handout.

Occasionally, I stopped in at Scharman’s meat market to see if
Mr. Scharman would give me a wienie. The market was always on the
cool side, to keep the meat in prime condition, so I never stayed very
long. Yearly, in late fall a half of a beef hung on hooks for all to see and
speculate over. "Guess the weight of this beef. Nearest correct answer
wins a prize," so stated the sign propped up in the window.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-065-1600.jpg|Page 65]]}}

From time to time, I’d make a short call on Mr. Ahrens at the
Farmers Union Bank, which was across the street from the meat market.
If he wasn’t busy with a customer, he would take me thru the wrought
iron wicket, and let me sit at his desk. Just up the street and across from
Raymers hardware store, was the telephone office, where Eda Wegner
reigned supreme at the switchboard. It was the most exciting place. One
never knew what you might learn if you stuck around. Eda looked so
impressive with a headphone clamped to her ears. Little copper disks,
released by electrical impulse to signal a call, went "Plop, plop, plop" all
oyer the board. Eda usually knew most of what was going on around the
community and had a wealth of information at her finger tips.

“Eda.” The call came through from one of our neighbors. “I'm
trying to get ahold of Rose Moon. Do you know if she happens to be in
town?"

“Wait a minute," she responded. “I’ll find out.” She took off her
earphone, went to the window to peer out, and returned almost immediately.
"You still on the line, Meta? I see the Moon’s big red Buick
parked in front of the post office, so probably the Mrs. is in. town
somewhere. If I spot her, I’ll tell her to call you.”

When I was little, I was sure our telephone had as much spunk and
spirit as the most cantankerous mule on the place. You never could be
sure just what would come forth. I especially hated it when the cold
north wind blew on the frost-laden intake wire, setting up a vibration that
seemed to penetrate into the marrow of my bones. Even when I crawled
down deep under the feather blankets, and put a pillow over my head, I
could still feel the buzzing ringing in my ear. There were times in the
summer, when the telephone was even more frightening. During the
furious electrical storms that hit our part of the country in late spring
and summer, often the lightening traveled down the wires and through
the box, shooting out vicious sparks. Each telephone was equipped with
a safety fuse which one was supposed to release, but often we were too
busy or careless to pull the switch. Sparks, alive and threatening, would
shoot halfway across the dining room. Papa scolded us more than once
on our negligence, always ending with this admonishment, "Do you want
to set the house on fire?”

Most of the time, however, it was rather cozy being on a party line
with your neighbors. Each one had their own series of rings, so you could
call them directly, instead of going through central. No wire tapping of
today could equal the effectiveness of the rubbering in or monitoring,
which everyone indulged in from time to time. A click from a lifted
receiver was a telltale sign that someone was listening to your conversation.

Some wives tried the direct approach against this invasion of privacy.
"Now who do you suppose is listening in on us? The big buttinsky,
why doesn’t she get off the line?"

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-066-1600.jpg|Page 66]]}}

On a number of occasions in early spring, our neighbor, Mrs. Capps,
made repetitive calls to our house. Because we usually had six or seven
milk cows on the place, Papa kept a bull we called Rueben. He was an
especially gentle and placid bull, but he was apt to go astray in the springtime,
when he would break through the fence and join the Capps’ cows.
Over the line to our house would come this forceful demand, “Tell your
father his gentleman cow is in our pasture and I want him out right
away." This always sent us into stitches of laughter, as one of us ran to
find Papa. It never bothered us to call a bull just that, but Mrs. Capps,
with her Victorian upbringing, couldn’t make herself say that word over
the telephone. You never knew who might be listening and you couldn't
be too careful.

We had another neighbor, a Mrs. Moore, who lived down the canyon
on Spring Creek, where she and her husband made a meager living
raising pigs. One day she called on the telephone and asked. for Papa.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Moore,” said Anne who had answered our ring,
”but Papa is out dynamiting.” Then she explained further, “We have a
couple of big boulders that Papa is trying to break up. They are just below
the surface of the ground, and the gang plow keeps running over
them when the boys are plowing.”

“Well," continued Mrs. Moore, "I have to make a trip into Reardan
tomorrow, and I’m wondering if your father could come in with us." She
gave no further details.

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Moore stopped by in their buggy.
“Fred,” she greeted Papa, “I have to go into town to the dentist and
have a back tooth pulled. I’m simply scared to death. I think I could
survive if you would come in with me, hold my hands while the Doctor
is pulling my tooth and give me some moral support.” Papa was enough
of a lady’s-man to be pleased at the request and was happy to oblige.
Going to the dentist when I was young, was an ordeal that no one looked
forward to.

There was no one more ready and willing to give help in time of
trouble, than the farmers in our little Reardan community. Because of
the long hours of work, most people went to bed early. When there was
a ring on the telephone after nine o’clock at night, it usually meant illness
or some other crisis. Then you got up to listen in on the call to see if
there was something that you could do to help.

Neither sleet or hail, drought or frost could elicit fear in the hearts of
farmers to such an intense degree, as did the fear of fire. There was
no county fire fighting equipment available. Few, if any, of the farmers
carried insurance to cushion the loss by fire. When the telephone rang
in the middle of the night, more often than not someone’s barn was burning.
The common fault lay in storing hay that was not completely dried
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-067-1600.jpg|Page 67]]}}
out by the wind and sun. Wet hay stored in an enclosed building would
generate enough heat to start spontaneous combustion.

I remember one barn fire I saw with Papa out in the Crescent country.
We had driven out to buy a wheel of cheese, when we noticed a blaze
in the distance. When we got there, neighbors were already trying
desperately to get the livestock out of the barn. There was one terror-stricken
mare balking and struggling, as men tried to lead her out of the smoke-filled
building. As they finally got her out, she wheeled around and
started back inside. Only the quick action of one of the men prevented
her from doing so.

Through the years, Papa was especially careful as far as fire was
concerned. The hired men were not allowed to smoke around the
out-buildings. It seemed to me that most of the men chewed tobacco anyway,
but usually on Saturday night when they went into town to get roaring
drunk, they had a big fat cigar clamped between their teeth. Occasionally,
an over-zealous imbiber would seek refuge in our barn, instead of
plodding on home to an irate wife. If Papa heard him, he always got up
to make sure the man had no matches or other combustibles before he allowed
him to sleep off the effect of his over-indulgence.

Our granary caught on fire once, ignited by lightning. It was in the
early spring of 1914, and although it was past our bedtime, we were all
still up because Rose was critically ill with erysipelas. Her very high
fever had brought on a temporary delirium, so Papa and Lou were applying
cold compresses, trying to bring down the fever. Thunderheads, which
had been developing all evening, finally broke loose just overhead, while
lightning flashed continuously, followed by reverberating claps of thunder.
Someone remembered to pull the telephone switch, but otherwise we were
so concerned with Rose’s condition, that we hardly took time to notice
what was going on up in the sky. All of a sudden there was a direct hit,
which instantaneously ignited a corner of the granary.

“Fire,” yelled Herman, as he went bounding out the door. "Looks
like it’s the barn.”

Rose was temporarily abandoned to my care, while the rest of the
family grabbed buckets and milk pails and went to fight the blaze. The
watering trough used for drinking water for the animals was full, so
each one tore from trough to fire while Papa took charge. It was a
very dark night and on one trip, Herman, with two water-filled pails,
stumbled and fell face forward onto a pile of sand which was to be used
for some building project. Minna said afterward that you could hear him
swear as far away as Reardan. Finally, Papa realized the canvas draperies
used on the header seemed to be feeding the fire, so he dragged
them free of the building. Fortunately, there was only minor damage
and in a little while everything was brought under control.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-068-1600.jpg|Page 68]]}}

In the meantime, I was doing a mighty poor job as nurse. I had
an unholy fear of fire, and on top of that, I was afraid of Rose raving
away to herself. In her delirium she kept calling out, “I’m Chub, I'm
old Chub. Get on my back." I didn’t even want to go near Rose when
she was in this strange condition, but instead, squatted near the window,
cowering in near panic as I tried to see what was going on outside. Finally,
Rose sat up in bed and again demanded, "Don’t you hear me? I
said for you to get on my back." In order to placate her, I got on the
bed, straddled her stomach and stayed there until Lou finally got back
to the house and came to my rescue.

There was another winter some years later, when Rose was critically
ill again, this time with double pneumonia. Papa was in California,
so it was Lou who nursed and cared for Rose. The upstairs bedrooms had
no heat, so in order to keep Rose warm and close by, Lou made a bed
for her on the couch in the dining room. Again the high fever brought
on moments of violent delirium. Lou was at the telephone, calling the
Doctor in Reardan, when Rose leaped out of bed, crawled under the table
and vehemently kicked the underside.

“Oh Doctor, can’t you come out right away?" pleaded Lou. "Rose
is so wild in her delirium, she’s kicking the table and all. Isn’t there
something we can do to get this fever down?”

Someone was listening in on the conversation. By the time it had
been retold a dozen or more times, the story around Reardan was that
Rose Wagner kicked all the furniture in the dining room to smithereens.
When she finally recovered and went back to high school, she came in
for some very fancy kidding.

We kept our same number, Five-F-One, and our same easy to listen
for ring of a long and a short all during the years of our childhood.

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-068b-1913-reardan-fire-1600.jpg | 1913 Reardan fire
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-069-1600.jpg|Page 69]]}}

===CHAPTER ELEVEN: Pass The Honey, Dear===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-069b-chapter-11-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 11 sketch
</gallery>

Most farmers were especially proud of their sons. Sons grew up to
offer the manpower that was needed to develop the land. Any farmer considered
his son as money in the bank. With girls, it was a different story.
Papa, however, was always loyal to his daughters and made us feel that
we were worth as much as any boy.

Mama’s big concern was how to find husbands for her bevy of
girls. Her mind was often on the subject long before the girls were of
marriageable age. I can see her saying to herself, "Well, I’ll tackle this
problem one at a time.”

Lou, as the oldest, received her first attention. When Lou was about
eighteen, a German fellow from the Reardan area came out to the farm
to give Papa a hand. Joe was pleasant, affable and industrious. Mama
was taken with him. Looking him over, through the weeks he was there,
she decided, "Now here is a good German young man. He will make a
fine husband for Louise."

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-070-1600.jpg|Page 70]]}}

That fall in October, when Lou had her eighteenth birthday, Mama
decided to have a party for her. Guests were invited mostly from the
church and Sunday School, also a few neighbors and of course, Joe. After
breakfast, Mama made the round of the garden, finding a few blooms
that had not been frost killed. Coming into the house, she called Louise,
“I want you to take these blossoms and this bit of velvet ribbon and
fashion it into an armlet. Later we’ll play a game. Each girl can tie
these flowers onto the arm of the boy she likes the best. I want you to
tie it on Joe’s arm when its your turn.”

Lou wasn’t consulted in this decision. At the turn of the century,
Mama was still the one that knew best. Anyway, Lou was always gentle
and tractable. She wouldn’t defy Mama on any matter if she could avoid
it.

Apparently, Joe considered Lou’s actions as an invitation of more
import than Lou had placed in it. He continued to come out to the farm.
Sitting at the dining room table, he would smirk to all assembled, when
asking for the honey to be passed. "Pass the honey, dear," but his eyes
were on Lou. Finally, Joe asked Papa and Mama if he could have their
daughter Louise in marriage. Both the folks were more than willing.
However, Lou was adamant in her refusal. Joe was a nice fellow, but
she wasn’t ready for marriage. Not long afterward, he left the Reardan
country, and word drifted back that Joe had gotten married. Later we
heard that Joe’s wife divorced him. Divorce. That was a scary word
in our vocabulary when we were young. Joe was probably the first person
we knew who had actually been divorced. "Did he look any different
now that he was divorced?" we wondered.

During the few remaining years of her life, Mama was much too
ill to think about marriage for any of her daughters. More and more, Lou
had to assume the responsibility of raising the rest of us. Whatever ideas
she might have had on the subject of marriage were firmly put behind
her for the time being.

Several years passed and it was not until 1917 that Joe came back
into our lives. America had become involved in the European War, Gus
was drafted into the army, but Herman had been deferred to run the
farm. With so many of the country boys called into the service, hired
help of any kind was almost non-existent.

Papa was in Reardan. He had just come out of Scharman’s Meat
Market with a package. As he hurried down the street to where Molly,
our sorrel mare, was tied, Papa was accosted by an unfamiliar person.

"Fred. Fred Wagner.”

A look of recognition came into Papa’s eyes and his face broke into
a warm smile. "Why of course, Joe. For a moment I didn’t recognize
you. What are you doing back in Reardan?"

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-071-1600.jpg|Page 71]]}}

“Oh, I just stopped by for a few days to see my folks.”

"You’re not in the army?”

“No, I’m too old for the draft. I’m dickering with the idea of going
over to the coast. I understand there is a lot of work to be found in the
shipyards. How are all you folks?”

“We're all well. I’ve lost Lena some years ago, in case you haven’t heard.”

"No, I hadn’t and I’m so sorry. Mighty fine woman you had there."

“Then my boy Gus is in the army. He’s stationed at Camp Lewis
near Tacoma. His being gone is really a hardship, as it leaves me short
handed, with any kind of help almost impossible.”

"How’s Louise?" asked Joe, and then he continued in a meditative
manner, "Is she married?"

"No, no she isn’t. With Lena gone, Louise has stayed home to help
me raise the girls. Fine job she’s doing too.”

They chinned for a few more moments, then Papa tentatively asked,
“Don’t suppose you’d consider coming out and working for me for a
month or so. I surely could use some help with the spring plowing.”

“Well, yes, I guess I could give you a hand for a bit.”

Papa, the practical realist, didn’t give Joe a chance to change his
mind. When Papa returned from town that evening, there was Joe in the
buggy beside him.

It wasn't too many days later, that Lou cornered Papa on his way
out to do the chores. "Papa, I want to talk with you for a minute. Do
you know that old fool is still looking me over? I can’t stand his ogling
and I know he’s going to propose the first chance he gets. What will I
do?”

“Well Louise, I won’t try to change your mind, but Joe always
seemed like a decent fellow to me. However, if its no go its no go. See
if you can’t stall him until the plowing is finished.”

With Bert, Rose, Minna and me at home, it was fairly easy for
one of us to be with Lou as soon as Joe came in from the field until he
went out again. All went surprisingly well, and we had almost come to
the conclusion that Lou’s imagination had led her astray.

The plowing on the home place was finished. It was time to move
operations over to Mondovi. As Herman was needed at home, Joe
was sent over to do the work. As Lou was the only one of the girls
who could drive the Buick, which was needed at both places, she was
the logical one to be sent out to Mondovi to do the cooking. I was sent
along as chaperone.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-072-1600.jpg|Page 72]]}}

At twelve, I was probably a pretty good candidate for the job. For
one thing, I was the baby and it seemed necessary for Lou to keep me
under her protective wing. For another, I was at an age when I talked
incessantly. At every meal I usurped all conversation at the table. There
was simply no possibility of a pregnant silence. After several days, I
could sense Joe’s annoyance at the situation in which he found himself
and realized only too well he was biding his time for an opportunity to
declare himself.

An event occurred that was a blessing in disguise. I came down
with a severe case of conjunctivitis. It seemed to me that about that age,
any contagious disease found me a likely candidate. My eyes were
swollen and inflamed. Each morning when I awakened, my lashes
were tightly glued together from the dried secretion. I couldn’t even see
until Lou had brought me cold compresses with which to bathe my eyes.
Some neighbor suggested cold tea applied to the eyes, which did seem
to bring some relief. I’d stagger out to the kitchen, sit by the stove with
a large basin of cold tea and dab at my eyes, all the while commiserating
with myself. A few days later Lou came down with the same malady.
Under such adverse conditions, it hardly seemed propitious for Joe to
do more than offer sympathy.

All during this time, the plowing went steadily on. Also, the pink
eye ran its course and was swiftly forgotten. This particular morning,
after Joe had gone to the field, I went out to the barn to play with my
little homemade car. I didn’t realize that the work Joe was doing was so
near the house. Apparently he had seen me leave, so he tied up the team
and re-entered the kitchen.

"What’s the matter, Joe?" was Lou’s startled retort. "Why are
you back in the house?”

"I’ve been sticking around here now for weeks, waiting for a chance
to ask you to be my wife. Surely you knew what was in my mind and
yet you seemed to have avoided me."

Lou was silent a few moments, and then shook her head in negation.
“I’m sorry.”

"Why, Louise, why? You know how much your Mother wanted you
to marry me. Isn’t her wish important to you?”

“Yes, Joe, I know Mama liked you very much. You’re a nice
fellow, but it's just no go.”’

"Then why in the hell am I sticking around here. I’ll be damned
if I ask you again.”

By the time I had gotten back to the kitchen, Joe had passed
outside in a huff. "Did he pop the question?”

"Yes," whispered Lou, half sobbing. "And he didn’t even finish the
plowing. What am I going to tell Papa?”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-073-1600.jpg|Page 73]]}}

===CHAPTER TWELVE: Auto-Mo-Bubbling to the Coast===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-073-chapter-12-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 12 sketch
</gallery>

Our first trip to the coast was made by car to see our brother Gus,
who was stationed near Aberdeen. It must have been in June or early
July, as we had already moved out of the upstairs bedrooms, with their
smothering heat, into the more comfortable sleeping accommodations
outside. Papa had helped us put up the tent and bring down the beds.

Moving out each year was a momentous occasion. Because the
stairs were narrow with no hallway at the bottom, anything of any size
was moved in and out by way of the front windows and over the porch.
First of all, we removed the tall windows from the casement. Then, with
all of us helping as much as we could between groans and giggles, we
pulled the beds apart, slid them down over the porch, where Papa waited
to maneuver the bulky heavier pieces. Our big twelve by fourteen foot
tent was ample enough to accommodate three double beds. Sleeping outside
in the cooler air was much more comfortable, although we usually
had to swat several mosquitoes, or put our heads under the sheets to avoid
being bitten. Minna was especially vulnerable to their poison and usually
had one or more big welts on her arms or face.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-074-1600.jpg|Page 74]]}}

On this particular night the moon was full. It seemed to shed an
unusual brightness over the lake, the house and the fields. Bertie could
not sleep. As she kept turning in bed, she noticed Rose shifting her body.

“Res-la, are you awake?" she wispered.

“Yes” Rose answered, ‘It is so light outside that I can't settle
down.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” Bertie suggested.
"Let me awaken Minna first.”

The whispering awakened me, and not wanting to be left out, I
immediately announced, "I’m coming too.”

We slid out of bed, slipped on our felt bedroom slippers, and still
clad in only our nighties, started through the garden, past the chicken
house and then on around the lake. We had had a letter from Gus that
day and we were discussing his new transfer from Fort Lewis to the
Spruce Division near Aberdeen.

Suddenly Bertie said, "Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could drive
over to the coast and see him.”

Several months before, Gus, who had been drafted into the army,
was sent to Fort Lewis for his basic training. The first draft included
unmarried men from eighteen to thirty. Gus was twenty-eight. Papa was
a pacifist and had imbued us all against the evils of fighting or war. Gus
went into the service reluctantly and it was with heavy hearts that we all
gathered at the depot to say goodbye. Gus had been so close to his family,
that it was inevitable that he was homesick. In one of his early letters
to Anne he wrote.

"My dear Anne,

“I just finished eating supper and will write a line to you tonight.
Been here four days and have had some time of it. When we first came
here, they were not ready for us in the way of accommodation. Hardly
nothing to eat and the first three nights I nearly froze to death. Have only
two small blankets and they are not much.”

Gus was appalled at the lack of organization. The utterly inane
tasks the sergeant of his platoon assigned to the recruits sickened him.
While he seemed to have avoided any confrontation with his officers, he
still rebelled privately at the way some of the draftees were disciplined.
Soon after he finished his basic training and was awaiting shipment over
seas, he stopped by the bulletin board where he spotted a notice calling
for volunteers to work in the woods. The Aviation section of the Signal
Corps needed spruce in the manufacture of planes. This was a crucial
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-075-1600.jpg|Page 75]]}}
shortage, so it was decided to send soldiers in to get the work done. This
offered a postponement to being sent to the war front, so Gus jumped at
the chance to join this.unit,.which was called the Spruce Division.

“I am in with a strange bunch of fellows here," he. wrote. "This
was a picked bunch from Camp Lewis and I have to look up to them in
size. They are the wildest, huskiest fellows I ever saw.”

He went on, “We will work in the timber and may be here for a
long while. I might never see the front at all. I feel pretty good about it.”

Elsie Cutler, one of the nurses who had graduated from St. Luke’s
Hospital the same year Anne did, had been a frequent visitor out at the
farm. She and Gus became engaged a few months before he went into
the service. Now he felt fairly secure in the Aberdeen area, so he and
Elsie made plans for marriage. She went to the coast and in a simple
ceremony, the first of the Wagners had a spouse. They were able to set
up housekeeping at the logging camp, so for the rest of his stay in the
army, Gus enjoyed the security of love and affection.

Bertie’s suggestion was almost too unbearable to even contemplate.
It seemed so wonderful, and the more we talked about the idea, the more
plausible it seemed. By the time we returned the more it was, in our
minds at least, a ''fait accompli''.

As we were dressing, the following morning, the four of us enlisted
Lou to help us persuade Papa on the idea of the trip. As the eldest girl,
with the levelest head, Papa gave her ideas consideration. It was at the
supper table that night that Lou approached the subject.

“Papa,” she said, “I have an idea on my mind and I want to know
what you think of it. As you well know, the spring plowing is all finished,
the hay isn’t quite ready to cut, so we have a lull in the farm work.”

She paused a moment, and then finally blurted out, "Oh Papa,
couldn’t we drive over to the coast and see Gus?” The rest of us added
our entreaties to hers.

Papa did not answer her for a fem moments. His vivid blue eyes
took on an opaque color. One could almost tell what thoughts were sweeping
his mind, as he considered the situation.

"Could it be possible to swing the trip?" What Louise said made
sense. It was a fairly quiet time before harvest and Herman could take
care of the place and the stock.” These and a hundred ideas must have
crossed ‘his mind. “I don’t know,” he finally spoke. "I’ll think about it."

That evening, after they left the table, Papa and Herman went
out to the granary to look over and check the Buick. Papa never learned
to drive the car. He felt much more comfortable behind a span of horses,
but he gravely consulted with Herman about the engine as they peered
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-076-1600.jpg|Page 76]]}}
under the hood. They kicked the wooden spokes on the wheels to check
for solidness and examined the tires. The two back ones were worn and
would have to be replaced. At fifty dollars a tire, this represented a good
deal of money. Roads were poor, tires were expensive and of poor quality.
If you got five thousand miles to a tire, you thought you had good
service out of it.

We never considered taking the car out on the road without first
checking to see that the jack, the air pump, extra boots for repairing a
blow-out and vulcanizing material and patching cement for repairing the
inner tube were easily available. The road from Reardan to Spokane was
surfaced with cement, which was relatively easy on tires. If we got into
Spokane and back, a distance of fifty miles, without some kind of tire
trouble, we thought we were lucky. Constant repetition of the job made
all of us girls extremely efficient. We made a game of timing each
change to see if we could increase our speed. It took us about seventeen
minutes from the time we all piled out of the car, to jack up the wheel
and make a simple change of putting on a spare.

We could tell Papa was warming up to the idea of a trip. Rose suggested
a call to Anne in Spokane to tell her about our plans. We did not
call long distance unless it was a grave necessity, but we felt this one
was warranted. When Lou explained the tire situation, Anne immediately
offered to buy the two tires. She could always be counted on to come to
the rescue.

Herman made a call at Raymers the next time he was in town.
He stopped for two reasons, one to see the pert young stenographer,
Martha Knudson, to whom he was engaged, and the other was to talk
with Mr. Raymer about our proposed trip to the coast. Mr. Raymer
had the biggest store in Reardan in tools, machinery and hardware. He
was also the Buick agent who sold Papa our car for fifteen hundred
dollars.

“What can you tell me about the road from here to the coast?”
asked Herman. "My folks are considering making the trip over to see
Gus. Do you think they can make it?”

"Goodness, Herman,” Mr. Raymer replied. "I don’t know of anyone
around here that has made a trip that long. I would guess the hardest
part of the trip would be over the mountains. Which way are they figuring
on going?”

By the time the talk was completed, Mr. Raymer had really given
Herman very little help concerning the roads. Some signs had been
posted, we knew, from seeing a small weather worn unpainted board
nailed to a fence post just west of town. Route 10. If there were signs
along the way, then surely that indicated people were traveling along
route 10. If other people could make the trip, so could we.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-077-1600.jpg|Page 77]]}}

There was an endless discussion of what to wear and what to take.
The war had brought on tremendous changes in peoples attitudes concerning
dress. We could decide to wear coveralls and knew we would not be
censored for it. As we planned on camping along the way, we four younger
girls bought khaki colored coveralls, but Lou said she wouldn’t feel right
unless she could wear a dress.

I wonder how we all fitted into the car. Besides the six of us, we
had camping paraphernalia, food and cooking equipment, as well as extra
clothes. The Buick had no trunk, but it did have an ample running
board, so Papa used this space to store our things. We drove with the
black canvas top folded back, the isinglass side curtains left at home.

On the morning of our departure, we were up at two. The standard
breakfast, that was usually served when we took the horses and wagon
into Spokane, was in evidence again. Hard boiled eggs, homemade bread
and hot cocoa. Papa, as usual when we were leaving home for a few
days, quipped, "Now eat plenty. There’ll be no more until we get back
home." Then he beamed a benign smile on his girls.

Rose, the realist in the family, said, "Now Papa, really."

At last we were on our way, Lou supreme at the wheel, then I and
then Papa. The three other girls were in the back. There was just a
hint of dawn, as we waved goodbye to Herman. A slight amount of dew
was falling, irradiant with morning rainbow colors. I hugged myself in
sheer delight.

We first traversed familiar country, around the lake to Aunt Barbara's
and Capps'. Another mile and here was Reardan, quiet in the early
morning. Not even a dog barked a greeting. West past the Arthur Toll
place, on to the Sparks’ farm, with its affluent house, barn and
out-buildings and then to the Zimmands, where we often visited.

Davenport. Wilbur, Almira. The roads were not too bad. From
Almira on, however, the road was like driving down a river bed. Course
gravel as big as your fist had been laid out on top of the dust, not packed
down, and not even rutted. We made our own track, traveling slower
and slower, until it seemed one could walk faster than the speed of our
car. Lou’s mouth became a little more set, her hands clutched the steering
wheel with more determination and conversation all but stopped. We
kept saying to each other, "What will this do to our tires?"

Finally, the gravel gave way to the old familiar dust and our spirits
lightened and chattering was resumed. We checked each field of wheat,
guessed the probable yield, moaned over each frost damaged draw. As
we came closer to Coulee City, the soil became thin and alkali. Many
of the homesteads had been abandoned, leaving ramshackle buildings.
On some, only the windmills turning in the breeze, told the story of hope
and despair.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-078-1600.jpg|Page 78]]}}

We passed very few cars, although occasionally we could wave to
a farmer driving a team of horses. Headlines, a few days earlier from
the Spokesman Review, carried the story of three escaped convicts from
Walla Walla that were presumed to be hiding somewhere in the grand
coulee. We kept an eagle eye open for anyone or anything that might
be suspect. The desolation of the area in the coulee and its feeling of
hostility made us uncomfortable, so we all gave a sigh of relief when we
came to the top and Waterville.

From Waterville, we caught our first glimpse of the Cascade mountains,
faint, blue, mysterious and exciting. At the edge of the plains we
could look down far below to the Columbia River. It seemed as though
the switchbacks would go on forever, as Lou, keeping the car in low to
Save the brakes, slowly moved from one to another. We made numerous
stops. At each one, Papa bounded out of the car with a big rock he
kept handy at his feet, to anchor the back wheel. Finally, we reached
the banks of the river, crossed over it and came to Wenatchee. From
dawn until mid-afternoon, we had been traveling steadily to log the first
hundred and fifty miles of our trip.

Road maps had yet to be thought of, road signs, what few there
were, were elusive. It took all our combined watching to spot them.
When we needed gas, we often had to thoroughly search a town before
we could find the one gas pump. We always stopped and asked the farmers
along the way for directions. More often than not, they knew little,
but they were usually friendly, which made us feel good.

In Wenatchee, we slowly canvassed the town before we finally located
a pump in front of a general store. After a few moments, a man
came out of the shop, looked us over and said, “You need gas?”

“Yes,” said Papa. “We’re on our way over to Aberdeen to see my
son, who is in the army."

“You don’t say. Where you from?”

"Reardan, in Lincoln County. We are farmers there.”

“Well now, you folks are making quite a trip." And then, as he looked
Lou over he added, "Is the young lady doing all the driving?"

Papa had gotten out of the car so he could watch the gas gauge.
There was a cylinder of glass at the top of the pump, which was filled
from a storage tank by pulling and pushing a lever. When the ten gallon
container was filled, the gasoline was released by gravity flow into the
car tank. The measurement from one to ten was marked on the outside.
When Papa was assured he had gotten his fair measure, he took his suede
money pouch from his pocket and counted the change.

“We’re looking for a place to camp. Where would you suggest we
could find a likely spot?" Papa asked.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-079-1600.jpg|Page 79]]}}

“If I were you, I’d push on until I got to the foot of Blewett Pass.
That is the one you have to take to get over the mountains. There is a
nice little stream with plenty of good water and you’ll be all set to go
over the pass first thing in the morning. I haven’t made the trip myself,
but I understand the road is passable during the summer.”

With such reassuring words, Lou pushed the Buick on to end the trip
for the day.

I don’t believe any of us had camped in woods that were as dense
as the Douglas fir. The blue-black trees, so closely spaced; seemed
awesome and forbidding compared to our own pine forests. The mountain
stream tumbled from boulder to boulder, white and busy. Soon
Papa had arranged a ring of river stones to contain the cooking fire.
By the time supper was over and camp readied for the night, we were
more than willing to call it a day. Papa rolled up in his blanket near
the fire, so he could keep a watchful eye on the embers, which he kept
burning through the night. The rest of us snuggled into a common bed.
I’m sure I must have commandeered the center position for safety and
security. The next morning at dawn, as I awakened, I looked up through
the lacy pattern of the overhanging brake fern and momentarily thought,
"I must be dead.”

...Another early morning departure, to get a head start on the two
other campers nearby. Back and forth we climbed, the road narrow,
steep, winding and tortuous. At times, we wondered how Lou could ever
get the car around some of the sharp corners. We finally made it almost
to the top without meeting any other vehicle. Then, at the last
curve, we met face-to-face a model T Ford. Could they get past us or
not? Bertie began to cry. Papa got out to size up the situation and consult
with the other driver, while the rest of us froze with fright, except
Lou, who at least managed an outward calm.

“We at least have the inside of the road. We'll be all right.”

With much “Whoaing” from Papa and “Hold it" by the others,
the driver of the Ford inched his car to the extreme edge of the bluff.
Slowly, Lou made her way forward bit by bit, until she managed to clear.
The breathless moments seemed eternity, until we were safely past. The
men congratulated each other, shook hands all around and then, with
Papa back in the car, we continued on our way.

Our route took us through Olympia, where we saw our first Capitol
building. It seemed the most beautiful, the most elegant building I had
ever seen in all my life. Somehow, it called for a song, so we all joined
in singing:

<poem>
Washington, my Washington
From Mica Peak to Tobish Isle
Thy bounteous wealth exacts a smile
Washington, my Washington.
</poem>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-080-1600.jpg|Page 80]]}}

About noon of the third day, we finally arrived in Aberdeen. Sixteen
more miles to the woods camp and Gus. We gathered around him
''en masse'', chattering like magpies, we were so happy to see him again.

The days flew by all too quickly. Gus’ C.O. gave him a little time
off. We spent one whole day at the beach, where there were so many
new sights, sounds and smells to absorb. That tremendous expanse of
water, was it really the Pacific Ocean? And if it really was pacific, why
did it roar all the time with such endless regularity? Accustomed to the
dry air and higher altitude of Spokane country, the dampness of fog and
water seemed so strange, the odors of the drying kelp, bilge and dead
marine life, seemed too different on first impact to assimilate.

Papa thoroughly enjoyed digging for razor clams. "You have to
be fast to get these," he boasted as he lifted each one for us to admire.
The Dungeness crabs were so prolific, we raked them out of the tide
pools. The girls raced barefooted before incoming breakers, but I was
too timid to follow, and contented myself picking up small treasures on
the beach. I found a smooth, perfect sand dollar which I carried back
home. For months afterward I caressed that shell, gently rubbing my
hand over its surface.

Back at camp, they gave us the use of the hand car, so we went
riding back and forth on the tracks if we got clearance from the switchman.
There were wild blackberries to pick for pies, woods to explore,
strange birds to watch. One day, while berry picking, we momentarily
shared the same patch with a brown bear. We did not stop to argue
prior picking rights, but went scurrying back to our conveyance and on
down the tracks.

The most wonderful part of the trip though, was being able to visit
with Gus. Each day he spent at the donkey engine, maneuvering the big
spruce logs into position and bringing them down by cable to the railroad
siding for loading. Each evening he recounted the interesting incidents,
or made some comment on the crew with whom he worked.

What was there about our six-foot-two, one hundred and ninety-seven pound,
rangy, big-boned brother, that made him so extra special
to us all? He had charisma, a touch of gentleness and an intuitive ability
to make each one of us seem extra special, as he talked to us. Gus
would slouch comfortably on his spine with one big foot across his knee,
while his penetrating big blue eyes gave encouragement. He had that
rare quality of being a good listener as well as an interesting talker.

In the few letters of Gus’ that have survived, one catches a glimpse
of his brotherly encouragement and advice.

“Dear little girls," he wrote to Minna and Rose, who were attending
]Washington State College. "How are you getting along with your
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-081-1600.jpg|Page 81]]}}
studies? I am most interested in and looking forward for you to make
a good record. It will mean work, I know, but that is what you are
there for.”

Or to me, "Dear Mudge. You wrote me the nicest letter last week.
That was a lot of news." And surely he would have inquired into the
piano lessons and encouraged the practicing. It was Gus who wanted me
to have piano lessons and paid for them.

All too soon it was time to say goodbye. The nearest town on the
western side of Blewett Pass was Cle-Elum which was our first night’s
destination. An intense heat and acrid pall of smoke hung over the valley
as we approached the town. Almost all of Cle Elum was a mass of hot,
smoldering coals. We drove on a few miles. The sadness and desolation
we had just seen made us ill at ease and fitful as we prepared to camp.
Papa stayed awake through the night. Once again I had my repetitive
dream of fire that plagued me all during my growing up years. We
were all glad when the night was over and we could be on our way.

On the grade out of the Columbia River gorge up into Waterville,
the Buick repeatedly boiled and the engine overheated. We were fortunate
to find a small spring where we filled the coffee pot, which Papa
kept between his knees in readiness to refill the radiator. We were almost
near the top, when Papa burned his hand quite badly in removing
the radiator cap.

From Waterville on, we saw signs of heavy wind damage.
Buildings were askew, crops were laid flat and dust covered. "Would it be
this bad at home?” we wondered. Finally we got to Mondovi, where we
turned north to check our wheat there. All looked fine. What a relief.

Herman greeted us gladly. "No, there was no wheat damage, but
the dust had really been kicked up by the storm."

Lou looked around the house. Everything was covered with dust
from one end to the other. Already, she was mentally parceling out jobs
for each of us to do in the morning. With Lou in command, everything
was going to be neat, clean and tidy.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-082-1600.jpg|Page 82]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-082b-first-buick-papa-in-back-rose-and-friend-1600.jpg | Our first Buick, papa in back and Rose and friend in front.
mcj-082c-lou-and-bertie-1600.jpg | Lou and Bertie
mcj-082d-gus-suit-1600.jpg | Gus Wagner
mcj-082e-gus-uniform-1600.jpg | Gus Wagner
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-083-1600.jpg|Page 83]]}}

===CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Holidays Remembered===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-083b-chapter-13-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 13 sketch
</gallery>

Every family builds their own traditions. Holidays become special
by the repetition of certain activities that eventually become time honored.
In our family, many things we did were because we had so
learned them from Papa or Mama. There were others that developed
quite by chance. I don’t know who thought of the idea of going out to the
granary before Thanksgiving dinner for a weighing in of each of us, and
then after dinner, going out again to get on the wheat scales to see who
had gained the most. We thought this was great fun, so we continued the
practice until it became a family tradition. There were variations from
year to year. A prize was given to the one who gained the most,
and eventually each one had to be searched on the second round
for heavy objects hidden in pockets. Herman especially loved to put a
pistol in his hip pocket with the stock prominently showing.

Another tradition, which I simply adored, was shared mostly by
Papa and me. This happened each Easter when the Easter bunny came
to our house. In the corner of the garden nearest the barn, was a large
boulder, approximately three by five feet in size. The top of the boulder
had a slight depression, where each year I built a nest of straw for
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-084-1600.jpg|Page 84]]}}
the Easter bunny. Our Easter bunny was special. He was shy, so he
would only lay his eggs when no one was peeking, and he continued his
egg laying through the entire day, usually laying one candy Easter egg
at a time. I might be practicing the piano, wiping dishes or playing a
game, when I would hear Papa calling from the dining room window.

“Margret, come quickly. I think I just saw the Easter bunny going
over the hill." As I tore over to catch a glimpse of this elusive fellow,
Papa always said, “Did you see him? There, just over the hill you can
still see his tail, Oh, no, he’s gone. Let’s go see if he left an egg for you.”

Without fail, there would be a nice chocolate egg, or a pink, blue or
yellow one with marshmallow filling. Perhaps this would be repeated a
half dozen times a day, and even after I knew for certain that the Easter
bunny and Papa were one and the same, I still enjoyed keeping up the
illusion. It was a sad day, the last time I built a nest and found instead
of one egg, a kitchen bowl containing all of the candy eggs.

During most of my growing up, Mama was no longer living and
Papa was in California for the winter, so Louise and Gus assumed the
responsibility of making each Christmas a memorable one. By December,
harvest was a thing of the past, fall chores, such as spreading animal
manures out in the fields, would be finished before the ground froze
solid, and the machinery would be oiled and put under cover. Usually by
Thanksgiving, the ice in Spring Creek was thick enough for the fellows to
cut into blocks. The building that housed our chickens also contained
space for ice storage. There, deep in sawdust, Gus and Herman stored
several tons of ice for use in making ice cream the following summer.
There was still the routine feeding and caring for the livestock, as well as
the yearly chore of making wood, cords and cords of it for the kitchen
stove and heaters. Especially in winter, a prodigious amount of fuel was
consumed to keep the house snug and warm. Still, the pace of life was
much more leisurely than at any other time of the year.

From the time that Christmas vacation from school began, until
Christmas Eve, when we opened our gifts, there was bustling activity and
enjoyable visiting as we prepared for "The Day." Herman or Gus would
bring in an anvil and a hammer from the blacksmith’s shop, set it up near
the fire and take turns cracking and shelling walnuts for the candy making
in progress. Gus, who was quite a visitor, would talk as he worked,
so the girls were constantly traveling back and forth from the kitchen
to the dining room, so they would not miss the conversation. His gentle
sense of humor and his dry witticism would send us all off into gales of
laughter.

Our cousin, Albert Erdman, who lived a quarter of a mile away on
the adjacent farm, usually dropped in for a daily visit. A blast of icy
north wind would come rushing in ahead of him as he opened the door and
called, "Anybody home?"

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“Of course we are, you silly," someone would exclaim. "Come in
fast and shut the door."

Albert would shuck his heavy mackinaw coat and outer garments,
then back up to the cozy warmth of the stove.

“Say, I saw a funny one today." Without being more explicit, he
would wait with a big grin on his face for someone to urge him to continue.
"I was walking back from town just now and as I passed Capps, I
happened to notice Molly’s clothesline."

Molly and Henry Capps were the third family that lived in our
hollow. Their place was on the other side of the lake toward Reardan.
They were Mama and Papa’s contemporaries. Henry Capps was tall,
angular, taciturn; Molly was tall, voluminous, friendly. Molly, who made
tender delicious cakes, was usually selected to make the wedding cakes
for Reardan brides. I guess she enjoyed eating as much as she did
cooking, for we decided she weighed at least three hundred pounds.

"Well," continued Albert, "between the frost and the wind, that
long underwear of Molly’s billowed out into quite a size. I'll bet it's as
big as it is when she has it on. Yes sir, it was quite a sight.”

He broke into a hearty laugh. Every time Albert came over, he
had some event to relate that had amused him. He told his stories with
enough dramatic emphasis that we loved listening to him.

Each girl had her own special candy for making. Anne’s was
penuche, Bertie’s divinity, while Lou made the fudge. In addition to these
three standbys, we might try some new variety such as fondant, which
we stuffed into dates or dipped in chocolate, peanut brittle, taffy or popcorn
balls. Occasionally, the syrup was under-cooked and the candy would
not thicken, regardless of how long it was beaten. Then, one of the girls
would brave the icy weather and drop the candy by spoonfuls onto a
clean white patch of snow. Usually, after an hour or so, it would have
solidified sufficiently so it could be taken in and wrapped in wax paper.

Lou collected shoe boxes through the year. A few days before
Christmas, eight of these were brought out, placed on the dining table
and filled to overflowing with our homemade candy, and various kinds of
unshelled nuts. If there wasn’t quite enough to make a good showing,
Lou might add store bought hard candies. The boxes were never wrapped
or decorated in any way, just utilitarian receptacles, still smelling faintly
of shoe leather on the inside, while outside, over labels such as W. L.
Douglas, Peters or Shelby, each of our names was written in crayon by
Lou’s neat hand.

About four miles from the ranch, the rolling prairie gave way to
a canyon where the woods began. Mostly, the trees were of yellow pine,
but interspersed among them were small fir. On down the canyon several
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miles, we owned a quarter section of land called the wood lot, where
in the winter the boys cut our firewood. Usually they would bring home
our Christmas tree, but on several occasions some of us girls took my
sled and walked after a tree. Near the head of the canyon, the small fir
were plentiful. We had a fine time looking over many trees before we
found the perfect one to chop down and bring home to set up in the parlor.
What a delight it was for me to find buckberry peeking out of the
snow. Their velvety white texture felt so smooth under my fingers. I'd
pick some chartreuse moss growing on the north side of the pines, to
take back with the buckberry for a little arrangement.

During the winter, when the weather was so cold, most of our living
was confined to the kitchen and dining room. Although we had a wood
heater in the parlor, we used the room very little, except for special
occasions. However, during the Christmas season, we kept the parlor
warm so we could enjoy the tree.

Many of our ornaments Mama had brought back from Germany on
her last trip there. The red paper Christmas bells that folded flat for
storage which when opened revealed the intricate pattern, the cutouts of
angels bordered with tinsel, the small pictures of the Christ Child and
scenes of the nativity, we used lovingly each year. In addition, we strung
popcorn, which with silver tinsel, we used to festoon the branches. Finally,
the candles were placed with great care on the outer limbs, balanced
as nearly erect as possible. The ever-present hazard of fire from the
burning candles, was always in Lou’s mind, so she would delegate one
of us to sit by the tree to guard against such a mishap.

In addition to the shoe boxes of candy under our tree, there was
always a gift or two for each of us, usually a book or a game. Santa Claus
had no part in our Christmas. For us, Christmas was the story of the
Christ Child. On Christmas Eve, after an early supper, we gathered
around the piano to sing carols before we lighted the candles and opened
our gifts. Then, dressed warmly with leggings and boots, bonnets, scarves,
mittens and mufflers, we would go to Reardan for the seven o’clock
church service. If the weather was stormy, we would take the horses
and sled, but otherwise we walked the two miles into town.

From the time I was four until we stopped going to Christmas Eve
service, I always had a song to sing. Lou, who played the organ at the
church for many years, would coach me until she decided I was letter
perfect. One year, I wore a red and white striped flannel nightgown and
carried a doll in my arms, so the costume must have been apropos to
the song. Just before we left for church, I’d stand on the dining room
table while I sang one last time for the family.

Some Christmases were more memorable than others. The first
one that I can remember, was while Mama was still living. The details
of memory are fragmented. It was dark, I remember. I must have
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awakened from my sleep and Papa had picked me up to comfort me. I
can recall how warm and snug I felt in Papa’s arms. The kitchen was
dark, with only a faint light shining from the opening into the dining
room. Papa opened the cupboard door and through the pass way that
joined the china cupboard on the other side, we could see the tree. Lou
and Mama were hanging ornaments on it.

Papa whispered, “Look, Christina, see what Mama is doing. That
is a Christmas tree and she is making it beautiful for Christmas.”

Mama apparently heard the noise as she came out into the kitchen.
“Fred, what in the world are you doing with the baby. Take her back
to bed.”

There was the Christmas of the big doll. Anne had looked and
looked at the doll section of the Sears and Roebuck catalog. She knew,
almost by heart, the description of each and every doll that Sears and
Roebuck had for sale. Anne wanted the very best doll in the world for
me, her baby sister. She didn’t know just how she was going to get the
money, but somehow, somewhere, she would find a way. She talked so
much about wanting to earn some money, that Papa finally gave her a
calf of her very own. For about eight weeks after it was born, Anne fed,
groomed and cared for the calf, until it grew to marketable size. When
Papa butchered it, he and Anne packed it into the back of the light spring
wagon and took the calf to market in Spokane.

The twenty-five mile trip took about five hours, as Papa never
abused his animals. The horses seldom traveled faster than a walk, even
when they were pulling a light load. It was shortly after eight o’clock in
the morning when Anne and Papa arrived at the wholesale market, where
Papa was well known.

"Good morning, Fred. What do you have today?”

“My daughter Anne has a vealer she’d like to sell."

“Bring it in here and we’ll take a look. The market is pretty firm
today on prime veal.”

The transaction was finally over. Five dollars the butcher said he’d
give for the calf. Five dollars. That was the most money Anne had ever
owned in all of her seventeen years. The butcher went to the till, picked
up a five dollar gold piece and handed it to Anne. She clutched it tightly
in her hand until she and Papa got back into the wagon.

"Papa, will you please keep this safe for me until we get home?”
she asked.

When Anne returned home, she hid the money in a secret place,
checking every so often to see that it was secure. Now that Anne knew
how much money she had to spend, she spent more time than ever peering
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through the catalog. First she would decide on one, and then she
would decide on another. Finally, Anne’s mind was made up.

"Dainty Dorothy," a beautiful German import, twenty-four inches
long, kid leather body, flesh-like arms and legs, a bisque head, blue eyes
that open and close, blonde curly hair. So read the description.

The price of the doll was exactly five dollars. Lou said she would
pay for the postage and make the clothes. This included a petticoat,
edged with ruffled embroidery and a soft silk dress the color of the sky.

Anne could hardly wait for Christmas to arrive that year. She could
barely keep from telling me. "What do you want for Christmas, Mudge?
What do you want most in the whole world?"

Dainty Dorothy was almost as big as a baby. I soon discovered
that our christening robes fit my doll and that my crib was just the
right size. Dorothy wore the christening clothes until Elsie used them
when Robert, Gus’ only son, was baptized.

Then there was the Christmas of Mama’s new hat. The family
had moved to Petaluna, California that fall of 1904, and it was the first
Christmas the children had experienced without snow. The move had
been made in the hope that a milder climate would be beneficial to
Mama’s health. In the few months they had been south, Mama seemed
stronger. She had taken a renewed interest in clothes, in church and in
newly-made friends.

While shopping for gifts for the children at Goldman’s Department
Store, Mama noticed some hats shown in the window. She succumbed to
an impulse and walked into the hat department to look around. Hats
were one of Mama’s weaknesses. She loved them. There it was, on
the head of a manikin, one of the loveliest hats Mama had ever seen.
It was fashioned in black chiffon, shirred and gathered over a wire
frame. As she tried it on and looked at herself in the mirror, Mama felt
almost pretty and suddenly much perkier and gay. “It’s a good thing
its black," she-said to herself. She was still in mourning for Papa’s
Mother, who had died in July. Before she knew it, Mama bought the hat,
brought it home and placed it in her hat box with the others she owned.

"I'll wear it to the Lutz's" she thought. "I'll wear it when we go
calling on them Christmas Day.”

Mr. Lutz worked for McNear Feed and Seed Company of Petaluna.
Mr. Lutz had successfully developed or improved on a brooder for hatching
chickens. It was called "Must Hatch." Mrs. Lutz was always called
“Tante.” The Lutzs became close friends of Mama and Papa. They especially
enjoyed playing cards together.

On December 24, Papa brought home a double crate of big navel
oranges. This was a special treat to the Wagner clan, who had had very
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few oranges in their lifetime. There also were nuts and candy in abundance.
Early in the evening, Mama sent Anne, Bertie, Rose and Minna
upstairs to bed, while she and Lou stayed down to trim the tree.

The four little girls were beside themselves with excitement and
could not seem to settle down. Finally, they all congregated in one bedroom.

“Did you see Mama’s new hat?" Anne asked.

"No, no. When did she get it?" was the concerted reply.

Anne went to the closet and brought out the hat box. She carefully
placed the new hat on the bed, where all the girls looked admiringly
at it. One of the girls put on one of Mama’s old hats, nodded her head
and took a big bow. Soon the game of "Trying Mama’s hats" was on.
All of the girls had to have a try and each one tried to outdo the other,
as they made silly grimaces at each other. Finally, one of the older girls
daringly touched Mama’s new hat and tried it on.

“I want my turn. I want my turn." Minna was insistent.

“Oh, no, you can’t try on Mama’s new hat, Minna. You are too
little."

“I'm a big girl, I can so. I’m six tomorrow. I can, I can, I can."

Minna grabbed the hat and put it on her head. Her head was so
small, the hat fell over her ears and eyes. She stood in front of the mirror
on tiptoes, trying to get some sort of a view of herself. As she leaned
forward, the burning candle, which provided light for the room, accidentally
touched the chiffon of the new hat, which ignited instantly.
Anne grabbed the hat, still aflame, and stumbled down the stairs.
By the time she reached Mama, the chiffon had disintegrated, but the
wire frame was still burning hot in her hands. Anne dropped it at Mama’s
feet, her eyes tear-filled with pain and shame. The other girls followed
Closely behind, all of them crying and screaming. Eventually, Mama
soothed the tears. Again the girls were sent upstairs to bed. This time,
very subdued, they went to their own beds and stayed there.

Mama’s emotions were mixed. She was so thankful the girls had
not been seriously hurt, but oh, how she did love that hat!

The Christmas of the year 1918 was bitter-sweet. The war was over
— the Armistice was announced on November 11. We were beside ourselves
with joy. Now Gus could come home. Our family would be together again.
Papa was home that winter. During the war years, when
help was almost impossible to get, Papa had foregone his yearly winter
trips to California. Now our thoughts turned to Gus’ release from the
service. Would he, could he possibly be home in time for Christmas? His
letters were alternately filled with hope and despair. He sent his wife,
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Elsie, back to Spokane to be with her family until his release. She was
pregnant with their first child, which simply delighted us all.

On November 30, Gus wrote to Minna and Rose at Pullman, where
they were attending Washington State College.

"Dear Little Ones,

"It is Saturday night, and I am so lonely I thought I would write
you a few lines. Elsie has been gone now almost two weeks, and if I had
known we would have been here this long, we wouldn’t have packed up
so soon. We surely thought today would be the last day we were going
to be in the woods, but somehow we are to be here longer. We have to
stay until the 14th of December. Anyhow at least until the C.O. doesn’t
want us any more. They are going to start mustering out at Vancouver
next Monday and it will take sixty days before we are all out. I do want
to be home for Christmas so badly.”

On the following week the girls received this letter from Gus.

"Dear Little Girls,

“I have time enough to write before dinner, so here goes. I am
still here at Coats Fordney and another long Sunday is upon us. I might
have written before that we were to leave this place last Thursday, but
we are still here and no telling how long it will be. I have lost all hope
of getting home for Christmas.”

Increasingly, Gus discussed the flu, Spanish Influenza it was called.
Here are a few excerpts from letters written during the fall months.
“I’m glad Bertie got to go home, as the flu is pretty bad around Harrington,
I hear. We have had but one case of flu, Mr. Hatten, but he is nearly
better, and I am glad of it." Then later. "I was in for three days. The
Doctor thought I might get the flu, but I’m feeling fine and dandy again.
In one of the camps, nine men were taken to the hospital and if they
should slap the quarantine on us, we won’t get out for another six weeks.”

The influenza reached epidemic proportions. Rose and Minna were
quarantined in Pullman. Bertie’s school was closed, and she was back
home. Lou and I made trips into Spokane with flu masks of cotton gauze
over our noses. The Spokane Public Health Department issued an order
making the wearing of face masks mandatory. How weird everyone
looked. Herman and Martha Knudson were married in October. Herman
had a new home built on his property on the brow of the hill overlooking
Reardan, several miles away. Although the house faced the county
road, it was the only home on that section line. During the winter months,
they were often marooned as the snow lay deep around them. I thought
the house was elegant. I was especially impressed with the big fireplace
at the end of the living room with matching open bookcases on either
side. It was a delight to find new books to read.

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Martha had planned a big wedding in Spokane. The Spokesman
Review carried this little article. "A large number of invitations were
sent out for the wedding of Miss Martha Ethel Knudson of this city and
Herman E. Wagner of Reardan at the Fowler M. E. Church tonight, but
owing to the epidemic, the wedding will take place quietly and the friends
will not be expected. The Rev. Stanley G. Logan will perform the ceremony.”

It was the first wedding in which I had a part, so I was thrilled and
excited. I was the ring bearer, carrying the ring in the center of a large
white Turner chrysanthemum. Lou had put my hair up in rags the night
before. At the last moment, before we left for the twenty-five mile drive
through low tule fog to Spokane, Lou took off the rags and combed my
hair in long curls. My pink crepe de chine dress had full, soft pleats that
fell from a yolk. As I walked down the aisle, I stepped on the furnace
register. The warm air billowed my skirt out and up. Somehow I held on
to the ring, but I was mortified beyond comparison. Lou was Martha’s
bridesmaid and I think Albert Erdman stood up with Herman.

Afterward, Aunt Barbara, Molly Capps, Bertie, Anne, Papa, Mrs.
Knudson and Martha’s brother, with the wedding party, had a lavish banquet
at the Davenport Hotel. There must have been eight or ten courses
served. It seemed to me, the array of forks, knives and spoons was endless.
I was sitting next to Papa, so I watched him for a cue on the proper
piece of silver to use. Papa, I am sure, watched Martha surreptitiously,
so we survived from soup to nuts with our pride intact.

Finally it was Christmas time. Bertie and I walked to the canyon
to get a tree. At Washington State College, students were released from
quarantine and sent home, so Rose and Minna could hardly wait to catch
the train and come on to the ranch. Anne, who was just off a baby case,
decided she would not sign in with the Nurses Register until after the
holidays. The best news of all was from Elsie. She called to say Gus would
make it home for Christmas after all. She would wait for him in Spokane
and they would come home together.

When they arrived on the afternoon of December 24, Gus was very
ill with the flu. His face was flushed with fever, his eyes glazed. Elsie
and Anne consulted in low tones together because as nurses they realized
the danger of Gus’s illness turning into pneumonia. Because Papa’s
bedroom off the parlor was warm and convenient, they put Gus to bed
there.

Soon afterward, Herman and Martha came laden with packages.
Anne had wrapped and placed a small favor at each place at the table,
mostly inexpensive wind up toys, or things that popped when you pressed
them. I still remember mine was a figure of Charlie Chaplin, who shuffled
across the table top. All through dinner, the tree lighting and the opening
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of gifts, our gaiety seemed forced and artificial. Bertie received an
umbrella, which she opened and then put over her head for effect.

“Oh, don’t do that, Bertie," said Martha. "It’s bad luck to put an
umbrella over your head in the house.”

"I’m not superstitious," responded Bertie, but she immediately put
the umbrella down.

Martha and Herman, that year, gave me a manicure set which I
thought was the most elegant thing I had ever possessed. There were
three pieces in all, each one pearl handled, impressively boxed in a blue
velvet case. Mr. Hanel, Reardan’s druggist, must have had the merchandise
in stock for a long time, for the velvet had faded.

The next day, Gus was worse. Anne called Dr. T. M. Alquist, a
close friend, who, harassed and weary from overwork, took the time to |
drive out from Spokane. Gus’ flu had turned into pneumonia. In spite of
all the nursing skill of Elsie and Anne, he grew progressively worse. Twice
more Dr. Alquist came to tap Gus’ lungs of excess fluid, but it did not
help. On January 1, 1919 our oldest brother was dead.

We were all in a daze as we stood at graveside for the final rites for
Gus. Four soldiers from Fort Wright stood at attention and fired a volley
of shots across the bier. The weather was bitter cold. The few clods of
earth the minister dropped on the casket, were frozen solid.

Rose and Minna returned to college, Bertie to her school in Harrington,
and Anne back to the hospital, while Elsie embittered with grief, returned
to her family home in the valley. In less than a week, two more of
our family, Lou and Herman came down with the flu. This time, Anne
insisted they be brought by ambulance to St. Lukes Hospital. Martha
drove into town so she could be near Herman. Papa and I carried on at
home.

The moon grew to full that week, its light so bright on the crystallized
snow, I was sure it was daytime. One morning, I awakened, dressed
and made myself some warm cocoa on the dining room heater, coal
banked to hold the heat through the night. Aroused by the noise, Papa
came out into the dining room to see what was going on.

"What are you doing up so early?”

“I’m getting ready to leave for school.”

"What ever for? It's only the middle of the night."

I looked at the clock. It was barely three. We were both so wide
awake, we sat down near the stove to talk. Our conversation was about
the sick and the dead. The daily calls from Anne regarding Lou and Herman
were guarded. The flu had developed into pneumonia for them
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both. It was still too early to estimate the outcome. Our lives took on a
dream-like quality, as non-substantive as the illusion of day from the
moonshine.

In the days that followed, we vacillated between hope and despair.
Then once again, the reality of death was thrust upon us, grim and stark.
On January 14, exactly two weeks after Gus’ death, Herman also became
a victim of the flu.

Somehow we survived. Papa buried his grief deep within him. We
girls, with the resiliency of youth, soon looked to the future.

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<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-093b-cousin-albert-erdman-herman-wagner-1600.jpg | Cousin Albert Erdman and Herman Wagner
mcj-093c-herman-wagner-1600.jpg | Herman Wagner
mcj-094b-margret-and-dainty-dorothy-1600.jpg | Margret and Dainty Dorothy
mcj-094-1b-bertie-1600.jpg | Bertie
mcj-094-2b-louis-lou-wedding-1919-1600.jpg| Lou and Louis on their wedding 1919
</gallery>

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===CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Now Is the Time for Love===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-095b-chapter-14-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 14 sketch
</gallery>

“Now’s the time for love" was a repetitive refrain at the ranch
during the spring and summer of 1919. I guess it all began on that cold, gray,
bleak January day when we buried our brother Gus. Among those who
attended the funeral, was an old beau of Lou’s, Louis Miller, who had
recently been released from Uncle Sam’s Army.

Our friendship with the Miller family dated back to the time when
we lived in Union Park, after we returned north from Petaluma. They
were our neighbors there. Mama did much of her grocery shopping at
the small neighborhood store which was owned by Louis’ step father,
Dick Miller. Later, after our new house was built and we moved back
to the ranch, Mr. Miller sold his business and moved to a new location
on Diamond Avenue in Hillyard, a small town adjacent to Spokane. The
town was named for James Hill, builder of the Great Northern Railway.
The repair shops located there provided steady employment for several
hundred people.

Louis was one of four children born to Anna and Louis Miller. His
father’s unexpected death left Anna Miller a widow with a family of
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small children to raise. Some time later Anna married Richard, Louis’
younger brother and from this marriage there were two more children,
Frank and Edna.

We dearly loved the Millers, and almost felt as though they were
part of the family. On our infrequent trips into Spokane with the horse
and buggy, when it was necessary to take two days, we always spent the
night at the Miller home. I loved that house, its substantial Victorian
furnishings seemed to me the epitome of elegance. I can still remember
the white linen slipcovers that covered the upholstered pieces in the parlor
and the large rubber plant in its brown jardiniere with fluted edges
that dominated the front hall.

Although Edna was two years older than I, we were bosom friends.
Yearly she would spend part of the summer with us. For several years
we improvised a stage in one of the empty bedrooms upstairs and performed
amateur theatricals for the family. Usually we dramatized whatever
story we were currently reading.

At other times I would be invited in to the Miller home for a few
days. Edna had a passion for chocolate ice cream sodas. I had never
learned to like the fizz of soda, but always tried to force down the
concoction as she seemed so enthusiastic about this delectable treat.
Invariably I’d get sick to my stomach and up-chuck it all. It seemed to
me, that Mrs. Miller was constantly sending us down to the store, a half
block away, for some item of food or to announce meal times. All of the
boys helped out in the store, so meals were served in shifts. I had a feeling
that Mrs. Miller spent most of her life in the kitchen or hovering over
her menfolk.

Diamond Avenue, between the Miller home and shop, was tree-lined
with mountain ash, fully mature and colorful with clusters of red
berries. We spent hours of each day searching for bird nests in the ash
trees or riding around the block in a little cart which Edna hitched to
her pet goat. Twice a week the water wagon, belonging to the town, would
water down the dust in the street. We loved to trail the wagon, letting
the spray fall over our bare feet. Then on the days the iceman delivered
ice, we could filch small pieces from the back of the dray.

Lou especially felt a kinship for the Miller family. The Millers were
still living in Union Park when Lou, at nineteen, went into Spokane to
take a course in fashionable dressmaking. Mama made arrangements
for her to live with the Millers while she was going to school. During
this time she and Louis got to know each other very well. Louis was
taking a course of study through correspondence, which involved a bit of
mathematics, Louis’ anathema, so Lou spent a lot of her free time
tutoring Louis and helping him with the problems.

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Mr. Miller bought his first car in 1910, a Ford, and there were Sunday
outings to Mica Peak, where the family had holdings. Lou and Louis
attended parties together, flirted a bit and occasionally talked about
becoming engaged. Lou could never be pinned down to a definite commitment.

Always she said, “Please don’t ask me now. I can’t think about
marriage with Mama so sick. I promised her I’d look after the girls.”

Lou went back to stay with the Millers a second time, while she
took a course in millinery. By this time Mama was no longer living, so
Lou’s responsibility of raising the girls was heavier than ever.

During the intervening years Louis had not married and after he
returned from the service, it seemed natural that Lou and Louis should
get together. Louis often came to the ranch on Sundays and after several
such visits we four younger girls did all we could to nurture the romance.
Early in the spring Lou took a two week vacation in Spokane and while
she was there she and Louis became officially engaged. When she returned
home, she had a new engagement ring to show us.

Rose’s comment was, "Well thank heaven, Lou, I was afraid you
were going to be an old maid.”

“How Are You Going To Keep ’em Down On The Farm” was one
of the popular songs of the post-war era. The lyrics expressed the social
upheaval in America following the armistice. Thousands of young men.
did leave the farms for urban areas seeking work in industry. A few of
the farm boys went into Spokane to find jobs but most of them came home
to lease acreage for themselves, to work for their dads or one of the
neighbors.

With both the boys no longer living, Papa had to look for outside
help and again assume the responsibility of running the ranch. In February,
cousin Albert and cousin Ernie Wagner, Uncle Charles’ sons, came
from California to work for Papa. Soon after, Roy Wagner from St. John
started to work for us.

The St. John Wagners became our friends through Lou. When she
was in dressmaking school, the teacher seated her pupils alphabetically,
so Lou and Bess Wagner sat next to each other. Bess was the only daughter
of the nine children of Jake Wagner, a prosperous rancher. Bess
visited our home on several occasions and after we bought the Buick, we
drove down to St. John a few times. With so many boys around of all
sizes and ages, we decided it was a great place to visit.

Roy was one of the middle sons, tall, personable and engaging. He
had a fine singing voice, played the guitar with assurance, and had a
wide range of melodies at his command. We used to test him by naming
a variety of objects, but he always had a song at his fingertips that
fitted the object named.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-098-1600.jpg|Page 98]]}}

Papa needed someone to cut and make wood for us on our woodlot.
He was talking about it one day, when Elsie, Gus’ widow came to
visit with her new son, Gustave Robert. Elsie immediately suggested
a neighbor of her father’s, Guy Fleming. Soon after, Guy (you can call
me Dick) was the fourth young man around our dining table. Dick was
slight, of medium height, blonde wavy hair. He possessed a subtle
low-keyed sense of humor which delighted us all.

Almost without effort the patterns of love became the dominant
theme of our life style. Lou and Louis, Bertie and Roy, Rose and Dick.
Edith Allen, a close friend of the girls from Union Park, came from
Spokane for a prolonged visit and soon she and cousin Albert joined the
threesome and made it a quartet.

How I hated that summer! I stood on the periphery, an outsider.
It never occurred to me that Minna, in some degree, must have felt the
same way.

The grove of alder trees on the other side of the lake had long been
a favorite spot for relaxation. Here the newly engaged couples would
rendezvous in the evenings. Mostly they sat apart, but at other times,
when Roy had his guitar along, they would all join in singing, “I Love
You Truly,” "K-K-K-Katy,” “Til We Meet Again,” "Smiles" and other
current tunes.

On August 21, 1919 Lou and Louis were married in the Fowler M. E.
Church, where less than a year before Herman and Martha had exchanged
their wedding vows. Bertie and Louis’ half brother Frank were
their attendants. The heavy white crepe material Lou bought to make her
wedding dress was expensive, $18.00 a yard, but she wanted the very
best. They rented a cottage at Newman Lake, north of Spokane, for a
week, where they spent their honeymoon before returning to Hillyard.
Louis went to work for the Great Northern Railway.

The following month, Bertie Wagner and Roy Wagner went to the
County Courthouse in Spokane to apply for a wedding license.

“You both have the same surnames. Are you related?” asked the
clerk.

“No, no relationship at all, even though we do have the same last
names,” said Roy. "At least we won’t be related until after we are
married."

“This is really quite unusual,” continued the clerk. “If you had a
name like Smith it would be different, but Wagner. There aren’t all that
many Wagners around here.”

Even the minister at the Fowler M.E, church commented, "In all
my years of performing wedding ceremonies, this is the first time I’ve
ever married two people with the same surname.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-099-1600.jpg|Page 99]]}}

Bertie and Roy came back to spend the fall and winter at the ranch.
I guess I sort of went with the place. That year I was a freshman in High
School and Bertie helped me with my home work so, in part, my good
grades were attributable to her effort and interest.

Papa went back to his yearly routine of spending the winter in
California. Minna and Rose returned to Washington State College;
however, at the end of the semester, Rose transferred to Cheney Normal so
she could get her teaching credentials. She planned on teaching a year
before she and Dick were married.

Anne joined the staff at St. Lukes Hospital, first as an anesthetist,
then in charge of the maternity ward and later as night superintendent of
nurses.

Martha had a baby boy the summer of 1919, named Herman after
his father. Although the boys were gone, Papa had two grandsons, Gustave
Robert Wagner and Herman Wagner, to carry on the family name.

For us, as a family, it was the end of an era.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-100-1600.jpg|Page 100]]}}

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-100b-martha-and-herman-wagner-wedding-1918-1600.jpg| Martha and Herman wedding
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-101-1600.jpg|Page 101]]}}

===CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Medicine Calls It Thanatopnomonic===
1G<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-101b-chapter-15-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 15 sketch
</gallery>

With Lou, Bertie and Rose married, Anne involved in her nursing
career and Minna away at college, our life as a family unit dissolved. I
was shunted back and forth from one married sister to another until I
was old enough to go away to school.

Papa continued his routine of winters in California and summers
at the ranch, although each year he spent more of his time in the south.
When Anne, Minna and I made our first trip, in 1923, to California in
Anne’s maroon Buick roadster (which we christened "Pegasus"), Papa
was still living across from the Mint on Mission Street. It must have
been late June or early July, as we did not leave on our trip until Minna’s
school was out and I was through with finals at Washington State College.
Papa was anxious to play host and prepared the lunch served to us in
his apartment. We went to the Crystal Palace Market on Market Street
a few blocks away, where Papa gave close scrutiny to each of his food
purchases. He knew most of the tradespeople, so we stopped many times
so Papa could proudly introduce the three of us to each and every one.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-102-1600.jpg|Page 102]]}}

Sometime in the late twenties, Papa moved into a two story apartment
house situated at the end of First Street with a lovely view of San
Francisco Bay. He maintained permanent quarters there until the end
of his life.

On the last day of 1938, Arthur and I left Eureka with Alfred and
Alice Abrahamsen for a six weeks trip by car through Mexico. The nine
hour drive to San Francisco was a pleasant one, although low tule fog
through the mountains slowed down our rate of speed. It was, however,
only a little after five in the evening when we drove up to the Whitcomb
Hotel, where we had reservations for rooms and for the gala dinner
dance to welcome in the new year. Market Street, glowing with lights,
was already crowded with merrymakers. We dropped the Abrahamsens
off at the hotel and then Arthur and I drove over to Papa’s apartment
for a little visit with him and to let him know about our planned trip.

He had already finished his evening meal. Captain Wieprecht, his
closest friend in San Francisco, was with him and they were engrossed
in their usual game of pinochle.

"Oh, Margret," said Papa after greetings were over, “I am glad
to see you. Are you staying over in San Francisco for a day or so?”

"No, Papa,” I replied. "We have tickets for the Rose Bowl game
and will leave San Francisco very early in the morning to get on down to
Los Angeles."

He sat silent for a few moments. From the movements of his facial
muscles and the far off expression of his eyes, I felt a gravity in his
demeanor that was different.

"Can you possibly stay over until Monday when the bank opens?”

This was a most unusual request from Papa. I was truly puzzled
and could not imagine what was behind it.

“Oh, Papa, I can’t possibly. We have our plans all made with the
Abrahamsens and I’m afraid it would be very difficult to change them
now. Can’t you wait until we get back from our trip? Then I’ll be glad
to stay over for a day or so and do whatever you want me to do. What
have you in mind, anyway?”

"I feel death upon me, Margret,” he answered in a simple matter
of fact way. I’m not sure when, but it will be very soon. I want to get
my funds from the Bank of San Francisco transferred up to the Reardan
bank and I thought you could do this for me.”

"Oh, Papa," I protested vehemently, "how can you think of anything
like that. You are in such wonderful health you still have years
to live.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-103-1600.jpg|Page 103]]}}

"Why, Mr. Wagner,” said my husband, "there aren’t many people
at 84 who can hold a candle to you."

Papa said nothing to refute our statements. He had made his request
and I had refused. I was loathe to leave him and my conscience
bothered me that I was not able to fulfill his wish. He asked so little
for himself. "No one can really feel the approach of death” I said to
myself, but at the same time I hated myself because I could not do as
he asked.

In the day or two that followed we were caught up in the excitement
of the Rose Bowl parade and game, as well as visiting with Minna
and her husband, William Addington.

I spoke to Minna about Papa, "He looks so wonderfully well and
is so at peace, but I can’t get over his positive feeling that his days here
on earth are truly almost over. Do you suppose it is really possible for
anyone to foretell his own death?”

"I’ve never heard of it," responded Minna, "but there are lots of
things about living or dying that we don’t really know.”

Our entry into Mexico was to be through Laredo, Texas. We left
Los Angeles early in the morning via highway 60. We detoured to see
Palm Springs, then still a little country village whose one and only
feature was the Desert Inn, caught the main highway at Indio and pushed
on to Phoenix for our first night’s stop. The second day we traversed New
Mexico with its numerous “Thank you Mam’s" or dips in the highway
and through western Texas, cattle and mesquite country, as far as Uvalde.
It seemed to us that every man in Uvalde, from druggist to cowboy,
affected cowboy boots and black western style Stetson hats.

By noon the third day we were ready to cross the Mexican border,
having stopped first at the AAA office for Mexican car insurance. We
waited our turn to cross the international bridge across the Rio Grande
and into Mexico.

“All set?" asked Art as he slipped the car into low gear and
released the brake. At the same moment, one of the American Immigration
officers came out of his office and ordered us to stop. He walked to
the front of our car, checked the license number and then came on around
to Art, sitting behind the wheel.

"Are you Arthur Johnson?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“I have a telegram for you," he said as he handed us the yellow sheet.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-104-1600.jpg|Page 104]]}}

Art backed the car out of the main line of traffic before he handed
the message to me. William briefly stated, "Just to let you know that
Fred Wagner died on January 3.”

“What do you want to do?” asked Art, Alice and Alfred almost
simultaneously.

I sat silent for a few moments.

“Papa did know after all,” I thought. "How is this possible?”

“I guess I’ll call Minna,” I said. “I’ll find out a few more details
and see if they need me at home. If I can’t be of help, I think we should
go on with our original plans. It doesn’t seem right that your trip should
be canceled just because of me.”

I felt reassured after calling. "We’ll go on anyway.”

When we returned to Los Angeles several weeks later, Minna gave
me the details of Papa’s death. She and William had gone north to claim
his body and make arrangements to have it shipped north to Reardan.

Captain Wieprecht had spent most of the last day with Papa.

“Your father went to the San Francisco Bank as soon as it opened
after the New Year holiday. He drew his account and forwarded it to
your sister, Anne, in Spokane. Then we came back home where he checked
in with the landlord and paid his monthly rental.”

“I'm not sure what he did during the afternoon," continued the
Captain, "but I do know he packed all his belongings.”

I could almost see Papa, as methodically and surely he prepared
for his next unknown journey. I could see him taking his suitcase out
from under his bed and neatly packing into it, his few extra clothes. I
could imagine him finally sitting quietly and looking out over the bay.

“I stopped by again in the early evening,” said the Captain as
he continued his story. "Want to play a little game of pinochle tonight,
Fred?”

"Might just as well."

“We were in the middle of our first game when your father quietly
collapsed and fell over the card table. It was almost as if he had
rehearsed the scene. Then he was gone.”

“I went downstairs and the landlord called the police. They came
and took him away to the morgue. I learned later that an autopsy was
held on your father as there was no physician in attendance at his death.
The findings were death caused by heart failure.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-105-1600.jpg|Page 105]]}}

What an odd phenomenon this knowledge of Papa’s, that death was
upon him. To us it seemed strange and singularly unusual and yet
somehow it seemed appropriate that Papa could know of and accept with
dignity his demise. His life had been lived with courage and fortitude and
so, in a similar way, he approached death.

A remarkable man, a memorable father.

It was not until several years later that I happened to bring home a
book from the library in which the author, a medical examiner, devoted
a chapter to case histories of persons who had pre-cognition of their own
death. Medicine calls it thanatopnomonic.

Without a Little Teamwork

2023-04-12T14:31:07Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

{{Huge| {{Center| '''Without a Little Teamwork You Can't Run the Ranch'''}} }}

{{Center|'''''<big>Sketches of a Reardan Pioneer and His Family</big>'''''}}

[This is family memoir by Margret Clare Wagner Johnson, the youngest daughter of Fred and Lena Wagner. The sketches for each chapter are drawn by Janeth Nash, the author's granddaughter. Copyright 1972 All rights reserved.]

Spelling and typographical errors have been corrected. Page numbers mark the bottom of the original pages. Photos may be enlarged by clicking on them. The image of a particular page can be accessed by clicking on the Page box on the right had side of the page. All photographs and drawings can be accessed at [[Without a Little Teamwork Photos|Without a Little Teamwork Photos]]. The sequence of page images can be accessed at [[Without a Little Teamwork Pages|Without a Little Teamwork Pages]]]

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-000-5-1600.jpg|Page 0-5]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-000-5a-reaped-wheat-jackson-fork-1600.jpg | Stack of cut wheat waiting to be threshed and portable Jackson fork. 1912
mcj-000-5b-unloading-header-box-1600.jpg | Unloading a horse drawn header box with Jackson fork. 1912
mcj-000-5c-seeding-1600.jpg | Woman (likely to be Rose) driving a team of mules and seeder.
mcj-000-5d-plowing-1600.jpg | Two teams of mules and horses likely plowing with three girls and man
</gallery>
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-001a-1600.jpg|Page 1]]}}
===CHAPTER ONE: The Rich Story===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-001b.chapter-1-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 1 sketch
</gallery>

It was an evening in June, supper was over, the dishes washed and
put away. Although the big clock on the shelf in the dining room had
shortly struck eight, the light outside was still radiant. A few cumulus
clouds in the west caught the afterglow of the sun, changing from coral
to rosy red to violet. Down by the lake the usual medley of noises, the
night hawks beeping, the killdeer plaintive and the blackbirds strident.
Co-mingled with the bird calls, the frogs croaked a leisured obligato while
in the scab rock above the lake coyotes had started their incessant yelping.

The Collie bitch hearing the opening of the front door, came bounding
up to receive an affectionate pat from Papa. Together they made the
last final round, closing the chicken house door securely against marauders,
checking a mare soon due to drop her foal and closing the granary
doors. Then Papa walked up to the road to watch Herman and Gus
playing catch. The baseball season had started again.

"How much longer will it take you to finish plowing the half section?"
asked Papa as the boys finished their nightly workout.

“Another ten days should do it I should think," answered Gus.
“There’s a lot of moisture in the ground. Good for the wheat."
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-002a-1600.jpg|Page 2]]}}

Upstairs in the two front bedrooms the girls were getting ready for
bed. Lou the oldest of the Wagner girls was more than ready. Since
Mama’s lengthy illness, the responsibility of caring for the house and the
younger girls had been largely hers. It had been a long day. How good
the bed felt. Bertie, who shared the bed and bedroom with Lou, was standing
at the windows watching the boys for a moment as she brushed her
long hair. Instead of going directly to bed she went down the hall and
slipped into bed with Minna and Rose.

By choice Anne, Minna and Rose shared the big southeast bedroom
so the smaller one over the kitchen could be used for a study. I was Anne’s
charge. She had been so delighted when Mama unexpectedly produced
another baby. I was her joy and delight. When I was too old for a
crib, I slept with Anne. Once in my sleep, thrashing about from some
frightening nightmare, I had rolled out onto the floor. Thereafter Anne
put down pillows by my side of the bed so if it happened again I wouldn’t
hurt myself.

At this time Anne, Bert and Rose were in their teens, Minna not
quite, while I was seven years younger than Minna.

Anne had already gotten me undressed and into bed. As I lay under
the covers my fingers traced the patches of the quilt. Mostly the patches
were dull in color, wool and practical, but they were made a bit more gay
with bright colored embroidery. They were scraps left over from the
yearly stint of clothes making. The blue plaid with red feather stitch was
from Rose’s Sunday dress, the brown homespun in cross stitch was Minna’s.
Mama taught the girls their embroidery stitches on these quilts at
the same time as she made practical use of the leftover bits of fabric.

Lou was the perfectionist and you could always recognize her work for
its flawlessness. Anne finally crawled in beside me, drew me into the
sheltering circle of her arms. The nightly episode of the "Rich Story"
was about to begin.

If you asked any of the girls to define rich, they would say, "Why,
you silly, to be rich you have to have lots of money." That we were rich
in love, security, happiness and laughter they all took for granted. Who
started the “‘Rich Story’ I have no idea. At the time I was too small to
have more than just vague memories about it, but I am sure the story
provided entertainment for the girls for months.

The plot of the "Rich Story" was of the simplest. The Wagners had
an unlimited amount of money. Each girl in her turn contributed her
imaginative bit to the ever recurring theme, as the family moved from
one adventure to another they were always surrounded by an endless
amount of money.

"Anne, its your turn tonight," said Rose.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-003a-1600.jpg|Page 3]]}}

"Yes," chimed in Minna, "its your turn to tell tonight.”

Bertie anticipating the story added, "Now, Anne, what exactly happened
to Donald and Dorothy.”

In the story Lou was married and the mother of twins, Donald and
Dorothy. Anne’s great love of children necessitated her need to introduce
them into the plot. The twins recurrently were thrown from runaway Carriages,
were bedridden with malignant unknown diseases or other catastrophes
so Anne could tenderly nurse them back to health.

“Well, let me see." On and on her voice rose and fell in rhythmical
cadence as she developed her plot.

Finally Lou called out, “You kids be quiet in there. Its time for
sleep.”

Reluctantly Bert returned to her own bedroom. "Don’t you dare whisper
and tell any more after I’ve gone."

{{center| <nowiki>* * * * *</nowiki>}}

Papa was a past master at telling stories. His sense of timing,
showmanship and suspense made even the simplest tale sound exciting.
He would sit in the rocker after supper and the eight of us would gather
around him eagerly listening.

After Mama died in the summer of 1911, Papa formed the habit of
at leaving the ranch sometime in the late fall, traveling to California to see
and visit with his brother Charles and then on to San Francisco where
he took an apartment until early spring. I was never sure he was leaving
until I saw the battered brown suitcase come out from under the bed. It
was more than ample for his modest needs, extra long underwear and
trousers, a half dozen pair of socks, three or four striped shirts and perhaps
a celluloid collar. For safety sake he sewed a money pocket to the
inside of his long underwear. He kept an account at the Bank of California,
but he carried with him the cash needed for each season.

On the day of his departure his work clothes were neatly arranged
in the closet. Papa would go to the bathroom, grab the razor strap, hone
his strait edged razor for an extra close shave to last until San Francisco.
Normally Papa shaved about once a week unless he had business in Reardan.

For dress up occasions Papa’s suits were always serviceable black
serge, usually purchased from Miller, Moore and Flynn department store
in Spokane. He favored the Congress slip-on shoes of vici-kid with elastic
insets. They felt as comfortable as slippers which was important to Papa

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-004a-1600.jpg|Page 4]]}}

as he was troubled quite a bit with his feet as he grew older. I don’t
remember ever seeing Papa wear a top coat, but he was well padded with
long underwear during the winter months.

Last minute talk with Gus about farm business and winter repairs,
talk with Lou regarding the household and then the rest of us were lectured
on how we should behave while he was gone ending up with, “Be
good, mind and help Louise.” If the weather was inclement, Gus would
harness Mollie and hitch her to the buggy so Papa could have a ride into
Reardan. In fair weather, however, Papa preferred walking in by
himself. The train from Hartline to Spokane stopped briefly in Reardan
about ten.

“Morning, Fred. Ticket for Spokane? Oh San Francisco. Guess it is
time for your yearly trip down there.’’ The agent and Papa exchanged
pleasantries until the steam train whistle reminded them of business at
hand. Two hours it took for the train to travel the twenty-five miles from
Reardan to Spokane as the line detoured at Deep Creek to offer service to
Cheney.

The Northern Pacific bound for Portland left Spokane at eight P.M.
Papa always traveled by coach. He denied himself all but barest of
essentials in order to give more to his family. The trip south was not too
unpleasant as there were always plenty of fellow passengers with whom
Papa could visit. After a short lay over in Portland, he caught the south
bound train.

For a number of years Papa had a small apartment on Mission
Street in San Francisco across the street from the old U.S. Mint. He was
happy there with his quarters and his location. Not too far away on Market
Street was the Crystal Palace Market where Papa did much of his
shopping. He was particularly fussy about his meat. As a little girl I
thought living across the street from the Mint was the most glamorous
location in the world. Papa toyed for a while with the idea of purchasing
the apartment building, but instead he finally settled on more wheat land
in Lincoln County.

I’m sure there wasn’t a single motion picture theatre on or near Market
Street that Papa did not attend. He loved the movies and went when
ever there was a change of pictures. Westerns were his favorite and he
enjoyed lots of action. After every performance Papa would come back
to his apartment, take down a little black book, jot down the story briefly
so he could refresh his memory when he got back home.

What did Papa do to entertain himself during the months he spent
in San Francisco? He was always so active physically when he was at
home that he probably enjoyed the months of leisured activity. He walked
a great deal so that through the years he gained an intimate knowledge of
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-005a-1600.jpg|Page 5]]}}
many sections of the city. Papa never missed a band concert on Sunday
afternoon at Golden Gate Park. He played quite a lot of pool and of course
always the movies. There were several retired sea captains from the merchant
marine with whom he became intimate. They spent hours telling
each other their adventures and then almost daily there was a pinochle
game in which Papa would make a fourth.

Papa usually arrived back in Reardan without any advance notice.
He would get off the four o’clock train and walk home. Seldom did he get
over the brow of the hill without someone spying him and calling out the
welcome news, "Papa’s home.” How happy we all were to see his beaming
face. One time, however, he had shaven off his mustache and I cried
when this strange man tried to take me in his arms and call me “Die
kleine Christina.”’

Each year after Papa went south we learned to wait for and expect
two parcels. From Sebastopol came several gallons of strained honey,
then shortly thereafter a hundred pound weight of walnuts. The walnuts
were kept in Papa’s closet. How great they tasted with big bowls full of
apples, or in the batches of candy. I thought they tasted especially good
when I filched them from the very large sack in the closet.

It was in the spring, however, when Papa returned that we received
the best eating treat of the year. This was a big double crate of navel
oranges which Papa checked through as part of his baggage allowance. I
was his willing helper as we arranged eight neat piles on the dining room
table. “Mudge, Minna, Res-la, Bertie, Annie, Lulu, Hammie and Gus," I
chanted over and over as the piles grew larger and larger until the crate
was empty. Papa never ate any himself as he always said, “I get plenty
of them in San Francisco.”

Each one took his special pile of fruit to his own secret hiding place.
Each decided his own rate of enjoyment, some like me greedy to savor
and relish in an incredibly short time, others like Lou spreading out the
taste thrill as long as possible. It was only once a year that we had oranges
to eat. They were too expensive to buy in Reardan or Spokane. Occasionally
for the Fourth of July picnic Lout might buy an orange and a couple of
bananas to all to the other fruit in a geletine fruit salad.

I loved to hear Papa talk about the big Orange Fair in Cloverdale.
Every few years Papa and his fried Captain Wieprecht would take the
ferry boat to Sausalito where they caught the Northwestern Pacific train
for Cloverdale. They could go up in the morning, see the exhibits and
catch the evening train back. This trip was made sometime in February
When the oranges were ripe.

The first night Papa came home signaled the beginning of our story
telling sessions. After supper we all gathered in the dining room. The
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-006a-1600.jpg|Page 6]]}}
kerosene lamp shed a puddle of soft light on the surface of the table while
the corners of the room held dark mysterious shadows. Some sat at the
table, some on the corner couch while others relaxed on the floor near the
fire. Papa found himself comfortable in his favorite rocking chair. While
we all waited with eagerness, Papa scanned his little black book.

Most of the stories Papa told were those he had seen in the movies.
If they were not dramatic enough to suit his taste he would embellish the
plot as he went along. Many movies were made from Zane Grey’s novels
so I am sure we heard these tales. Most of Papa’s stories had very little
of sex or love in them. If there was a girl involved in the plot it was in a
very minor role. The big thing was action, blood and thunder tales of
cowboys and Indians pitting their strength against bandits and outlaws.

Papa always used the German language in telling his stories to us
children. I think he always found German a more comfortable language
as it offered him greater nuances in tone and color. Sometimes when I
was still quite small, I would be so frightened by the events of the story
that Anne would have to leave in the most exciting part to put me to bed.
Sometimes I fell asleep before the story session was over. Then Papa or
Gus would carry me upstairs to bed where I would find myself in the morning
and wonder how I ever got there. By the beginning of the First World
War the rest of the family had grown beyond the stage of story telling, but
I was Papa’s audience for several more years.

Books and stories — books and stories. They were the leavening that
raised our busy work-a-day lives into a wonderful shared pleasure. Whenever
any sit down kind of group work needed to be done, out would come
the latest book we owned. One of us read while all the others kept fingers
busy.

When we were growing up the amount of detailed work involved in
the preparation of food was prodigious. From late spring until early fall
there was an endless procession of food to be processed. First came the
red currants to be picked and made into jelly. Then for pies and for sauce
we canned gooseberries, strawberries and cherries. At about the same
time the first of the garden produce needed to be taken care of. Garden
peas, three or four large wash tubs filled at a picking, had to be shelled
and canned immediately. After the Fourth of July the Gravenstein apples
were ripe. Bushels of apples from our three big trees were peeled and
made into sauce. String beans, corn, tomatoes, plums, peaches and pears
came on later in the summer and early fall. The shelves in the cellar
became more and more crowded with filled half gallon jars ready for the
coming winter. It was not unusual to have six to eight hundred quarts of
produce stored away.

Because of severe winter conditions, we were not able to raise our
own peaches. Usually in September after school started, Lou and Papa
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-007a-1600.jpg|Page 7]]}}
would make the yearly trek with horse and wagon to Peach, a little hamlet
on the Columbia River. They would be gone for two or three days to
pick and bring back several hundred pounds of peaches which were then
laid out on newspapers in the upstairs study to ripen. Every few days
enough would be ready for a canning batch. In the meantime we all had
our fill of the fresh fruit. As soon as I got home from school and had
changed my clothes, I’d select three or four ripe peaches, peel and slice
them into a large bowl. I’d top this with cream so thick it had to be
spooned out of the crock. It made a dandy snack before it was time to
bring in the cows.

Getting the food ready for the table or for canning was usually done
on the front porch with its protective roof. Often a faint breeze came off
the lake making this spot the pleasantest place of all to sit and work.
Sometimes we gossiped or visited, sometimes we harmonized in song,
but if there was a new book in the house, one of us was spared from work
y to read aloud for all of us to enjoy.

I guess Mama started the tradition of reading aloud while hand work
or was done. The idea of education and culture was never out of her sight.
While she spent so many years of her life in poor health and was limited
in her physical strength, she always found time and energy to read aloud
to us.

There is for me a vague memory, a sort of half shadow tactile one.
I am perhaps between three and four years old. Mama is propped up on
pillows on the couch in the dining room. I am lying at her feet listening
to the musical cadence of her voice which seems to wash over me in gentle
happy waves. Would the girls have been embroidering on the patches for
the quilts? Perhaps.

Long after Mama was gone I found in Papa’s closet a book of German
fairy tales, entitled "Lena Fafer." The German script I could not
read, but I enjoyed the pictures and Lou used to tell me the stories.

Reardan had no kind of a library. The books we read were the
books we owned. At Christmas time there was always a book for each
of us of one sort or another. The story about a horse "Black Beauty" and
about a dog "Beautiful Joe" were two of my treasured gifts. I cried over
them both for years. Aunt Barbara and Uncle Joe lived a scant quarter
mile from us on the Erdman place. Uncle Joe sold bibles and religious
novels. Surely some of his stock that proved to be poor sellers were passed
on to us.

Probably Aunt Barbara gave me several of the Elsie Dinsmore
books. Elsie was a young girl endowed with modesty and saintly virtue.
On one occasion, in one of the stories, Elsie’s father gave her a new velvet
a bonnet and velvet muff. She put on the bonnet, admired herself in the mirror
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-008a-1600.jpg|Page 8]]}}
and stroked the muff enjoying its sumptuous texture on her skin. Suddenly
she recoiled from this devilish temptation of pride and thrust the
gifts aside. On Sunday as she and her father were leaving for church, he
asked her why she was not wearing the new outfit. "Oh, I cannot," she
replied, "I will be thinking about my bonnet instead of God." I read
these books with relish, but I was never tempted to follow in her footsteps.

Another book of mine, religious in content, was "St. Elmo." Elmo
came from a very affluent family. He was pictured as a rake and a sinner
in every conceivable term for about three hundred pages. In the nick
of time, however, he changed his evil way and became a minister. More
than once after reading St. Elmo I considered joining the foreign missions
our church was always talking about, but somehow I always managed to
change my mind. The thought of leaving home was more than I could
bear.

There was one other book that I probably read weekly during the
time I was about twelve. It was entitled "A Young Girl’s Wooing." Many
a time Lou would call me, call me and call me to gather the eggs, fill the
wood box or do some other chore, but if I were safely hidden in the apple
trees or out in the granary, I could ignore her calls and continue the story.
The plot involved a dear sweet gentle young maid who out-maneuvered
an unscrupulous rival for the love and affection of her brother-in-law’s brother.
In all possible situations the heroine excelled in her bid for the young
man’s affection. The rival sang Verdi with much aplomb so our gal took
secret voice lessons until she could polish off Wagner arias with the greatest
of ease. I think the final episode that clinched the romance was when
the young girl saved the man from financial ruin when he was caught short
on the market by putting up her own securities as collateral. I had no
idea at the time what being caught short was all about, but it sounded
impressive.

Bertie probably brought home “The Scarlet Letter" and "Little Women"
which she must have purchased for some of her English classes.
Most of Jean Stanton Porter’s novels were around the house for reading
and rereading. When Herman married Martha Knudsen, she brought to
their new home a complete set of the novels of Alexander Dumas. That
was a real windfall for me to have access to so many books at once.
Martha was very generous in allowing me to take them home for reading, one
at a time.

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===CHAPTER TWO: Early Boyhood===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-009b-chapter-2-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 2 sketch
</gallery>

We really know very little about Papa’s background. When he finally
came to Washington, took out a homestead claim and became a United
States citizen, his life, work, attitudes and thoughts were of the present
and future, not the past. When I contracted smallpox in July of 1916 and
Papa and I were quarantined for a month in a tent up by the spring, he
concentrated his time and effort to keeping me happy and alleviating my
homesickness. We walked for miles in the warm sunshine checking the
ripening grain, sitting above the lake to spy on the house we could not
return to and watching the traffic on the county road. To amuse me Papa
often sang in his clear baritone voice. When I tired of this he would turn
to story telling. I especially enjoyed hearing about his life back in
Germany as a boy so he talked quite a little about it.

Papa left Germany sometime in his early teens, sent to a relative
or acquaintance in Oshkosh, Wisconsin to learn the baker’s trade. About
the time he was eleven Papa became a rebel. He enjoyed the basic mechanics
of learning, the math, reading and writing, but rebelled against the
militant teachings of his professors.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-010a-1600.jpg|Page 10]]}}

"What’s so great about the Kaiser?" he asked his Father. “The way
the Herr Professor talks you would think he is God himself. Day after day,
all we hear is "Deutchland Uber Alles." Why does Bismarck think the
Germans are better than anyone else?"

As he grew older Papa became more and more a non-conformist.
Always vocal in his opinions soon he was drawing the attention of the
school authorities.

“How can we cope with a son like this," the Mother and Father asked
of each other.

When Charles, the oldest boy was conscripted into the army, Papa
said, “They won’t get me. I’ll run away.” Then it was arranged that Papa
would be sent to America.

Under Bismarck’s consolidation of the German States into a unified
German nation, Saxony occupied a central position. On the Saale River
in Saxony Weissenfels, a town of considerable importance during the
feudal ages, was situated. On November 3, 1855 Papa was born either
here or in a nearby village of Leizling. Papa spoke about the central
Square surrounded by homes around its perimeter with fields extending
beyond. When the village was first laid out this undoubtedly served as a
safety measure. The house and barn were unified under one roof. In rural
Europe today it is still common to see this type of one structure building
providing shelter for both man and his livestock. As children accustomed
to extensive out buildings in ample distance from the house, we thought
this was terrible funny. “Imagine living in the same building as the cows.”

Mattilda, his mother, was a peasant, his father, Charles, a petty
bourgeoisie. Probably his family were small estate owners. During this
period in European history, the vestiges of the old feudal structure still
hung on with stubborn persistence against the integrating tide of democratic
ideas. There was still a very wide gap between the classes and a rigid
scale of snobbery. Against this background, why did Charles step beneath
his class and marry a peasant? From the Wagner point of view he
committed a cardinal sin. Grandma was a shrewd woman with a driving force
that would not be dissipated until she obtained her objective. One of her
daughters-in-law, I think it was Adolph’s wife, said, "Grandma was plenty
smart. She would have made a good lawyer.”

Grandpa we never knew, but his portrait which at one time graced
the parlour wall and later was delegated to the upstairs showed a gentle,
sensitive face, full, direct eyes and a kindly mouth. As was common he
wore a full beard and mustache neatly trimmed. My guess is that once
Grandma made up her mind to have him, he didn’t have a chance.

The house in Leizling or Weissenfels with its small acreage was
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-011a-1600.jpg|Page 11]]}}
settled on Charles Wagner and here he and Mattilda set up housekeeping.
The fact that through her husband, Grandma could assume the right of
the landed property, small as it must have been, was something she could
never forget. After her husband’s death. when Papa went back to Germany
to bring his Mother to Reardan to live with us, Grandma continually
belittled her daughter-in-law whose father made a living as a school
master.

"Why in the world my son would marry a good for nothing like you,
I'll never know" Grandma expressed in word and action again and again.
“What did your Father have that amounted to anything? How much land
did he have? Nothing, nothing, nothing.”

Obviously this created a tension in the household that finally became
unbearable. Mama was not enough of a fighter to stand up to a strong
personality such as Grandma’s, but instead would dissolve into tears. A
compromise of sorts was reached when Grandma was moved to the house
on the quarter of land just west of the home place. Grandma didn’t want
to stay alone nights, so each evening after supper Bertie was sent to spend
the night with her. That nightly half mile walk through the fields was
often fearful, especially when the yelping coyotes seemed so near.

Grandpa was a gentleman, a product of his environment and upbringing.
As such, he could never demean himself by physical work. It
was left to Grandma to do the back breaking work in the fields, sowing
and reaping the crops, caring for the livestock and looking after the
children which she produced in routine regularity. Papa, christened Frederick,
was the second child, his brother Charles was two years older.

What was Grandpa’s love was the violin. He must have had a better
than average talent playing always with kindred musicians. I doubt
that this offered any sort of financial return as Papa always spoke of the
land as producing their living. At times there were very meager rations
for the children. "I’m sure the stomach trouble I’ve had through the years
developed when as a young boy I ate and swallowed food that was too
hot so I could have my share," said Papa each time he periodically went
on a hot cooked cereal diet.

As soon as the two older boys were able to hold a violin in their
hands they were given lessons by their father. By the time Charles was
eleven and Papa was nine, they earned small sums of money playing for
the village dances.

Papa made the trip to America by himself, embarking at Hamburg.
He neither spoke nor understood any English. While there undoubtedly
were many German people also making the crossing with whom he could
converse, still it must have been a bewildering experience. Somehow or
other he made his way to Oshkosh where he stayed several years learning
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-012a-1600.jpg|Page 12]]}}
how to become a baker. He was very unhappy in Oshkosh and threatened
more than once to leave.

The transcontinental railway was opened in 1869. This opening of
the West brought a flood of immigrants from Europe as the railway
executives launched a wide scale advertising campaign in the major cities of
Europe. Travel offices were available to offer information about the
journeys to the settlers and to entice them to the particular part of the West
which was serviced by the railway that opened the office. Glowing stories
of the unlimited opportunities were carried in most of the largest papers.
If the articles were to be believed the West was a veritable "Land of Milk
and Honey." In the barracks where Uncle Charles was stationed the
soldiers talked about and sold themselves on the idea of making the crossing
to the United States as soon as their tour of service was finished. It wasn’t
long after Charles returned to his home that he left and made his way to
Oshkosh.

“Fred," said Charles as soon as he contacted Papa, "how about
joining me and going west to California? I understand there is a wonderful
opportunity for any young and ambitious fellow out there." He drew
from his pocket a clipping from one of the German papers.

“I’m not quite finished learning my trade here,” replied Papa, "but
I’m sick and tired of this grind. I’m willing to walk out on this and join
you.”

The two brothers secured enough provisions to last the trip, the other
necessary supplies and boarded the Kansas Pacific for the trip across the
plains and into California where they disembarked at Sacramento.

Although Papa had been in this country a number of years, he had
lived with a German family where the mother tongue was spoken almost
exclusively. He did, however, understand some English, surely much
more than his brother Charles, fresh from the old country. There
had always been a rapport between the two and especially in a strange
environment they wanted and needed the support each could give the
other. Under these circumstances their choice of finding a job was limited.
Finally they heard that field hands were needed near Chico for the
harvesting of wheat. Both the brothers were active and industrious. They
so impressed their boss that after harvest was over and the other help was
laid off, they were asked to stay.

Malaria was still a fairly common disease in the Sacramento Valley
during the seventies. The following spring Papa came down with a severe
siege of malaria, the only illness in his entire lifetime. The chills and fever
persisted until his boss advised Papa to go to a higher altitude until he
could get the disease out of his system. In easy stages Papa walked first
to Chico and then east out of the valley to the mountains. Where Paradise
stands today a burly mining community called Pair-of-dice, so named by
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-013a-1600.jpg|Page 13]]}}
the gold miners, was situated. Mostly it was jerry built, a conglomeration
of shacks and tents. This was Papa’s destination as he hoped to find some
of kind of light work to earn his keep until he had fully recuperated. A
voluminous woman in an advanced stage of pregnancy was outside a log cabin
of on the near side of town. Papa watched her for a few moments as she
hung out her clothes. When she noticed him he smiled and began a
conversation.

“That is quite a job you have there.” Papa could be most
ingratiating when he chose.

“Yes,” she replied as she looked over the stranger who spoke to her.

“You live here?”’

“I live in Chico, but I came up here to get out of the heat of the
valley.”’

“It's a scorcher down there. I had to leave to try and get over this
malaria I picked up down there. Seems to me I feel some better already
although I still get some pretty bad spells.”

“This is the best place to get rid of it. I’ve known several people
who have come up here for that very reason.”

“I have to find some kind of light work to earn my keep while I’m
here,” continued Papa. "Don’t suppose you know of anyone that needs
a little help for a few weeks?"

“No, I don’t.” The strange lady studied him for a few moments and
then volunteered, "I need some help in the kitchen and in the house.” She
looked down at her swollen figure wordlessly.

“It may take me a few days to get the hang of what you want done,
but I believe I could fill the bill. I’m pretty handy.”

“Know anything about cooking?”’

“Just finished learning the baker’s trade back in Oshkosh. I’d have
the no trouble on that score. As a matter of fact I’d say my bread is as light
and tasty as any you’d find. I’d be most obliged just to work for my board
until I can get my strength back. I hate to admit it, but I’m still pretty
weak.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Fred Wagner.”’

“I'm Mrs. Larsen. Mrs. Oscar Larsen. My husband has business
interests in Chico, but he will be here in a few days. Stay for a day or so
and I’ll see how you work out. Then when my husband comes up we'll
see what he says.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-014a-1600.jpg|Page 14]]}}

During the weeks that followed, Mrs. Larsen found Papa an avid
student. Not only did he take complete charge of the kitchen, but when
the baby came there was no one as gentle and efficient in caring for the
little one.

Some months later when Papa finally got over his spell of malaria
he told the Larsens he thought he should be going back down to find work
again and to see how his brother was getting on.

“Fred," said Mr. Larsen, "I have an interest in a restaurant down
in Chico. I’ve just lost my meat cook and I need a replacement. I think
you could fill the bill. As a matter of fact I was thinking about offering
you the job on my way up here. I’d want you to take charge of the place,
run it, do the buying and of course the cooking.”

After some discussion regarding the work, responsibility and wages,
the two men came to an agreement. Papa returned to Chico. First of all
he wanted to see his brother again, and speak to the farmer who had hired
him in the first place to let him know he was not returning to work.

"Well," said the farmer, "looks like you have yourself quite a job.
How old are you anyway, Fred?”

“I’ll be nineteen this coming November.”

There were two waitresses, a dish washer and a cook’s helper. All
the help lived on the floor above. The girls shared a bedroom, the two
men did the same, while Papa as chief cook and manager had the third
one to himself. Early in his employment he learned to barricade his
bedroom against the amorous assault of one of the waitresses. Papa had a
healthy fear of contracting any social disease. The room and board was
part of the salary. Wages were low, hours were long. It was not unusual
for Papa to work fourteen to sixteen hours a day. He was frugal with his
money and during the time that Papa cooked in Chico he managed to save
most of the salary.

This job was one of marking time while he looked around to see
something that really appealed to him. What he really wanted was land.
Papa was always questioning, asking or reading any matter that
pertained to land acquisition. Finally he and Charles heard that land in the
Oregon Territory was to be opened up for homestead. They talked it over
and looked into the best way to make the trip north.

"Just think, Charlie. Imagine owning a hundred and sixty acres of
land. What do you think our folks would say to that?”

Finally they contacted a group of settlers who were going north to
the Willamette Valley. Arrangements were made to join the wagon train.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-015a-1600.jpg|Page 15]]}}

After they got to Portland they could find others for the trip east. They
shopped carefully for the right wagon, horses and other necessary supplies.

We know few details of that trip. In the Grants Pass area there
Was rumor of Indian unrest so watch was posted each night. Also during
the day riders scouted ahead of the main party for any Indian sign, all the
men of the group taking their turns. It must have been taken in a leisurely
manner as there was a lot of livestock that could not be moved too quickly.
Papa’s skill in bread making earned him the job of camp baker.

The Oregon Steam Navigation Company, which held the monopoly
of river traffic on the Columbia, wanted the Bg Bend area developed to
increase their downstream traffic of goods. George Atkinson, a Congregational
missionary, was one of the first men to analyze the soils and
experiment with the possibility of growing wheat in the area he called
the Inland Empire. His praise of the area as a wheat growing Eden was
a boon to O S N’s own plan to increase river revenues. They hung their
advertising programs on this peg. “Wheat, wheat wheat. The best wheat
Country in the world to be found only in the Big Bend of the Columbia.”

The advertising posters along the water front in Portland appealed
to the Wagner brothers. They decided to §0 up river and have a look for
themselves. Papa and Charlie must have used one of the O S N river
barges for their trip from Portland up river going as far as The Dalles
or Umatilla. From there they would have traveled the old Oregon Trail
to Walla Walla.

They first settled near Waverly about thirty miles southeast of Spokane
on Latah Creek. They found work temporarily with an established
a settler there by the name of Kingbaum. Mr. Kingbaum especially liked
Papa and tried to interest him in one of his daughters. While Papa was
not sold on the daughter, he did like the region and would probably have
taken up a homestead in this area, but here the Indians intervened. A
band of Nez Perce Indians up from Steptoe Butte raided the area burning
homes, grain and driving off livestock. In caves along the creek Papa
and Charles protected the Kingbaum livestock and their own horses and
supplies while the family banded with other settlers. When things simmered
down the Wagner brothers decided they would try their luck elsewhere,
where they might find the Indians more peaceful.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-016a-1600.jpg|Page 16]]}}

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-016b-minna-and-grandmother-teressa-wagner-1600.jpg | Minna and her grandmother Teressa Wagner
mcj-016c-teressa-wagner-germany-1600.jpg | Teressa Wagner in Germany
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-017a-1600.jpg|Page 17]]}}

===CHAPTER THREE: This Is My Land===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-017b-chapter-3-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 3 sketch
</gallery>

The early archives of Lincoln County are kept in the basement of the
Court House in Davenport. I asked the county clerk if I could see the
original certificate that made Papa a proud land owner of one hundred and
sixty acres of rolling prairie. It took some time before she finally found
the dusty tome, its pages yellowed with age.

On page eighty-two in the yearbook for 1888 we find the following —
“There has been deposited in the General Land Office of the United States
a certificate of the register of the land office of Spokane Falls, Washington
territory, to secure Homesteads to actual settlers on the public domain.

The claim of Fred Wagner has been established and duly consumated
in conformity of the law, May 26, 1888.

Grover Cleveland, President of the United States.”

Thus, officially did Papa take legal claim of the southeast quarter of
section four, township twenty-five, north of range thirty-nine.

In 1862 Congress passed the Homestead Law. In its provision, a citizen
of the United States could acquire one hundred and sixty acres of public
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-018a-1600.jpg|Page 18]]}}
domain provided he lived on the land for five years, made his home on it,
cultivated the ground and paid a fee of about sixteen dollars. Between
1862 and 1900, 80 million acres were released to Homesteaders.

While Papa and Uncle Charlie were not citizens of the United States
when they filed for a homestead, they had taken out first papers. The
government decreed this was an article of good faith and as such they
were permitted to secure a claim provided their final papers had been
taken out before the five years were over.

About a year and a half before Papa became legal owner of the home
place, on November 16, 1886 at Spokane Falls, Territory of Washington,
he appeared before the Judicial District Court. Two witnesses, Moon
Getty and James Leslie testified that Fred Wagner had fully complied
with the laws relative thereto, namely that he had resided in Washington
Territory for one year, and in the United States for at least five, and he
behaved as a man of good moral character. Swearing before Judge
George Turner his allegiance to the United States of America, Papa was
admitted to citizenship.

When Papa and Uncle Charlie decided to leave the Waverly district
and seek an area where the Indians were more peaceful, they traveled by
horseback northeast to Spokane Falls. Here they stayed for several weeks
exploring the country round about. There were two requirements they
especially wished to fulfill when they finally decided on a parcel of land.
One was that the claim had easy access to water, the other that it be as
near a railway loading point as possible.

The Northern Pacific Railway had been authorized in 1864 with the
government extending generous grants of land to the company. Every
other section of land along the right of way was deeded to the railway.
Construction began in 1864, but it was not until seventeen years later on
June 25, 1881 that the Northern Pacific rails were finally laid into
Spokane Falls.

The following year a town called Fairweather was plotted by Hooker
and Still of Cheney. This was along the proposed right of way for a
branch railway from Cheney in a westerly direction, servicing the land
of the Big Bend area and then making connections with the main line to
the coast at Hartline. In 1889, Fairweather was renamed after C. F.
Reardan, engineer of construction of the line.

It was in this area, twenty-five miles by wagon road from Spokane
which followed old Indian trails across the White Bluff Prairie that Papa
and Uncle Charlie decided to settle. The year was 1883.

A mile north of Reardan the prairie is level land, then it gently dips
into a small hollow. On the east side of the hollow is an outcropping of
rim rock. At the base, a small lake. Today it is pretty much silted up,
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-019a-1600.jpg|Page 19]]}}
but when Papa arrived the lake was clear, eight to ten feet deep, and
several acres in size. The boundary line of the quarter section Papa
selected to homestead ran through the center of the lake. Above it to the
north a swelling hill of sage and scab rock. At the back end of the
quarter were several springs that ran pure clear water summer and winter.
In the draws that contoured the base of the hills the timothy and other
grasses were tall and luxuriant.

“Yes,” said Papa in talking it over with Uncle Charlie, "This place
will suit me very well.”

Uncle Charlie selected a quarter of land a mile further north. This
also had natural springs. The big requirement of a water supply had been
satisfied. Pleased with their choice, they returned to Spokane Falls and
filed their claim.

Early summer was already warming the hills when Papa returned
to Reardan, His wagon was piled high with tools and household supplies.
In slow, reluctant plodding, the cows followed behind, tethered by thongs to
the rear axle to keep them from straying. A span of four horses pulled
their load through dusty ruts onward to the west.

The governor of Washington Territory had this to say about the
pioneers, "Nearly all the newcomers were of a superior class of settlers for
few would undertake to remove themselves to a part of the country as
distant as this. Without ample means of vicissitudes of at least two
seasons, it would be impossible to survive.”

Well, there was money saved through the years for just this under taking,
there was a willing mind, a sturdy body.

Looking over the lay of the land Papa decided the hill above the
lake was the most advantageous for safety and security to build his sod
dugout shelter. With pick and shovel he dug deep into the earth, saving
the upturned sod as support and insulation for the logs that formed the
roof. The alder trees that were clustered against the hill by the lakeside
were felled to provide timbers for the roof.

When the hay and grasses ripened, Papa took his scythe to cut them
and raked them into piles until they were dried. Then again the hay was
mounded up into stacks to provide feed for his animals in the long winter
months. His own provisions were easy to obtain. Prairie chickens and
rabbits were more than plentiful, a single shot would provide a meal or
two. Flour and salt were easily stored staples for bread to add to his diet
of meat. For a change of pace occasionally Papa would ride to the
canyon four miles north for a mess of trout which were abundant in Spring
Creek.

Capps Place, a scant mile away, was the stage stop on the old Fort
Spokane route. It also served as post office for the area until 1889 when
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-020a-1600.jpg|Page 20]]}}
the post office was moved to Reardan. Papa could ride over in a few
minutes to visit with the Capps and any interesting wayfarer. Papa and
Charlie helped each other often when work needed more than one hand for
accomplishment.

But however busy he was, however weary, Papa would take a few
moments here and there to listen to the song birds, to watch the setting
sun or to admire the bloom of a wild flower.

As the home place was near the old Indian trail, the Indians
continued to camp by the lakeside when they were in transit from one area
to another. This practice Papa never attempted to stop. As long as he
had charge of the ranch any Indian was welcome to spend the night on
the place, with ample food provided for the horses, and milk and eggs for
the Indian and his family.

Papa was rather proud of my piano playing ability and often he
would call me in to play some of his favorite tunes for some bypassing
Indian. I can still remember some stoical, silent Indian, complete with long
braided black hair, atop of which sat a stiff black hat, sitting in the
parlor until my piano piece was finished and then Papa ceremoniously
escorting the same Indian out the door. What the various Indian braves
thought of my accomplishment was never vocalized. Perhaps they
considered this as accepted ritual before the giving of gifts of food. As I
remember, no Indian wife was ever invited into the house to hear me make
music. This was an honor only accorded to the men.

It always amazed me to see the skill with which Papa was able to
communicate with the Indians. He was not much of a linguist, but his
pantomime was excellent and with the necessary descriptive actions to
suit the words, his mixture of German, English and Chinook somehow
always got across.

One story of Papa’s that was one of my favorites, I heard many,
many times when I was a little girl. Papa was still living in the sod house
above the lake. A cold southern wind had brought with it a dismal wet rain.
As Papa came in from work he looked out across the lake where he saw the
thin smoke of a camp fire. Nearby was a wagon without cover, but from
that distance he could not make out exactly how many were in the party.
He went into his house, stoked up the fire, cooked and ate his evening
meal. Then, as was his custom when anyone was camped at the foot of
the hill, he went down to talk with his over-night guests. Secure in the
warmth of his heavy mackintosh, he strode down to the camp.

The Indian, huddled in a blanket with his back to the wind, was
warming himself over the glowing coals. In the bed of the wagon the
squaw was on her knees, leaning over and crooning to her babies.

“How,” said Papa with a smile of welcome on his face.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-021a-1600.jpg|Page 21]]}}

“How,” answered the brave, at the same time scanning Papa’s features.

Desultory conversation about the weather, the feed for the horses,
times and conditions followed. Finally, the Indian spoke about his two
sons who he said “Were heap big sick.”

Then for the first time Papa turned his attention to the occupants of
the wagon. He looked at the little fellows huddled in the wagon bed under
deer skins, felt their foreheads and immediately ascertained the seriousness
of their condition.

“Hot, hot, too hot," said Papa demonstrating with his hands on his
own forehead. "Sick, much sick. We take boys up hill to house. I see if
I can get fever to come down. Yes?”

“Yes."

Papa took the larger of the two boys and cradled him in his arms
as he strode away toward the house. The squaw picked up the other lad
and wordlessly followed. The Indian stayed behind just long enough to
see that the horses were hobbled, the fire banked and then he also made
the climb upward.

The one room shelter was filled to overflowing as all entered. In a
moment the lantern was lit to cast an eerie glow over the room and its
occupants. Papa placed the two little fellows in his bed, covering them
with all the bedding he had available. Some form of infection, probably
scarlet fever, had sent their temperatures soaring. Hour after hour Papa
applied cold compresses. He made a mixture of kerosene and sugar
which he fed to the boys in small amounts from time to time. Hour after
hour through the night, through the next day and on into the second night,
Papa nursed the boys with all the skill and tenderness at his command.
Finally the fever broke, the boys fell into a natural sleep, and Papa turned
to the father.

“It’s all right now. Boy get well, boy get well."

Was Papa cognizant of the prevailing Indian philosophy as practiced
by the Eastern Washington Indian tribes? Indians were in the habit of
killing any medicine man who misused his powers as far as illness was
concerned. A medicine man was first of all a sorcerer. If magic failed,
the capacity to cure the sick vanished. To the primitive mind, only
success in recovery of patients made for a healer. If a patient died, so
according to tribal law, should the medicine man.

From the Indian point of view, Papa had taken on to himself the
responsibility of a medicine man. With this act, all that followed was his
doing. Knowing Papa, I’m sure even this would not have stopped him
from offering help where it was needed.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-022a-1600.jpg|Page 22]]}}

Fortunately the fever broke, and after a restful sleep, the boys were
well enough to travel.

When Papa first took over the homestead, he occasionally lost a
horse or a cow, as it was then still open range country and only a brand
identified the owner of the stock. Some must have been rustled by passing
Indians, others just strayed too far afield. After word was passed along
the Spokane River about his medicinal powers, the Indians came more
and more to trust him and respect him. From then on Papa would send
word along the line that a brindle cow, or a piebald pony was missing, and
the Indians would keep an eye out for the stock and return it to him if
they found it.

One day several months later, as Papa came in from work, he
found on his doorstep, a pair of soft deerskin embroidered and beaded
moccasins. A grateful mother was returning her thanks.

The seasons passed one to the other in rapid succession. Gradually,
more sod was turned under and the ground was readied for planting.
Although there was scant rainfall each year, about ten to fourteen inches,
the accumulated humus from decaying grasses turned back into the
ground, made for an excellent growing medium for wheat. The first
wheat was flailed by hand onto a blanket, the same primitive method that
is still in use in underdeveloped areas of the world. When we watched the
Filipino peasants flailing the ripened rice stocks, tossing the plastic
blankets on which it was piled into the air to let the wind catch the chaff,
I thought, ‘‘Why this is exactly how Papa did it so many years ago.”’

In a year or so, work was started on the railway. This brought
many construction workers, which in turn developed a need for goods and
services.

Conrad Scharman, a German, was on the lookout for a place to
start a meat market and thought our part of the country offered possibilities.
The development of the Inland Empire was still in flux, Spokane,
Cheney, even our town was bending every effort to become the hub. Scharman
liked the Reardan area, thought it offered him good business possibilities.
He was scouting around for a source for his meat supply.

“There are a couple of bachelors north of town,”’ he was told, “Why
don’t you see what they have to offer.”

With this as a lead, Scharman mounted his saddle horse and started north.
He stopped first to talk to Papa. There was an almost instant
rapport between the two men, a feeling of mutual respect and trust. It
marked the beginning of a friendship that lasted a lifetime.

"How many steer do you need?" asked Papa.

"I can't rightly say just now. Guess I'll have to play it by ear."

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-023a-1600.jpg|Page 23]]}}

"You have a place to slaughter yet?”

“No, not yet, but I’ll make some arrangements. Just now I’m trying to line
up my supply.”

“Well,” continued Papa, "I’ll be glad to take care of the slaughtering
for you if you like. I’ll need some kind of a holding pen, but there is plenty
of grass and water here. Come winter I’ve made arrangements to go
down the canyon and split some rails so I can put up a corral."

Details were gradually worked out to the satisfaction of them both.
It was a good source of money that Papa needed to build a house and to
buy equipment. The extra work that this entailed meant nothing to Papa.
He was young, he was strong and he was ambitious. His farm was going
be built solid and permanent.

Papa took roots in this prairie country. A happiness and a pride
deep within him more than compensated for the toil and back-breaking
labor. “This is my land" was the song in his heart, and finally, on May
18, 1888, this became a fact recognized by law.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-024a-1600.jpg|Page 24]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-023a-momas-house-in-germany-1600.jpg | Moma's house in Germany
mcj-024b-fred-wagner-lena-gabellein-1600.jpg | Fred Wagner and Len Gabellein wedding photo
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-025a-1600.jpg|Page 25]]}}

===CHAPTER FOUR: The Farmer Takes a Wife===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-025b-chapter-4-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 4 sketch
</gallery>

It was a Sunday morning in late fall. There was a crisp, sparkling
and invigorating feeling to the air. The frost of the night had etched the
cobwebs on the grasses into delicate patterns. The smoke from the chimney
arose straight into the sky, not a breath of wind was near to challenge
its upward flight.

Papa was shaving and trimming his mustache. While he worked, his
mind was busy inventorying his summer accomplishments. The first and
biggest job done was the new house, built this time, not on the hill, but
close by the county road. The money that Mr. Scharman had paid him
had made it possible to buy the lumber. On several of his trips into
Spokane Falls, Papa had brought back rough sawn pine, a foot in width and
four inch battens. With a saw, claw hammer, chisel and a keg of square
topped nails, along with the lumber, Papa plunged into the task of building
himself a real house. That this was a new venture, about which he
knew little, daunted him not in the least. To an outsider, the house may
have looked jerry-built, but to Papa it seemed a palace. How much more
spacious it was than the dugout shelter on the hill! How big the kitchen
seemed, the bedroom downstairs and the full loft overhead for storage!

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-026a-1600.jpg|Page 26]]}}

In addition to building the house, Papa had broken ten more acres
of sod. The wheat, now all harvested, had yielded a sizeable crop. The
hay was all stacked in a crude shelter for feed for his animals through
the coming winter. Yes, all in all, it had been a good year.

Still there was a nagging ache he could not define. What was this
restlessness that made him so pernickety? "I know what is bothering me,"
he said to the mirror on the wall, "I need a wife and children to give this
place a completeness. Now, where am I going to find a wife?"

Unmarried women were almost non-existent around the Reardan
area. Goodness knows, there were few enough women of any kind, let
alone some marriageable ones. Papa mulled the problem over in his
mind for several days. Finally he thought, "I’ll go see the Erdmans.
Barbara may be able to come up with a good idea.”

Papa went down to see Uncle Charlie. He was rather vague.
"Charles, could you keep an eye on my stock and the place for a few days?
I haven’t seen the Erdmans since we left Waverly. Thought I’d ride down
that way and see how they are getting along.”

Louis Erdman had been one of the first friends Papa had made
when he came into the Washington area. Erdman had come west from
Wisconsin, had herded sheep for a time and then taken out a homestead.
He had met and married Barbara Gabelein, who also came out to
Washington Territory with a family by the name of Swartz.

The last few miles, Papa kept urging his mare to hurry. He
thoroughly enjoyed the companionship and good conversation of these two
dear friends. At supper, relaxing at the table, Papa turned to Barbara
with a smile, "Barbara, I’m not getting any younger. I do feel that I’m
in a position now to support a wife and family, but I don’t know where
I’m going to find a wife. I’d like someone just like you, if I can find her.
I don’t suppose you happen to have an unmarried sister back in Ger many?”

Barbara laughed, "Why, Fred, thank you for the nice compliment.
It does happen that I do have a sister back home. It is my sister Lena, who
is three years younger than I.”

"Really? Tell me all about her.”

"Well, she is my only sister and sort of-my baby. I pretty much had
to look after her when Mama died and Papa remarried. I’ll tell you what
I can do. I’ll write to Lena, tell her about you and invite her to come out
to Washington. I think I have a photograph somewhere.”

Barbara picked up the family album that lay on the table, turning
the leaves. “There,” she said, "that’s Lena. Do you think she looks like
me?"

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-027a-1600.jpg|Page 27]]}}

Papa studied the picture carefully. "I like her face. It’s so much
like you in many ways. I think I’m half in love with her already. Lena,
eh? Lena, it’s a pretty name.”

Finally, Barbara got up from the table to clear and wash the dishes.
The two men continued to sit around the table enjoying their beer. There
was much talk — about Papa’s new house, Louis’ new acquisition of
land, about the crops and weather. In a day or so, Papa returned home,
pleased with the progress he had made and content to await further
developments.

In the meantime, Barbara wrote to her sister in great detail about
Papa; what he was like, what he had and how much she and Louis liked
him. "Come on out and meet him, Lena. I think you would be happy with
this man," she concluded.

When Mama received Barbara’s letter, she read it and reread it.
Lena Gabelein was twenty-four years old. She hated to admit it, even to
herself, but many in Bayreuth considered her an old maid. Did she have
the courage to make that long trip all by herself? Would she find a good
marriage at the end of her journey? Lena dearly loved her father and
was loathe to leave him, but her step-mother, who had married her
father when Lena was five, still managed to frustrate and embitter her.
There was much soul-searching before Lena finally made up her mind to
come to Washington Territory.

Weeks passed as Mama packed and readied for the trip. First of all
were the hope chest things put in the bottom of the melon-topped trunks.
There were the hand-loomed linen cloths, towels, sheets and pillow cases.
Each piece carried in red the letters L. G. and were numbered, apparently
as they were finished. One, thirty-seven, eighty-five as each came off
her loom. Then, the beautifully embroidered pillow shams, the goose
down pillows and the bedding, all part of her dowry.

All the clothes Mama owned and all she could afford in new ones,
were packed next. She never did get over her love of pretty clothes. How
she must have loved the one that was made to’wear at her wedding. The
photographs, taken the day Mama and Papa were married, gives one an
idea of what it was like. A brown two-piece heavy silk with the bodice
outlined with a pleated yoke of some heavier material, perhaps satin, was
neatly fitted and gold buttoned. The sleeves also had a band of the same
material finished with a trim of two-inch wide woven lace. The same
lace was fashioned into a collar to frame her pretty face. The skirt was
floor length, voluminous, falling in soft pleats. Over it, as added
embellishment, was an extra short half-skirt draped to one side. Her hat, a
sailor, with its high crown covered with hand-made flowers, would also
have been lovingly packed in her commodious luggage.

At last, Mama started on the long, frightening trip across the ocean.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-028a-1600.jpg|Page 28]]}}

Her uncle Charles Gabelein and his four children came to meet the ship
to welcome her. Uncle Charles had a very flourishing carpet business
in New York City. His home reflected in comfort and charm, his rising
affluence in the business world.

Several weeks were spent in New York City, resting, sight-seeing
and getting to know the younger cousins. Finally came the day for traveling
on. Her Uncle Charles and family said good-bye to a reluctant, frightened
woman as they saw Mama off on the train. After what seemed an
eternity, the train stopped at Spokane Falls. Barbara was there to meet
her.

What visiting, what chattering followed, as the two sisters were
again united. Lena must see everything in Barbara’s house, must get to
know Louis, who was so kind and good. Lena, in her turn, must tell all
about the family, her trip and her New York experience.

At last, word was sent to Papa, who came to the Erdman place as
soon as he could make arrangements to leave his own. Papa galloped up
to the house, sprang from the saddle, eagerly ran up and knocked on the
door. A comely young woman answered his knock.

“You’re Lena, aren’t you?" She nodded affirmative. "Well, I’m
Fred Wagner. Come along with me while I water the mare and bed her
down. We might as well start getting acquainted.”

Side by side they walked down to the watering trough. While the
horse was drinking his fill, they took time to look at each other. "I trust
him” thought Lena, while "She’s just what I want" was Fred’s inward
conviction. It was as easy as that.

Soon, plans were made for the wedding. Papa would go back home
and return to Spokane Falls with a wagon so they could bring on, not only
Mama’s things, but supplies they would shop for together. The Erdmans
would bring Lena, traveling by light spring wagon in which they could
stow all of Lena’s baggage.

On June 27, 1887, Lena Gabelein and Friederich K. Wagner were
married in the German Lutheran Church of Spokane Falls. Mama was so
pleased to find such a church. This was a service familiar to her, the
vows were spoken in her native tongue. It was a good omen. Louis and
Barbara Erdman were the only witnesses to the ceremony.

After the service, they probably went to the California House on
Howard and Trent Street for their wedding dinner. There would have
been wine and beer on this festive occasion. Mama said Papa was a little
tipsy from the wine. Looking at the wedding picture, one can imagine
that Papa felt rather care-free at the moment in spite of his new
responsibilities.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-029a-1600.jpg|Page 29]]}}

There was a tearful good-bye from Mama and an auf Wiedersehen
by Papa, as the Erdmans left to return home. The honeymoon was over
all too soon. As they went shopping for supplies the next day, Papa bought
a western side saddle as his wedding gift to his new bride. It was a luxury
he felt he could hardly afford, and yet, he wanted Mama with him
when he rode after the cattle and other livestock.

It was, in many ways, a difficult adjustment for Mama. There were
so many days of loneliness and isolation, such a strange contrast to the
urban community she had always known. The Indians coming by the
house frightened and startled her as they moved so quietly and appeared,
so it seemed, out of nowhere. The coyotes howling through the night set
her nerves on edge, but the utter stillness seemed even worse to cope
with.

She found her strength and security in Papa. Only when she was
with him did she feel safe. He was intuitive of her need and in many
unexpected ways, supplied her the courage she did not have herself. For
instance, Mama was afraid when she made the last nightly trip out to
the outhouse by herself, the long shadows of dusk were eerie, or the night
blackness scary. So Papa always took the time to walk out with her. He
would stay close by and whistle until she was finished. That whistling
made all the difference in the world to Mama and her feeling of security
returned to her in ample measure.

Perhaps the feeling of insecurity was in part due to her early
childhood. Her own mother died of pneumonia when Mama was five, Barbara
was eight, Conrad, the oldest, was eleven and the baby, George, was two.
Grandpa Gabelein was a schoolmaster in a boys school in Bayreuth, Bavaria.
He was at a loss to care for his children, so a few months later he
married a spinster lady. She had apparently known the family. In fact,
she had attended the funeral of his first wife. On the day of the funeral,
the lady had made up her mind to become the second Mrs. Gabelein. She
had started her campaign by ogling the bereaved husband and father at
the service. With his need for a wife and her desire to become one, it
was only a matter of a decent interval before the children had a new Mother.

However, the new Mrs. Gabelein wanted the husband, but tolerated
the children as a necessary evil. There was never any feeling of affection
between the new mother and the family. The children learned early to
support and comfort each other. As soon as they were old enough, they
were required to do the heaviest kind of physical labor. The brunt of the
new Mrs. Gabelein’s malice was borne by the two girls.

Grandfather Gabelein had a comfortable home and was able to give
his children certain advantages, which other people could not do. He
wanted his girls to have music lessons, but opposition from the
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-030a-1600.jpg|Page 30]]}}
step-mother made it impossible. However, the boys were educated in music and
from her brothers Mama learned to play simple tunes. They also received
a better than average education, as their Father, who must have
been an excellent teacher, taught them at home. From her Father, Mama
developed a thirst for knowledge that she tried to pass on to her own
children.

More and more pioneers began to settle in the Reardan area. Many
of them were German. The newly married Fred Wagners welcomed the
newcomers, especially if they spoke the old familiar language. Papa and
Uncle Charlie had written so enthusiastically to the family back in Saxony
about the Washington Territory, that first one and then another made
the trek out. There was Adolph, who settled on the quarter just west of
Papa’s place. Then sister Mollie Frankie and her husband came to farm.
Brother Gustave also came out west, but he drifted around and only
occasionally came to visit. Gustave was the jolly one, and Mama and
Papa always looked forward to his stay with them with a great deal of
anticipation. Finally, there was Gottlied, who was in the Reardan area
for several years before he left. One more sister, Minna came out to
Qshkosh, so there were not too many of the Wagner clan left on the river
Saale.

Mama, after two years of married life, was expecting her first
baby. It had been over two months now since she had felt life within her.
How she hoped for a boy. "Sons are so important to their Papas," she
thought. The baby was due in December, which was good, as Papa’s work
outside was at an ebb then and he could give her some help. He’d be good
help with the new one, she knew, as she had watched Papa nurse a sick
animal, or with surety assist a cow or a horse with a difficult delivery.

An evening in early October, as Mama went to bed, she thought her
back seemed to be bothering her more than usual.

"What could I have done today that makes my back ache so?” she
confided to Papa. She moved over into the comforting circle of his arms.
"Guess it isn’t too much," she concluded, "I seem to feel better already
now that I’m in bed."

About a half an hour later there was another stabbing back pain,
and then later, there was another. Mama awakened Papa, panic in her
voice. "Fred, I’m afraid the baby is coming. How can it, when I still
have a couple of months to go?” With speech, her fear was released and
she melted into tears.

"Now, now, Lena, everything is just going to be fine. If our little
fellow comes early, well and good. It may turn out to be a false alarm.
Just to be sure, I’ll ride over after Grandma Garber and she’ll be here
in no time at all. I’ll also get word to Rose Harder to come as soon as
she can.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-031a-1600.jpg|Page 31]]}}

After what seemed an eternity, Mama finally heard the welcome
voices outside. Grandma Garber came into the bedroom and took
complete command. She was an old hand at delivering babies. "The first
baby always seems pretty bad, but we’ll have you through this soon" was
her first statement.

The pains were increasing in regularity and intensity. What Grandma
Garber observed, as she examined Mama, was that the birth would
not be a normal one. In a non-commital way she quietly spoke, "Fred,
come into the kitchen." When they left the bedroom, she turned to him
and in a most serious manner continued; "Lena is going to have a hard
time. It’s a breech case.”

Momentarily he paused, thought over this statement, and then
answered, “Do you mind if I ride over and get Doctor Coolbaugh?”

“If you feel that is what you want to do, that’s all right with me. I
know how you feel about a first baby.”’

Papa went into the bedroom. He knelt down by the side of the bed
and cupped Mama’s face in his strong gentle hands. "Lena, Grandma
Garber tells me the baby is coming buttocks first. I want to go get Doctor
Coolbaugh. You know I'm depending on you to bear up until I get back.
I'll make it as fast as I can."

Again, for the second time that night, Papa mounted his horse. His
ride was much longer this time, as Edwall was eighteen miles away. The
sky was full of stars. In a few moments, his eyes accustomed themselves
to the night’s half-light. Swiftly and surely his horse galloped on.

It was still dark, but morning was not far away, as the two men
drew rein and entered the house. In moments, Doctor Coolbaugh took
over. Only the moans from Mama’s lips and the swift commands of the
doctor filled the room.

At last it was all over. Doctor Coolbaugh held a little pint-sized |
baby in his hands. A slap or two on the buttocks, a little gasp, a whimper,
thus from time immemorial the final act of birth.

"He’s all there. All that’s needed for a boy. But he is mighty little."
The Doctor hefted him in his hand. "I’d judge he weighs about two, two
and a half pounds, maybe. Don’t know whether he’ll make it or not, Mr.
Wagner. Keep him warm, even heat if you can manage it.”

The weary Doctor washed his hands, cleaned his forceps, put them
in his bag and prepared to leave. Papa walked out with him. "Thank
you so very much. My wife, Lena?" his voice trailed to a whisper, as
tears filled his eyes.

“Don’t worry about her. She’ll be all right. And if the little fellow
doesn’t live, there will be others."

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-032a-1600.jpg|Page 32]]}}

Meanwhile, Grandma Garber had cleaned up and swathed the
new baby. When Papa returned to the kitchen, she was ready with her
orders. "I want a box, a little wooden box that we can keep on the oven
door. It will be a good place to keep the baby warm. We’ll keep the door
open, keep a steady, low fire and that should give this young man a
chance to grow. Rose is a good, dependable girl, even though she’s only
sixteen, and between the two of you, you’ll make out fine.”

Rose Harder stayed about ten days. As there was only the big bed
in the house, Rose slept with Mama while Papa made a pallet for himself
in the loft. Thus, the first of the Wagner children slowly, but surely
continued to grow.

Thereafter, babies made their appearance with regularity. By October
of the following year, a baby girl, Louise was born. A year later, twin
boys were born, who survived only a few days. Papa built a little casket
for them, and with heavy heart Papa and Mama, with a few sympathizing
neighbors, gathered on the hill above the lake for a burial service.

One more boy, Herman, was born and then in steady succession one
girl after the other—Anne, Bertie, Rose, Minna. I came along seven
years later, but that’s another story.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-033a-1600.jpg|Page 33]]}}

===CHAPTER FIVE: Morals and Manners===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-033b-chapter-5-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 5 sketch
</gallery>

Papa made us walk the straight and narrow, and there was to be no
shilly-shallying either, in the process. He took the responsibility of
fatherhood very seriously and was determined to see that we would grow up to
be upright, honest and moral offspring of whom he could be proud. There
were times when, I am sure, he must have wondered where he failed,
but that didn’t stop him from trying. As a child, I was sure he preached
on behavior at any drop of a hat. I thought I learned not to listen to him,
but I guess I absorbed more than I realized. When you came right down
to it, Papa set an example by his own actions, which was probably the
best training of all.

He set a high standard of morality for himself and expected the
same from others. When one of his brothers moved the fence posts from
their common survey line to gain a bit more land for himself at Papa’s
expense, Papa took his case to court to prove his right, and never spoke
to his brother again. This action of our uncle’s, our Father would have
been incapable of doing, and I think he was especially hurt because he
had to acknowledge to himself that his brother had feet of clay.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-034a-1600.jpg|Page 34]]}}

On the other hand, when the county assessor made his yearly call,
Papa was human enough to depreciate the worth of his livestock, his
machinery and other possessions, to keep his taxes as low as possible. This
was a case of bargaining, or horse trading. He enjoyed a battle of wits
and was not above bragging to us later, if he thought he had been rather
clever.

It must have been when I was in the fifth or sixth grade when I
learned the magic words “Charge it.” I’m not sure how long this went
on, but I guess several months. I’m not exactly sure how it started, but
Velma Clinton and I were at the Fountain, Reardan’s only sweet shop,
having a banana split. Apparently I didn’t have enough money to pay
the bill, and the owner said I could charge it to my dad. I didn’t tell Papa
about it, but I just sort of kept dropping in occasionally for the same
delightful treat and going out saying, "Charge it to Fred Wagner."

In Reardan, the merchants sent out statements once a year, usually
about the first of September when the harvest was almost over and farmers
had their pockets full of money. It was customary to carry an
account from year to year without adding interest. A big cigar, a bag of
candy and a handshake usually finished the final transaction.

This method of billing was my downfall. I was in constant state of
ambivalence. One moment I suffered a very guilty conscience at what
I knew was wrong, the next I was up in the clouds, as I savored each
mouth-watering spoonful of strawberry and vanilla ice cream, chocolate
sauce, pineapple sauce, banana and chopped nuts.

How was I ever going to get that bill paid without Papa knowing
about it? I tried everything I could think of, to no avail. Papa, once while
walking home, had found a poke containing seven hundred dollars in
gold. If he could do so, couldn’t it be repeated? For weeks and weeks,
as I walked the mile and a half to school and then back home again. I
kept my eyes glued to the front and side of the road, hoping against hope
to find enough to take care of my dilemma.

“If Papa searched around until he found the man who lost his
money so he could return it to him, well, that was his business," I mused
to myself. "Of course, if I really found a lot I might just keep out enough
and return the rest."

Florence Moon, in a moment of confidence told me, "If you really
want a wish to come true, then take anything made of iron that you find
and put it under a flat rock. Make your wish with your eyes closed and
it is sure to come true." All the nuts, bolts or nails that came my way,
I towed away under a big slab of shale I found down by the lake. I
figured if one article would do the trick, a whole bunch would be better.
Fervently, I wished again and again, "Please oh please, let me get that
bill paid."

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Well, my wish did come true, but not in the fashion I envisioned.
Papa found out. I got a dreadful scolding, but Anne sort of cushioned
the blow by getting Papa to give me a little allowance.

If Papa was inclined to scold or lecture us about our behavior,
Mama used the more direct method of a good swat on the behind. When
Herman was about eleven, there was a time that Mama spanked him
every day, whether he needed it or not, just to be on the safe side. As
she became ill and lost her energy, she asked Papa to take on the job. He
didn’t really think too much good came of spanking and the only time I
got it was when Papa lost his temper. When he had to take on a spanking
job for Mama, he’d whisper "Now yell good and loud" as he put us
over his knee. He’d slip his hand off in such a way that it didn’t hurt
much.

Mama wanted her girls to be gentle, ladylike, neat and as beautiful
as possible. We all learned to love pretty clothes, because Mama
loved them so much. She had a number of beauty aids, as for instance,
the buttermilk massage on face, arms and hands every churning day.
The skin did feel soft, but we must have smelled like a dairy. There was
a weekly washing of long hair, scalp inspection and danderine application
and endless brushing. One cupboard was filled with homemade
cold cream, glycerine and rose water hand cream and other recipes we
found in the Delineator magazine.

Lou was Mama’s best pupil when it came to neatness. When she
became chief housekeeper, she waged a never-ending war on the dust, the
mud or the dirt. Windows were washed and bonami polished weekly,
the woodwork wiped down with a damp cloth, while lamp chimneys had
to be washed and polished with newspaper any time they showed a smudge
of smoke. Yearly, the Brussels carpet of red cabbage roses and green
leaf design on a beige background, was taken up from the parlor floor,
put on the clothes line and beaten with a flail until no more dust would
come out.

In 1908, Lou went into Spokane for ten weeks to attend dressmaking
school. She learned to draft patterns, design, cut and sew the intricate
fashions of the day. Several years later she returned to Spokane for a
course in millinery. Her hats were as beautifully made and styled as her
clothes, as she seemed to have a natural aptitude for this type of
creative work. The sewing machine was kept under the big window in the
dining room and almost daily, Lou would find some time to do a bit of
sewing for one or the other in the family.

One letter of mine, still extant, gives this bit of information: ‘‘I
have a new coat out of Resla’s old one.’’ I remember that coat, a brown
woolen fabric with a big plush collar and a muff to match. The material
for the trim was apparently new, the basic fabric re-utilized. I loved
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that coat and almost wore down the pile of the plush by stroking it. Papa
often sat in the rocking chair in the dining room, watching as I stood on
the table while Lou adjusted hem lines. He always had some comment
to make. Lou would say, "Now Papa, that is the fashion this year,” if
he questioned a particular style. He was usually willing to be convinced,
although often he had to make up a joke about it.

The weekly washing, especially in the summer time, was an all
day job. The long white stockings I wore were usually grass stained and
had to be smeared with butter before they could be put in with the white
things to be boiled. Sheets, towels, petticoats, corset covers, all were
boiled on the kitchen stove for twenty minutes before they were put in
the washer, which was agitated by hand. The laundry soap was made
at home from the animal fats and lye. Lou usually made the soap
out-of-doors in the fall. The clothes line was filled to bulging and often Lou
would take time out to admire the whiteness of the clothes.

Tuesday was the day for ironing. From after breakfast until the
noonday meal, there were at least two ironing boards in use with half
a dozen sadd irons heating on the stove. It took time to iron the cotton,
voile or dimity dresses, all flounced, gathered or ruffled in some degree.

Rose made spasmodic attempts at discipline or elevating the family’s
cultural level. As I was the littlest, I was usually her most likely
target. In the Youth Companion, she had read this little nugget in "Household
Hints." "To break children of the habit of crying, catch their tears
in a saucer." Since the near fatal bout of dysentery, or summer
complaint as it was called at the time, I was a sickly little girl. It must have
been frustrating to the rest of the family to hear me sniveling and see
my frequent tears. Rose decided she and Minna should try out the saucer
cure on me. Needless to say, every time they came running with a
saucer, I yelled louder than ever. Maybe it worked or maybe it didn’t, but as
I grew older and stronger, the crying finally stopped.

Another gem Rose picked up from the same magazine was this: “It
is very impolite to blow your nose while at the table. Ask to be excused,
go to the corner of the room, and with your back to the table, try to
accomplish the task with as little noise as possible." Since colds were a
common occurrence at our home during the winter months, Rose was
always badgering us to try out this method of gentility. I believe Minna
went along with Rose on this campaign, but even their efforts finally
petered out.

Rose was the dramatic member of the family. With her verve,
sparkle and innate enthusiasm, it was inevitable that she would be at
the top in declamation contests or debates at school. Along with Catherine
Driscoll, the girls debated on "Shall utilities be privately or publicly
owned?," defending the negative side of the question all over Lincoln
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County until they were the undisputed champions. I guess it followed, as
the night the day, that Rose would attempt to suffuse this talent on her
baby sister. For months we met in private sessions in Papa’s bedroom
until I could declaim to her satisfaction, such gems as "My Captain,
My Captain” or “Napoleon’s Fall at Waterloo.”

When Minna and Rose went to Washington State College and entered
the school of Home Economics, one of their courses was in home
decoration. This called for an updating on the home front on the first
weekend they were home. I don’t remember what all they did, but the
girls took all the family portraits off the parlor walls and put them in
the upstairs study. Papa was stubborn in his insistence that they remain,
Rose was likewise that they go. They hit an impasse, until finally Papa
gave way when Mama’s portrait was placed in his bedroom where he
could see it when he awakened in the morning.

In May of 1916, Anne graduated from St. Lukes Hospital as a registered
nurse. We had had our Buick only a few months, but Herman
had taught Lou how to drive, so the five sisters and Papa went in to see
the ceremony of Anne getting her cap and pin. It had showered following
the electrical storm of the early afternoon, and the air had a sweet, clean
feeling. Outside the hospital, the purple lilacs were in bloom, as well
as the snowballs (viburnum opulus sterile). Inside, the same flowers
were profusely used to decorate, the air almost cloying in their perfume.
We were so especially proud of Anne, as she had made such an effort to
become a nurse. She quit school at the end of the eighth grade and after
an interval of several years, she returned to the Reardan schools to take
her high school training so she could enter the profession of nursing.

Anne was a born nurse, and got along wonderfully well with both
doctors and patients. Best of all, Anne loved the maternity cases. At
that time, women with babies stayed in the hospital at least two weeks,
not even daring to put a toe on the floor. Most of the upper middle class
patients had a private nurse for twenty-four hour duty. A cot was placed
in the patient’s room, and here the nurse got what sleep she could. Anne
soon learned to awaken at the slightest noise, to provide a glass of water,
a bedpan, a rub or just a bit of comforting. Usually, the patients took
their nurse home with them for at least another week.

Living temporarily in so many different homes, Anne was influenced
and impressed by the beauty of so many of them. It wasn’t long
until she wanted something in kind for her‘ family. Cretonne in bold
flower patterns was especially popular. Under Anne’s guidance, we
bought cretonne like mad in blues, pink or rose, calsomined the bedroom
walls in matching pastel colors, and painted the woodwork white. Drapes
at the windows, bedspread and bolsters became a veritable kaleidoscope
of gaiety. With money made from nursing, Anne bought white painted
bed frames and night stands. We painted the old fashioned bureaus to
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match, added multi-color rugs and then stood back to admire our handi-work.

Another thing that made life exciting when Anne came out to visit
us, was the tasting of strange and unaccustomed foods. The first grapefruit,
the first turkey, the first chestnut stuffing, as well as mayonnaise,
she introduced to the family. Mayonnaise we soon learned to make at
home, adding the oil very slowly to the egg yolks, beating like mad to
keep it from curdling.

In the English department, Bertie took complete charge. She was
always correcting our mistakes in grammar and expanding our vocabulary.
I learned to say isn’t instead of ain’t, and not to say bellyache, as
the hired men did. One spring, we made a game of using one new word
a week. It was surprising how many of the words became familiar
friends.

In spite of all the work to do, Lou always planted a flower garden
for summer color. Just outside the dining room window in the lawn, stood
an old fashioned yellow moss rose. Its blooming period was fleeting, but
through the weeks it lasted, it was a shower of delight. To the south of
the house stood a row of lilacs, about eight bushes. Papa always got
carried away when he had pruning shears in his hand, so our bushes were
sparse on bloom. Two long rows of sweet peas, well fortified with animal
manure, bloomed through the summer. By the time they were finished,
the asters came on, as well as dozens of gladiolus. I so enjoyed cutting
the flowers and arranging them in the various glass containers we owned,
that it never seemed like work. I shudder to recall my artistic efforts,
but at the time I thought they were beautiful.

The rock formation at Aunt Barbara’s place we always called the
rock pile. Little warm pockets in the creases of the rock wall would provide
heat to bring the buttercups, the glass slippers and yellow bells into
bloom, often while the snow still stood on the ground. The first I picked
usually went to the teacher, but always a few were brought into the house
as a special treat. Later in the season, there would be sheets of color on
the scab rock and around the lake. Many times we picked as many as a
hundred different varieties in just one Sunday afternoon stroll. For
company dinner on Sunday, we would not have flowers on the table, but there
was always a vase on the piano and on the sewing machine.

Mama was very religious, so while she was still alive, the minister
and family were often asked after the service, to come and have a bite
with us. The bite would consist of a heavy, substantial meal, usually
chicken baked in sour cream, mashed potatoes, homemade bread,
feather-light dumplings which we slathered with sour cream gravy, several
vegetables, salad with sour cream dressing, hand turned ice cream with
fresh fruit in the summer, otherwise canned fruit.

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On this Sunday, the minister was seated next to Mama. He had
had several helpings of chicken. It was almost time to clear the table
for dessert, when Mama asked the minister, "Won’t you have a little
more chicken?"

“It is so delicious, I think I will" was his response.

Our food was always served family style. The platter of chicken
was at the other end of the long table.

“Fred, will you please pass the chicken down this way?"

The platter, which had been used for the meat, was a large, heavy
one. On one side there remained one lone wing. As it was passed from
one to another along the way, it came to Rose, who suddenly decided she
wanted that piece herself. With a deft motion the wing was transferred
to her plate and then she passed on the empty platter.

Her object lesson that day was reinforced with a good swat on the
backside.
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-039b-margret-1600.jpg | Margaret
mcj-039c-minna-margret-rose-1600.jpg | Minna, Margret and Rose
</gallery>
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-040a-1600.jpg|Page 40]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-040b-ann-at-15-1600.jpg| Anne (age 15)
mcj-040c-ann-at-st-lukes-graduation-may-1916-1600.jpg| Anne, May 1916 Graduation at St. Luke's Hospital in Spokane, Washington.
mcj-040d-ann-at-st-lukes-graduation-may-1916-1600.jpg| Anne, May 1916 Graduation at St. Luke's Hospital in Spokane, Washington.
</gallery>

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===CHAPTER SIX: Security “Wagner Style"===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-041a-chapter-6-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 6 sketch
</gallery>

Christmas was the time of excitement and gaiety, Easter, at least
for me, the time of make believe, spring the time of adventure and exploration,
but harvest time brought to fruition the strife and effort of the
year, the culmination of hope and endeavor. It was the climax of our
year. From the first appearance of tender green sprouts of wheat, to the
final delivery of the last wagon load of ripened grain to the warehouse,
we talked, lived, breathed and concentrated on "THE WHEAT.”

Each morning, before Papa sat down to breakfast, he paused outside
where, with his hand shaded over his eyes, he surveyed the east.
Each day he made his own weather report. Through the years of affinity
with the land, he had developed a ether feeling for every nuance of
temperature change.

“Yes, it’s going to be a fine growing day," purred Papa as he sat
down to tackle his big bowlful of mush. Or, at times it would be, "I’m
afraid it’s going to be a scorcher,” or hopefully, "The air smells like rain."

Whatever the weather, it was our number one topic of conversation.
After this was dispensed with, then talk might include the nation, the
world, or politics. But always we came back to the weather and its
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probable effect on the wheat. Reardan country is lean in precipitation.
Before the days of fertilization, development of hardy smut free varieties
of wheat or weed control, the single biggest factor that determined the
yield of the crop was the weather.

“By thunder, this is good land," reiterated Papa with a confident
refrain. "Wheat’s going to hold at eighty cents a bushel. Looks like the
winter wheat should make twenty-five bushels an acre." With Papa’s
optimistic outlook toward life and his determined effort to make it a good
one, we were nurtured always with a sense of security.

Wheat provided our big cash crop. There was token cash from eggs
sold to Driscoll’s Drygoods Store, or surplus cream sold to the Creamery,
or, on occasion a heifer or two, or an extra porker. But it was the wheat
money that paid the taxes, the yearly bill at Driscolls’ or Finrows, or
new machinery. Always, the wheat provided some money to be banked
and saved toward some future time when there would be enough to buy
more land.

A farmer in the early nineteen hundreds was largely dependent on
his own efforts to produce the good life. The tangible efforts of his endeavor
were most visible in the fall. The full basement under our cement
block house would be bulging. By late September, when the last peaches
were canned, most of the empty Mason half-gallon jars had been refilled.
Shelves from floor to ceiling on the east wall would be filled to overflowing.
Bushels and bushels of potatoes filled the north bin. At the foot of
the stairs was a big barrel of sauerkraut, and another of dill pickles. The
machinery for cheese making and the wheels of home-processed cheese,
the boxes of winter apples, the beer barrel and the elderberry wine, neatly
bottled, filled the additional space. Two or three cats usually made the
basement their domain and did their part in keeping down the mouse
population. In between times, they sprang up the stairs to the landing
whenever the kitchen door leading to the basement was opened, meowing bu
for an extra handout.

The smokehouse, out near the barn, filled with hams, sides of bacon
and rounds of sausage, also buttressed our feeling of plenitude.

Papa always made a good sausage. It was quite a job to grind, season
and encase the several large wash tubs full of meat. There was a festive
quality to sausage making. It all took place out in the yard under
one of the apple trees. The crisp fall air, faintly redolent with smoke
drifting down from northern timber fires, the warm Indian summer sunshine,
the odor of the meat, the ground black pepper and other seasonings,
all combined to add to the euphoria of the occasion.

There was a ritual to assembling everything needed for the yearly
proceedings. First, Papa would bring out the substantial wooden bench
on which was clamped the heavy-duty grinder. The pans, seasonings,
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washtubs filled with cubed pork were so arranged to economize on effort.
Sitting comfortably astride one end of the bench with the grinder at easy
access in front of him, Papa would work steadily. If this occurred on a
non-school day, I’d be sitting or playing close by. Papa was a great visitor,
so we would talk it all over as he worked. Sometimes I watched the
little squiggles of the lean red meat and white fat as it came out of the
grinder holes, sometimes I’d draw imaginary houses in the warm dust,
or else watch the swallows circling around and around overhead as they
made ready for their migration south.

The sausage was of two types. The one used for frying was only
lightly smoked. For this, Lou made casings from flour sacks, each sack
split and sewn lengthwise to make two. The other salami type sausage
was sheathed in the conventional casings made from the cleaned small
intestines.

Of course, preceding the sausage making, came butchering time.
This usually took place well after harvesting was over. When the frost
began to etch the spider webs lying close to yellowed grasses, and night
temperatures fell consistently, then it was safe to kill the hogs and perhaps
a cow. With the cooler weather, the meat could be processed and cared
for without spoilage. The only way we had to preserve meat was by smoking
or canning. For this reason, we ate a great deal of pork.

On slaughtering day, mostly I stayed on the sidelines until after the
pigs were killed. They were then immersed in a big scalding vat so their
bristles could be softened for scraping. As the pigs were hoisted onto the
crossbars, all spanking pink, they looked rather appealing. Papa would
hone his butcher knife to razor sharpness, and dismember the carcasses
with all the aplomb of a virtuoso.

One time Papa called me into the yard when he had finished the
butchering. He held in his hand a balloon, a gift for me. It was made
from an empty and cleaned bladder, inflated and secured to a wheat
straw.

“Ah, Margret, how is that for a dandy balloon?”

Since toys of any kind were a special occasion, I must have been
truly pleased. It seems to me, as I look back over the years, that it didn’t
matter how busy Papa was, he could always find time to fashion some
simple toy for my pleasure. If we were herding cows along the road near
the Schwartz place, he’d stop by the clump of willows growing there, to
find a branch that could be cut and made into a whistle. I don’t know
how many sling shots he made for me. I’d take a pot shot at the black birds
that ate so much grain, but I doubt if I ever killed one.

One year Papa made me a merry-go-round. He sunk a pine log
about twelve inches in diameter into the soft earth not too far from the
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well and on the way to the chicken house. With rocks and mud, he tamped
the dirt until the log was firmly secured, leaving about three feet above
ground. On this he centered a substantial plank with a backrest on one
end. The plank was arranged on a swivel so it could turn easily when
pushed. I would sit on one end and papa would push the other. Round
and round he’d go, faster and faster until we were both breathless.

Another factor that made life seem so secure living with Papa, was
his habit of discussing his business with his family. We always knew
exactly what we had and how much. When Mama died, Papa had deeded
over to each of us eighty acres of land, which represented her half of the
community property. As Gus was the oldest, it was right and fitting that
he should receive the best parcel and so on down the line until I, as
number eight, received the least desirable.

Our bank in Reardan may have had a vault. If so, I never knew
about it. We had our own secret hiding place for valuables, and it was
accessible to any member of the family. The built-in china closet on the
dining room side had three large drawers beneath the glass cupboards.
If you lifted out the bottom drawer, you would find two good sized tin
containers that probably, at one time, held pipe tobacco. One box held the
various deeds to property. In the other, Papa kept the tax returns, bank
books and certificates of deposit.

Often Lou had to delay making purchases until the interest was due
on a C. D. I’m sure Papa knew exactly the date for each one, but if he
was anxious for cash, he would take out the tin box and check again, just
to be sure he wasn’t in error in his reckoning. Many times, if I were at
a loss for something to do, I’d take out the tin box myself and count our
money just to see how much we had.

More than once I longed to tell Velma Clintan, Laura Buchanan or
one of my other friends how rich we were, but somehow I never did.
Agnes Driscoll, whose father owned Driscolls Drygoods Store, confided
to me once with a cross your heart secrecy,

“Father buys from the Spokane Dry Goods.”

I was impressed.

The hired men were paid in cash. During the harvest, when we
had several men working for us, each one would line up after supper on
Saturday night to receive his wages. Payday, Papa would come home
from the bank with twenty dollar gold pieces in his pocket. He usually
held them out to me to play with under his watchful eye. I thought they
were the biggest, shiniest pennies I had ever seen.

Usually, Papa gave me his tacit permission to eavesdrop on his
business dealings. However, there were several times during the year
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when the conversation was definitely man talk, and then I understood
I was ''de trop''.

In the spring, the sheep herders brought their flocks from the south
to the mountains for summer pasture. It was their custom to lease grazing
privileges for the spring trip and again in the fall, when sheep were
returned to winter quarters. Although Papa was a cagey bargainer, he
maintained a good rapport with the sheep men and for years an amicable
agreement was reached. It was always settled with a handshake and a
shot of whiskey.

The ewes were still lambing during the spring trip, and I was pretty
sure of a gift of one of the orphans. Anne usually assumed responsibility
for the new babe, bottle feeding it with patience and care. We had many
lambs through the years, each of which we named ‘‘Emmy Dear.’’ Some
of the rams, as they matured, became rather pugnacious and we gave
them wide berth when we were out in the corral. One spring, one of our
“Emmy Dears" butted open the front gate and made a pass at Rose, who
was picking sweet peas. He knocked her down and bruised her rather
badly before our calls brought Papa running to the rescue.

It was serious business when the time came to pay the threshing
bill. We cut and stacked our own grain, and then Papa would contract
with a neighbor to complete the job. The day Mr. Gray came to be paid,
Papa would be freshly shaven and would wear a clean denim jacket over
his overalls. Fresh cigars and a bottle of whiskey were brought forth to
sweeten the transaction.

The goal of buying additional land was always part of Papa’s dream,
but often that dream had to bend to the harsh reality of life. Sickness was
the biggest corrosive to the nest egg.

Mama’s prolonged illness over a seven-year duration, was by far
the most expensive. The constant friction between Mama and her
Mother-in-law must have been an important factor in her illness. Papa was
gentle, really very gentle most of the time, but on rare occasions his
temper would blaze forth with such intensity, that all hell would break loose.

One morning he came into the house to find Mama dissolved in tears, as
Grandma was tongue lashing her with more than her usual venom.

“By God," yelled Papa, beside himself with frustration at the constant
bickering, “this is the end. There will be no more of this.”

He shoved Grandma out of the way, caught her off balance and
knocked her down. Her ribs were broken in the fall. She went to Uncle
Adolph’s for a few weeks, and then returned to our home. Papa set her
up in the cabin on the quarter west of the home place. She continued to
live there until her death.

About 1904 Papa moved his family into Spokane. He thought the
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change of environment would help Mama feel better. They stayed in
Spokane for a school term and then moved to Petaluma, where Papa thought
the warmer climate might be beneficial. During this time, Papa leased
the ranch to Peter Schwartz.

Uncle Charlie, Papa’s favorite brother, his wife and family had
moved to a small farm in Sebastopol, which was not too far from
Petaluma. Aunt Emma and Uncle Charlie had seven children, approximately
the same ages as our seven. When they were still living on the White
Bluff Prairie, not too far from Spokane, Aunt Emma and Mama had
decided they had enough of child bearing and had consulted the Reardan
Doctor, who fitted them each with a contraceptive. For six years, this
device was very satisfactory.

One day, however, shortly after we moved to California, Mama and
Aunt Emma were having one of their intimate visits. Mama, who was
forty-two years old at the time said, "You know, Emma, I’m sure I’ve
reached the age of menopause. I have a notion to quit bothering with
anything any more.”

"Well, Lena, I’ve just about reached the same conclusion myself.”

Shortly thereafter, both women became pregnant. It must have
been almost at the same time, as my cousin Alfred was born on October
twenty-four shortly before twelve midnight, and I came along about five
hours later. This unwanted pregnancy must have taken an additional toll
from Mama’s waning energy.

By the spring of 1906, Papa felt he could no longer stay away from
the home place, so he sold the house in Petaluma, and shortly before the
San Francisco Earthquake and Fire, returned north with his family. He
installed his wife and younger children in a house he bought in the Union
Park District of Spokane. With the boys old enough to help, and sixteen
year old Lou old enough to cook, the four of them returned to Reardan.

Mama liked her home in Union Park. She wanted a new home on
the ranch just like it, if possible. In between the farm work and other
responsibilities, Papa, with the help of Reverend Strayfeller of the
Reardan Evangelical Church, built the two story house. In the few remaining
years of her life, Mama spent little of it in her new home. She was in and
out of hospitals, additional trips to California, and one trip back home to
Germany with her sister Barbara as her companion, always hoping to
find the miraculous cure.

The tender care and solicitous concern that Papa showed for his
wife and for all of us when we were ill, made us all feel especially secure.
As Minna said in one of her letters to me, "With Papa near me, I knew
nothing could ever happen to me. What a wonderful feeling to know Papa
could solve all problems.”

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As Mama grew weaker, Papa tried to tempt her with every delicacy
he could think of. He built a pigeon cote and raised pigeons, so
Mama could have squab. He sent to California for out-of-season fruit.
Annie said, “I watched every mouthful Mama took, wanting so badly to
have one of the strawberries myself.”

During the spells when Mama was home, occasionally she felt strong
enough to make some calls on her close friends, Aunt Barbara, Mrs.
Scharman or Mrs. Wollweber. The night before, Anne would brush Mama’s
hair, dampen the front part, and plait it into small braids so it
would have some slight resemblance of curls the next day. Mama always
dressed in her best and tried to make herself as attractive as possible
when she went calling. Papa would carry her out to the buggy. The
two of them went off together, while the rest of us hung on the fence
watching them leave.

It was during one of the hot dog days of August, the heat shimmering
over the garden, the curtains inside the house drawn early against the
sun. Mama and Papa were in California, the boys were harvesting, and
the girls were sitting on the front porch peeling Gravenstein apples for
canning. Minna was being especially silly that day. Everything she did
would send us all into gales of laughter. Finally, the ringing of the
telephone came to our attention, a long ring and a short one. That was our
call on the party line and Rose put down her pan of apples to answer.

“No,” said Lou with a sudden flash of psychic insight, “I'll answer.
I know Mama’s gone.”

Western Union was calling the message that Papa was returning
immediately to Reardan with Mama. She had just died.

Mama lay in state in the parlor. The heady fragrance of carnations
filled the room. All through the night Papa sat next to the casket. In
later years, Anne often told of hearing Papa’s sobs through the night.

I came downstairs early the next morning, and peeked into the parlor.
Papa was still there. He took me in his arms and with my small
hand in his, we patted Mama’s face. The tactile feeling of unresponsive
cold flesh brought home to me the reality of death. Somehow, it was easier
sharing that knowledge with Papa. I was five years old.

After Mama’s death, the tobacco box hidden under the bottom
drawer in the dining room was pretty empty, a few receipted bills from
hospitals and doctors, the death notice from the Reardan Gazette, a
photograph someone had taken of the funeral flowers. All the available cash
had been spent on Mama’s illness. The only thing that remained intact
was the house, the stock and the land unencumbered.

Once again, however, the Certificates of Deposit began to accumulate.
Almost before we knew it, there was enough laid by so Papa could
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-048a-1600.jpg|Page 48]]}}
start looking around for a likely buy of good wheat land. He found what
he was looking for near Mondovi, a little village seven miles west of the
ranch. There were three quarters of good, fertile land, four hundred and
seventy acres, to be exact, as ten acres had previously been deeded to
Mondovi Village for a cemetery. Papa and Gus negotiated the deal. Gus
bought the single quarter with the gray weather-beaten house and barn
and Papa bought the half section. The price, $30,000, paid in cash. The
year was 1915, and in way of celebration, Lou and Gus accompanied Papa
to California for the winter and to visit the San Francisco World Exposition.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-048-1a-1600.jpg|Page 48-1]]}}
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-048-2a-1600.jpg|Page 48-2]]}}
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-048-3a-1600.jpg|Page 48-3]]}}
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-048-4a-1600.jpg|Page 48-4]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-048c-fred-and-lena-wagner-1600.jpg | Fred and Lena Wagner in Petaluma, California 1906
mcj-048-1b-lou-rose-anne-minna-bertie-1600.jpg | Lou, Rose, Anne, Ninna, Bertie 1906
mcj-048-2b-top-gus-lou-herman-bottom-ann-rose-bertie-1600.jpg | back: Gus, Lou, Herman; front: Ann, Rose, Bertie
mcj-048-3b-louise-1600.jpg | Louise
mcj-048-3c-margret-clare-six-months-1600.jpg | Margret Clare at six months
mcj-048-4b-louise-herman-gus-1600.jpg | Louise, Herman and Gus
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-049a-1600.jpg|Page 49]]}}

===CHAPTER SEVEN: The “Appeal to Reason"===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-049b-chapter-7-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 7 sketch
</gallery>

Papa was a socialist. As far as I knew, there were only two socialists
in all the Reardan area, Papa and his friend Otto Wollweber. There
surely must have been others, as the state of Washington during 1887 and
1889, had the greatest number of registered Socialists in proportion to the
population of any state in the union. The Wollwebers lived in the Crescent
country, about four miles north of us, and I don’t believe Otto ever came
to Reardan without stopping by the ranch. The two men were great cronies.
Papa especially admired Wollweber’s keen mind. He was as well
read and informed as any in the community. He influenced Papa a great
deal in.his political philosophy.

When Otto stopped by the house, the men did one of two things...
discuss politics, or have a game or two of Five Hundred. I must have
been about nine when Papa taught me how to play the game, and I often
made a willing fourth with Papa as my partner.

Privately, Papa would tell me, "Now Margret, if you possibly can,
let me get the bid so I can play the hand. I know you play a fine game
for a little girl, but if we are going to beat the Wollwebers, I’d better take
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-050-1600.jpg|Page 50]]}}
over because I know the game so well." He had confidence in his expertise.
Over the years of playing solo, five hundred, or pinochle at the pool
hall in Reardan, he enjoyed the reputation of being one of the best. The
games were played for merchandise instead of money. Papa usually took
his winnings in candy. It was rare indeed that he did not have, when he
got back home, a big sack full stuffed in his pocket. Usually I got the
job of dividing into eight piles, the peanut clusters, the hore-hounds or
other varieties of hard candy.

Mr. Wollweber loved to smoke a pipe, but he would be so busy
talking, that half the time the flame would go out.

“Will you get me a match, Margret," he’d say. "I’d go out into the
kitchen to get several of the big diamond matches from the container
that hung by the kitchen stove. "Looks like all I do is smoke matches,”
he always quipped.

The "Appeal to Reason” was the official publication of the Socialist
Party. Papa subscribed to this weekly for years. He read it thoroughly,
discussing the articles with anyone who was around to listen. When I
was a teenager, I used to argue with him about socialism. Not that I
knew anything about it, but because most of my peers’ folks were
Republicans, I couldn’t see why we couldn’t be. Being a dissenter
didn’t bother Papa in the least.

The increase of economic power into the hands of the trusts
accelerated after the Civil War. Probably, in no other field of expansion, was
this more prevalent than in the railroads. When the railroads to the west
had been chartered by the United States Government as a public highway,
in theory, freight rates were to be levied with impartial justice. In
practice, it didn’t work out this way, as rates were set for all the traffic
would bear. Rates from east to west were cheaper than from west to
east, making it less expensive to ship manufactured goods than wheat,
which was the major commodity from the northwest. Freight rates had
no bearing on the distance covered. For years, Papa discussed and cussed
the unfair differential between the long and short haul tariffs, mostly
because it affected our wheat shipments.

The railroads maintained powerful lobbies in Washington D.C., and
most of the legislators were under their control. The LaFollettes of
Wisconsin, the Granger movement and Farmers Unions, along with the
Socialists, tried in various ways to bring about change in the laws and the
election of more honest public officials. Papa was never interested in
entering any kind of politics. His entire life was centered in his family.
However, he felt duty-bound to express his opinion at the polls. One year,
he forgot to vote for a member of the local school board, and, although
the man of his choice was elected, he moaned for days in being derelict
in his civic obligation.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-051-1600.jpg|Page 51]]}}

Papa strongly believed in private enterprise, but he was adamant
in working for social justice for the common man. Eugene Debs, the
founder of the Socialist party, advocated the following social legislation:
an eight hour day, old age pensions, unemployment insurance, industrial
accident insurance, annual minimum wage, abolition of child labor, free
text books in public school, and unionism.

Jim Hill and the Great Northern was Papa’s greatest adversary, but
a close second was J. P. Morgan. Seldom a day passed, without either
one or the other being dammed.

With Papa’s strong aversion to fighting, killing or war in any form,
it was inevitable that he would take a position of non-involvement in the
European 1914-1918 conflict. I am sure that the fact that Debs was a
pacifist, was one reason why Papa so admired the man. Each morning, as
Papa read the headlines telling of the number of war casualties; his
heart went out to each and every one. After the United States entered
the war, Reardan, as in fact all of the nation, seethed with anti-German
sentiment. Because Papa was so vocal in his stand of non-aggression, we
received more than our share of ostracism. However, when Gus entered
the army, part of the emotional furor against us lost its force.

Two of the books in our meager library were bought by Papa. The
first was a biography of Eugene Debs. It was probably too old a book
for me, but I did look at the pictures. The other was Upton Sinclair’s “In
The Jungle." Debs granted Sinclair five hundred dollars to research
conditions in the Chicago stockyards. The novel powerfully portrayed the
brutal exploitation of the slaughterhouse workers. I read the novel many
times, not daring to believe that conditions could be so terrible. As I
remember, what bothered me most of all in the story was how the family
had to sleep in shifts, as there was only one bed. The impact of that
book was so great, that years later, when I went to Chicago to attend
Northwestern University, the first thing I did was to take a tour through
the stockyards.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-052-1600.jpg|Page 52]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-052b-mule-day-parade-1600.jpg| Mule Day Parade in Reardan
mcj-052c-mule-day-parade-1600.jpg| Mule Day Parade in Reardan
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-053-1600.jpg|Page 53]]}}

===CHAPTER EIGHT: Mule Day===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-053b-chapter-8-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 8 sketch
</gallery>

John Mann, one of our neighboring farmers, had an idea. He mulled
it over in his mind for several weeks, and talked it over with his wife.
The more he thought about some sort of a community day for Reardan,
the better he liked it. He approached several of the more progressive men
of the community. At last, an informal meeting was called to formulate
plans and set up some sort of a business structure. The men included W.
H. Padley, teacher at the high school, G. H. Finrow, who owned the
general store, E. E. Noble of the Reardan Bank, George Reeves, who had
the butcher shop, W. E. Hanning and John Mann.

“Reardan is a good town," said Mr. Mann. “We need to advertise
it with some kind of yearly fair. This will give the people in the community
something to look forward to, take an interest in, and it may bring
some more settlers into the area.”

After much talk, there developed a tentative agenda. First of all,
you couldn’t have a day of celebration without a parade and a band. That
was number one on the list. Then, of course, there had to be a ball game
in the afternoon, because everybody liked baseball. Community
participation could be developed further with foot races for the young, horse
races and a bucking contest. The day could end with a dance.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-054-1600.jpg|Page 54]]}}

"How about the little ones," someone added. "Couldn’t we make
some sort of an arrangement to have a merry-go-round? That is always
a sure-fire drawing card.”

“What are we going to call this celebration?"

The men mulled this question over for several minutes. Someone
said, "How about Reardan Fair?" someone else came up with "Reardan
Celebration.”

“I’ve been thinking maybe, Mule Day.”

There was a pause, a smile and soon a general chuckle. "Mule
Day, eh?" Well, mules were important to the economy of the farming
area. There was lots of mechanized farm equipment by 1904, although it
was not self-propelled. Draft horses and mules were needed in abundance
to provide the pulling power. Mules were intelligent. They stood up well
under heavy use, their stamina, by and large, was better than horses.

“Mule Day?" It would make good newspaper copy. And who better
to glamorize, on this day of celebration, than the good old steady,
dependable mule.

Thus it was, that Mule Day became an important day in Reardan
from 1904 through 1916. By the time the United States had entered
World War One, Reardan people were too busy producing wheat to think
about a Mule Day.

All of us Wagners were really excited each year, as June time and
Mule Day rolled around. Gus and Herman had been working out for
weeks every evening after supper. Gus was the star first baseman of
the Reardan Baseball Nine, while Herman, for a season or two, played
center field.

On "Mule Day” day, we were up extra early, getting all the chores
done and getting ready to get into town in time for the parade. I’d stand
at the front gate, watching the steady stream of farmers and Indians passing
by. From Wellpinit came the Indians, many of the young bucks on
horseback, leading their bucking broncs, the families in light buckboards,
usually followed by a mangy dog. Most of the farmers from the Crescent
Country and from the Canyon I knew, so I could wave and call a greeting
to each as they passed. Especially, I kept my eye open for an entry
for the parade. How exciting to see a span of mules, groomed and curried
to within an inch of their lives, pulling a RED replete with red, white
and blue bunting.

Long before parade time, the town was full of farmers and visitors.
Down by the ball park was a convenient spot to park the wagons. Horses
were unhitched, watered, fed and tied up. While the men were busy with
these chores and visiting with one another, the ladies would be bustling
around, rearranging food boxes. Poor indeed, was the box that did not
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-055-1600.jpg|Page 55]]}}
contain fried chicken, potato salad, homemade bread, pickles, relishes,
and for sweets, pie, cake and cookies. More often than not, a freezer of
hand-turned ice cream, packed in ice and rock salt, was stashed away
under the front seat out of the heat of the sun.

Every year that I can remember, Mrs. Scharman always invited us
all for the mid-day dinner. It was so nice for us to have the use of her
comfortable home for the day. When Mama was still living, she would
rest and relax at the Scharmans, vicariously enjoying the celebration, as
first one and then another would come back to tell her all about the excitement.

Each year, I was so afraid there would be no merry-go-round, but
each year there it was, as magnetic as always. All the money Papa gave
me, all the extras I usually had slipped to me through Gus or Herman in
the way of nickles and dimes, I spent on the merry-go-round. It was near
being in Seventh Heaven as it was possible to be, just riding around and
around on a rocking horse, and listening in a half-hypnotic trance, to the
siren call of the calliope.

By ten o'clock, the main street of Reardan was jam packed with
grandmothers and mothers holding babies and holding on to small fry.
The men were huddled together in groups, to discuss crops and the weather.
Young swains were idling in and out of the crowd, eyeing their
favorites of the moment. The pulse of our town was at its gayest.

Finally, someone called out, “They must be coming. I hear the
Band." And so it was, that each year Mule Day officially began. In the
financial report of 1910, the Mule Day Committee spent $65.00 for the band.
This must have been an import, probably from Davenport. The band could
come on the morning train, play for the parade and take the afternoon
train back at four o’clock. On one occasion, there was the drum, but no
drummer, so Papa took over. With his musical background, his perfect
sense of rhythm, this would offer no difficulty for Papa. I can still recall
my thumping heart and the lump in my throat, as Papa marched by,
erect and confident, the only one without a uniform, beating out the time
on the big bass drum.

Always, there was friendly rivalry among the contenders for prize
money. Blue ribbons were fine, but it was especially gratifying to receive
part of your recognition in cash awards. In 1910, $453.50 was awarded by
the Mule Day Committee for various events, which included parade entries,
best colts, bucking contest, horse races and foot races. When Herman’s colt
won a blue ribbon, we were ecstatic.

I remember, with poignant heartache, one foot race I was badgered into
running. Because my feet had grown too rapidly, because my
legs had grown too long too fast, I was probably one of the most awkward
persons ever to have been entered into a foot race for girls ten to twelve
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-056-1600.jpg|Page 56]]}}
years of age. There were three of us, Velma Clinton, Lillian Pullian and
myself. The prize money was fifty cents for first place, twenty five cents
for second. Both the girls were excellent runners, and it was almost a
foregone conclusion that I should be the cow’s tail. I didn’t even come
in close, and as I saw them sprint ahead of me, my eyes filled with tears
of mortification. Gus tried to console me by slipping me a quarter, but it
didn’t really help

On a day as important as Mule Day, the Reardan ball club usually
imported a pitcher and catcher from one of the better Spokane county
league teams. $25.00 was awarded to the winning team. Reardan had
several excellent hitters, but the pitching staff was the weakest part of
the ball club, hence the hiring of outside help.

It was with much pride that the six Wagner girls entered the ball
park in Gus’ company, admitted free because he was on the team. Always,
we expected him to hit a home run, and often he would oblige, as he
was known as a slugger. Gus was big and rangy on first base, always
likable and a big hit with the fans.

Probably, the bull session at home after the day was over, was al most
as interesting as the game itself. The boys would recount every
play, describing every pitch, the knuckle ball, the slider, the out-drop, or
curve, as each was deployed in the strategy of the game. We all became
real baseball fans.

One year, Papa told us we wouldn’t be able to go to Reardan for
Mule Day. The mustard in the flat needed pulling, and there was enough
urgency to the task, that Papa felt he couldn’t spare us for even a day
at this particular time. One job that was always set aside for us girls,
was mustard pulling. In one of the batches of seed wheat, brought in by
the railroad in the early nineteen hundreds, there was a weed seed that
took over the cultivated land like wildfire. It was a form of wild mustard,
which farmers soon labeled Jim Hill Mustard as a derogatory allusion
to the Northern Pacific’s president. This weed grew to luxuriant size,
robbing the ground of precious moisture. In addition to this, the stalk of
the plant, which had become dry by the time of harvest, gummed up
the works on the header. The only method of control at that time, was
to hand pull the mustard after it had matured enough to be easily spotted,
but not yet beyond the blooming stage.

Usually, we all rather enjoyed pulling mustard every spring. We
would take a gallon crock filled with cool well water flavored with sugar
and vinegar along with us and shelter it in a pile of pulled mustard stalks.
Whenever one got thirsty, a drink of this vinegar water was very refreshing.
All of us wore hats to ward off the sun, our gingham or calico house
dresses, sturdy black shoes and stockings. In addition, we would take
worn out black stockings, cut off the feet and slip these over our arms to
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-057-1600.jpg|Page 57]]}}
protect them from the sun. It was a companionable sort of work as we
covered the field in strips, pulling the weeds as we came up to them.
A fine time for visiting.

On this particular day, all of us felt thwarted and angry because
we couldn’t go into town for Mule Day.

“T am so mad,” said Anne, as she vigorously yanked on a large
mustard stalk.

“I hate Papa,” chimed in Rose.

And Minna added, "How can Papa be so mean.”

Bert said, "It wouldn’t be quite so bad if we were working up on the
half section where no one could see us, but right down here on the flat,
everybody can see us as they go by.”

It was about ten o’clock that Papa walked down the road to check
on the progress of the work.

“You’re good girls. I think you’ve done enough for the day. What
do you say to quitting and going into town?”

We couldn’t get back home, bathed, dressed and into Reardan fast
enough.

There was one other Mule Day that all of us remembered very well.
We all had had a fine time. After the ball game, we returned home
for chores and supper. Occasionally, Papa would stay in town to have a
game of solo at the pool hall with Billy Adams and a few others of his
card playing cronies. When he finished his game, he would walk the
mile and a half home. This particular evening there was no concern over
Papa’s absence.

Minna, who had been outside, came rushing into the house. “I hear
Papa up on the hill and he sounds funny.”

We all hurried outside. In the calm still of the evening, Papa’s
voice carried down the hill, across the water and on to the front porch
where we stood listening. He was singing away to the top of his lungs
one moment, the next, his voice idled away so as not to be heard at all,
and then again increased in crescendo.

“What in the world is the matter with him?” asked Lou.

“He sounds drunk to me," answered Herman. "I guess our old
man has a laughing jag on. Come on Gus, let’s go help him home.”

It was the first time, and I guess the only time, we saw Papa
intoxicated. He was still singing, gay and carefree, as the boys led him
into the house and put him to bed. All six of us girls dissolved into tears.
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-058-1600.jpg|Page 58]]}}
We had seen too many alcoholics in the country and had developed a
healthy dread of its consequences.

The next morning, we heard the story from a very hung over and
sheepish Papa. He and Billy Adams had seen one of their friends, who
was a bottle nipper, hide a full quart in a culvert down by the depot. The
man was afraid of the tongue lashing his wife would give him, if she
spotted him with a bottle. His idea was to leave the liquor cached away
for the day, and return for a nip whenever the urge became too powerful
to be refused. Papa and Billy Adams decided it would be great fun to
commandeer the whiskey. After they did so, and had the bottle at hand,
it seemed silly not to sample the contents. By the time they were finished
with it, both were mighty tipsy.

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-058c-bertie-minna-margret-rose-off-to-school-1600.jpg | Bertie, Minna, Margret, and Rose off to school.
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-059-1600.jpg|Page 59]]}}

===CHAPTER NINE: The Old Ball Game===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-059b-chapter-9-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 9 sketch
</gallery>

Gus played first base for a couple of seasons for the Medical Lake
team in the Spokane County League. I believe the team was sponsored
by the State Institutional Hospital for the Insane and Feeble Minded. At
least, the ball park was not in the town, but across the lake on state property,
not far from the hospital complex. The playing field was well laid
out at the foot of the hill on which the buildings were located. Substantial
bleachers provided ample room for several hundred spectators. The Hospital
Administrator, an ardent baseball fan, arranged for the more trusted
inmates to attend. After the noonday meal on Sunday, the patients would
march in some semblance of formation, two by two, and handcuffed together
as a deterrent for runaways, out of their barred prison-like abode
and down the hill to a special section of the grandstand. A male orderly
marched at the head and foot of the procession, while several others
were nearby to keep the patients from straying. Most of them seemed
to enjoy the outing, clapping and applauding indiscriminately, or else
making repeated trips to the water bucket or the toilet.

Gus’ room held an assortment of baseball memorabilia. In the
closet were bats and gloves, uniforms and caps. A cardboard box held
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-060-1600.jpg|Page 60]]}}
the press releases clipped from the Spokesman Review. Propped up on
top of the dresser, was a large picture of the team proudly displaying their
victory trophies.

Baseball opened up an exciting new world for our brother, and
vicariously for all the rest of the family. Although Medical Lake was
sixteen miles from Reardan and about eighteen miles from home, Gus
pedaled back and forth each Sunday on his bicycle. About half of the
way was paved, but the rest was over graveled roads. However, he never
considered this any kind of a hardship, because he loved the game so
much. He was so tall, rangy and relaxed at first base. His expertise in
fielding and at bat, his affable nature all combined to make him a very
popular player.

Whenever we could manage it, we would hitch Molly and Cayuse
to the light spring wagon for a day’s trip to the Lake for a picnic and
to watch Gus play. We would pack up the usual bounteous lunch, with
fried chicken, shrimp salad and homemade ice cream. Our first stop
was at Camp Comfort, a lakeside resort with camping and picnicing
facilities. In the dressing rooms, we would change from our starched
petticoats and ruffled cotton dresses into the nondescript, shapeless gray
cotton bathing suits, which we rented. None of us were very good at
swimming, but we enjoyed the refreshing coolness of the water. Of
course, the piece de resistance was the baseball game in the afternoon.
No one watched the game more avidly than we, or applauded more if Gus
made a good catch or slammed out a hit.

After the game was over, we usually went up to the hospital to
make the rounds of the wards and call on patients from our part of the
country. There were generally several that we knew. Often our greetings
were ignored, the vacuous stares on their faces spoke only too pitifully
of their retreat from reality, but occasionally a glimmer of recognition
would bring forth a smile, or‘a plea of "Please take me back home
with you." Most of the patients were there for months or years. Therapy
was almost non-existent. About all that was offered the patients was containment
and restraint from self inflicted harm.

During the playing season, the postman often had a fan letter or
two to leave in our mailbox. Gus enjoyed these letters of adulation,
and usually shared them with us. One year, a Miss X wrote weekly, the
letter postmarked from Spokane, usually came after every game which
she apparently saw. The stationery was mostly pale pink and slightly
perfumed. After her salutation of "You Great Big Handsome Kraut,”
there followed several pages of admiring observations about Gus and
his plays at first base or at bat. That she hoped for a reply was obvious,
as she always included a P.O. box number.

One spring, I had found a little beer barrel-shaped whiskey bottle,
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-061-1600.jpg|Page 61]]}}
pint sized, under a culvert on the county road. It was one of my treasured
possessions. In one of Miss X’s letters, she had made this comment, "How
about sending me a big barrel of sauerkraut? Ha Ha.”

One evening after supper, as Gus was sitting in the big rocker reading
the paper, I approached him with my little bottle clutched tightly in
my hand.

"Dauffle," I called by my special pet name for him.

"Yes, Mudgie." He took me on his lap.

“I have my little barrel. Do you think it would be clever to fill
this with sauerkraut and send it to Miss X?”

Gus’s eyes filled with laughter, and a big smile broke out over
his face.

“Why, Mudgie, I think that is a wonderful idea. How did you ever
think of it?"

It was a supreme sacrifice to offer my treasure, but his enthusiasm
made it all worthwhile. He finally sent it on its way, the only response
Gus made to this particular fan.

Often, when we walked back and forth to school, someone would
pick us up and give us a ride. Invariably, if people were strangers and
they asked us our name, in response to the reply of "Wagner," they would
ask if Gus was our brother. How proud I was to say “Yes.”

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-061b-picnic-at-medical-lake-before-baseball-game-1600.jpg| Picnic before a baseball game at Medical Lake
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-062-1600.jpg|Page 62]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-062b-reardan-baseball-team-1600.jpg | Reardan baseball team
mcj-062c-medical-lake-baseball-team-1600.jpg | Medical Lake baseball team
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-063-1600.jpg|Page 63]]}}

===CHAPTER TEN: Five-F-One===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-063b-chapter-10-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 10 sketch
</gallery>

It was supper time in late summer, and Lou, Gus, Herman and
Papa were enjoying their meal in the dining room of the new house, now
almost completed. Just a few days before, linemen had changed the telephone
from the old house to the new. It was mounted on the outside wall
just beside the front door, an impressive piece of equipment with bells,
cranks and fuses ornamenting the shiny golden oak exterior. When the
telephone rang, all the family automatically stopped the conversation to
listen to the rings. One long, then one short. Yes, it was our ring on the
party line.

Lou got up from the table to answer. “Hello . . . Hello . . . Mama, is that
you?”

Mama was still in Spokane, living out in Union Park with the rest
of the family. One did not make a long distance telephone call except in
dire emergency, so Lou’s voice was instantly fearful as she called Papa
to the telephone.

“Fred,” sobbed Mama, “the baby is so sick. I’m afraid she will never get well.”

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Instantly Papa was reassuring her, giving her comfort and moral support.

“I’ll be in on the morning train.”

In 1906, milk was sold in bulk from house to house, raw, unpasteurized.
Probably, it was from drinking the milk that I contacted a severe
case of intestinal dysentery, which at that time was commonly called summer
complaint. The pediatrician prescribed blackberry brandy diluted
in water. I became so emaciated, that Papa carried me on a pillow. During
the hot, muggy days that followed, Papa walked me back and forth
in the comparative coolness of the cellar, crooning and pacifying me,
willing me to live. For years afterward, the family usually said, "Oh
yes, Margret is a sickly child.”

The first telephone system in Reardan was installed in 1903. Service
was sketchy and unpredictable, but in spite of its shortcomings, there
was probably no one single item that made life more bearable for the
isolated farmers’ wives, than the telephone. When I was in college, I
did a term paper for a psychology course on “Insanity in Rural America."
I wasn’t really too surprised to find in my research, that the greatest
incidence of insanity was among farm women. I had seen and known
too many of them hospitalized at the Medical Lake State Insane Asylum.
The telephone brought people together.

I was out of school an hour earlier than the girls. Especially during
the cold winter months, when hungry coyotes stalked too close for
comfort, I looked for a snug, warm place to wait for them, so I could
have the security of their presence on the two mile walk home. Driscoll’s,
a general store, was probably the favorite spot. I thought Driscoll’s so
opulent. It boasted two entrances, one gave access to the grocery department,
the other to the dry goods. In the center of the store, the big pot-bellied
stove with its cozy warmth, drew me like a magnet. I kept company
with Mr. Price’s fat cardboard tailor, that held a tape measure with
aplomb in his outstretched hands. Driscolls only carried overalls and
denim jackets in stock, but a man could order a suit on a made to measure
basis. If Agnes finished her practicing early in the day, she would
occasionally join me in her father’s store. Emboldened by her presence,
we would take time to lean over the pickle barrel to inhale the wonderful
aroma of dill and vinegar, check the peanut butter barrel, where oil from
the peanuts surfaced to form abstract patterns, or hang around the cracker
barrel hoping for a handout.

Occasionally, I stopped in at Scharman’s meat market to see if
Mr. Scharman would give me a wienie. The market was always on the
cool side, to keep the meat in prime condition, so I never stayed very
long. Yearly, in late fall a half of a beef hung on hooks for all to see and
speculate over. "Guess the weight of this beef. Nearest correct answer
wins a prize," so stated the sign propped up in the window.

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From time to time, I’d make a short call on Mr. Ahrens at the
Farmers Union Bank, which was across the street from the meat market.
If he wasn’t busy with a customer, he would take me thru the wrought
iron wicket, and let me sit at his desk. Just up the street and across from
Raymers hardware store, was the telephone office, where Eda Wegner
reigned supreme at the switchboard. It was the most exciting place. One
never knew what you might learn if you stuck around. Eda looked so
impressive with a headphone clamped to her ears. Little copper disks,
released by electrical impulse to signal a call, went "Plop, plop, plop" all
oyer the board. Eda usually knew most of what was going on around the
community and had a wealth of information at her finger tips.

“Eda.” The call came through from one of our neighbors. “I'm
trying to get ahold of Rose Moon. Do you know if she happens to be in
town?"

“Wait a minute," she responded. “I’ll find out.” She took off her
earphone, went to the window to peer out, and returned almost immediately.
"You still on the line, Meta? I see the Moon’s big red Buick
parked in front of the post office, so probably the Mrs. is in. town
somewhere. If I spot her, I’ll tell her to call you.”

When I was little, I was sure our telephone had as much spunk and
spirit as the most cantankerous mule on the place. You never could be
sure just what would come forth. I especially hated it when the cold
north wind blew on the frost-laden intake wire, setting up a vibration that
seemed to penetrate into the marrow of my bones. Even when I crawled
down deep under the feather blankets, and put a pillow over my head, I
could still feel the buzzing ringing in my ear. There were times in the
summer, when the telephone was even more frightening. During the
furious electrical storms that hit our part of the country in late spring
and summer, often the lightening traveled down the wires and through
the box, shooting out vicious sparks. Each telephone was equipped with
a safety fuse which one was supposed to release, but often we were too
busy or careless to pull the switch. Sparks, alive and threatening, would
shoot halfway across the dining room. Papa scolded us more than once
on our negligence, always ending with this admonishment, "Do you want
to set the house on fire?”

Most of the time, however, it was rather cozy being on a party line
with your neighbors. Each one had their own series of rings, so you could
call them directly, instead of going through central. No wire tapping of
today could equal the effectiveness of the rubbering in or monitoring,
which everyone indulged in from time to time. A click from a lifted
receiver was a telltale sign that someone was listening to your conversation.

Some wives tried the direct approach against this invasion of privacy.
"Now who do you suppose is listening in on us? The big buttinsky,
why doesn’t she get off the line?"

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On a number of occasions in early spring, our neighbor, Mrs. Capps,
made repetitive calls to our house. Because we usually had six or seven
milk cows on the place, Papa kept a bull we called Rueben. He was an
especially gentle and placid bull, but he was apt to go astray in the springtime,
when he would break through the fence and join the Capps’ cows.
Over the line to our house would come this forceful demand, “Tell your
father his gentleman cow is in our pasture and I want him out right
away." This always sent us into stitches of laughter, as one of us ran to
find Papa. It never bothered us to call a bull just that, but Mrs. Capps,
with her Victorian upbringing, couldn’t make herself say that word over
the telephone. You never knew who might be listening and you couldn't
be too careful.

We had another neighbor, a Mrs. Moore, who lived down the canyon
on Spring Creek, where she and her husband made a meager living
raising pigs. One day she called on the telephone and asked. for Papa.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Moore,” said Anne who had answered our ring,
”but Papa is out dynamiting.” Then she explained further, “We have a
couple of big boulders that Papa is trying to break up. They are just below
the surface of the ground, and the gang plow keeps running over
them when the boys are plowing.”

“Well," continued Mrs. Moore, "I have to make a trip into Reardan
tomorrow, and I’m wondering if your father could come in with us." She
gave no further details.

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Moore stopped by in their buggy.
“Fred,” she greeted Papa, “I have to go into town to the dentist and
have a back tooth pulled. I’m simply scared to death. I think I could
survive if you would come in with me, hold my hands while the Doctor
is pulling my tooth and give me some moral support.” Papa was enough
of a lady’s-man to be pleased at the request and was happy to oblige.
Going to the dentist when I was young, was an ordeal that no one looked
forward to.

There was no one more ready and willing to give help in time of
trouble, than the farmers in our little Reardan community. Because of
the long hours of work, most people went to bed early. When there was
a ring on the telephone after nine o’clock at night, it usually meant illness
or some other crisis. Then you got up to listen in on the call to see if
there was something that you could do to help.

Neither sleet or hail, drought or frost could elicit fear in the hearts of
farmers to such an intense degree, as did the fear of fire. There was
no county fire fighting equipment available. Few, if any, of the farmers
carried insurance to cushion the loss by fire. When the telephone rang
in the middle of the night, more often than not someone’s barn was burning.
The common fault lay in storing hay that was not completely dried
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out by the wind and sun. Wet hay stored in an enclosed building would
generate enough heat to start spontaneous combustion.

I remember one barn fire I saw with Papa out in the Crescent country.
We had driven out to buy a wheel of cheese, when we noticed a blaze
in the distance. When we got there, neighbors were already trying
desperately to get the livestock out of the barn. There was one terror-stricken
mare balking and struggling, as men tried to lead her out of the smoke-filled
building. As they finally got her out, she wheeled around and
started back inside. Only the quick action of one of the men prevented
her from doing so.

Through the years, Papa was especially careful as far as fire was
concerned. The hired men were not allowed to smoke around the
out-buildings. It seemed to me that most of the men chewed tobacco anyway,
but usually on Saturday night when they went into town to get roaring
drunk, they had a big fat cigar clamped between their teeth. Occasionally,
an over-zealous imbiber would seek refuge in our barn, instead of
plodding on home to an irate wife. If Papa heard him, he always got up
to make sure the man had no matches or other combustibles before he allowed
him to sleep off the effect of his over-indulgence.

Our granary caught on fire once, ignited by lightning. It was in the
early spring of 1914, and although it was past our bedtime, we were all
still up because Rose was critically ill with erysipelas. Her very high
fever had brought on a temporary delirium, so Papa and Lou were applying
cold compresses, trying to bring down the fever. Thunderheads, which
had been developing all evening, finally broke loose just overhead, while
lightning flashed continuously, followed by reverberating claps of thunder.
Someone remembered to pull the telephone switch, but otherwise we were
so concerned with Rose’s condition, that we hardly took time to notice
what was going on up in the sky. All of a sudden there was a direct hit,
which instantaneously ignited a corner of the granary.

“Fire,” yelled Herman, as he went bounding out the door. "Looks
like it’s the barn.”

Rose was temporarily abandoned to my care, while the rest of the
family grabbed buckets and milk pails and went to fight the blaze. The
watering trough used for drinking water for the animals was full, so
each one tore from trough to fire while Papa took charge. It was a
very dark night and on one trip, Herman, with two water-filled pails,
stumbled and fell face forward onto a pile of sand which was to be used
for some building project. Minna said afterward that you could hear him
swear as far away as Reardan. Finally, Papa realized the canvas draperies
used on the header seemed to be feeding the fire, so he dragged
them free of the building. Fortunately, there was only minor damage
and in a little while everything was brought under control.

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In the meantime, I was doing a mighty poor job as nurse. I had
an unholy fear of fire, and on top of that, I was afraid of Rose raving
away to herself. In her delirium she kept calling out, “I’m Chub, I'm
old Chub. Get on my back." I didn’t even want to go near Rose when
she was in this strange condition, but instead, squatted near the window,
cowering in near panic as I tried to see what was going on outside. Finally,
Rose sat up in bed and again demanded, "Don’t you hear me? I
said for you to get on my back." In order to placate her, I got on the
bed, straddled her stomach and stayed there until Lou finally got back
to the house and came to my rescue.

There was another winter some years later, when Rose was critically
ill again, this time with double pneumonia. Papa was in California,
so it was Lou who nursed and cared for Rose. The upstairs bedrooms had
no heat, so in order to keep Rose warm and close by, Lou made a bed
for her on the couch in the dining room. Again the high fever brought
on moments of violent delirium. Lou was at the telephone, calling the
Doctor in Reardan, when Rose leaped out of bed, crawled under the table
and vehemently kicked the underside.

“Oh Doctor, can’t you come out right away?" pleaded Lou. "Rose
is so wild in her delirium, she’s kicking the table and all. Isn’t there
something we can do to get this fever down?”

Someone was listening in on the conversation. By the time it had
been retold a dozen or more times, the story around Reardan was that
Rose Wagner kicked all the furniture in the dining room to smithereens.
When she finally recovered and went back to high school, she came in
for some very fancy kidding.

We kept our same number, Five-F-One, and our same easy to listen
for ring of a long and a short all during the years of our childhood.

<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-068b-1913-reardan-fire-1600.jpg | 1913 Reardan fire
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-069-1600.jpg|Page 69]]}}

===CHAPTER ELEVEN: Pass The Honey, Dear===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-069b-chapter-11-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 11 sketch
</gallery>

Most farmers were especially proud of their sons. Sons grew up to
offer the manpower that was needed to develop the land. Any farmer considered
his son as money in the bank. With girls, it was a different story.
Papa, however, was always loyal to his daughters and made us feel that
we were worth as much as any boy.

Mama’s big concern was how to find husbands for her bevy of
girls. Her mind was often on the subject long before the girls were of
marriageable age. I can see her saying to herself, "Well, I’ll tackle this
problem one at a time.”

Lou, as the oldest, received her first attention. When Lou was about
eighteen, a German fellow from the Reardan area came out to the farm
to give Papa a hand. Joe was pleasant, affable and industrious. Mama
was taken with him. Looking him over, through the weeks he was there,
she decided, "Now here is a good German young man. He will make a
fine husband for Louise."

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That fall in October, when Lou had her eighteenth birthday, Mama
decided to have a party for her. Guests were invited mostly from the
church and Sunday School, also a few neighbors and of course, Joe. After
breakfast, Mama made the round of the garden, finding a few blooms
that had not been frost killed. Coming into the house, she called Louise,
“I want you to take these blossoms and this bit of velvet ribbon and
fashion it into an armlet. Later we’ll play a game. Each girl can tie
these flowers onto the arm of the boy she likes the best. I want you to
tie it on Joe’s arm when its your turn.”

Lou wasn’t consulted in this decision. At the turn of the century,
Mama was still the one that knew best. Anyway, Lou was always gentle
and tractable. She wouldn’t defy Mama on any matter if she could avoid
it.

Apparently, Joe considered Lou’s actions as an invitation of more
import than Lou had placed in it. He continued to come out to the farm.
Sitting at the dining room table, he would smirk to all assembled, when
asking for the honey to be passed. "Pass the honey, dear," but his eyes
were on Lou. Finally, Joe asked Papa and Mama if he could have their
daughter Louise in marriage. Both the folks were more than willing.
However, Lou was adamant in her refusal. Joe was a nice fellow, but
she wasn’t ready for marriage. Not long afterward, he left the Reardan
country, and word drifted back that Joe had gotten married. Later we
heard that Joe’s wife divorced him. Divorce. That was a scary word
in our vocabulary when we were young. Joe was probably the first person
we knew who had actually been divorced. "Did he look any different
now that he was divorced?" we wondered.

During the few remaining years of her life, Mama was much too
ill to think about marriage for any of her daughters. More and more, Lou
had to assume the responsibility of raising the rest of us. Whatever ideas
she might have had on the subject of marriage were firmly put behind
her for the time being.

Several years passed and it was not until 1917 that Joe came back
into our lives. America had become involved in the European War, Gus
was drafted into the army, but Herman had been deferred to run the
farm. With so many of the country boys called into the service, hired
help of any kind was almost non-existent.

Papa was in Reardan. He had just come out of Scharman’s Meat
Market with a package. As he hurried down the street to where Molly,
our sorrel mare, was tied, Papa was accosted by an unfamiliar person.

"Fred. Fred Wagner.”

A look of recognition came into Papa’s eyes and his face broke into
a warm smile. "Why of course, Joe. For a moment I didn’t recognize
you. What are you doing back in Reardan?"

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-071-1600.jpg|Page 71]]}}

“Oh, I just stopped by for a few days to see my folks.”

"You’re not in the army?”

“No, I’m too old for the draft. I’m dickering with the idea of going
over to the coast. I understand there is a lot of work to be found in the
shipyards. How are all you folks?”

“We're all well. I’ve lost Lena some years ago, in case you haven’t heard.”

"No, I hadn’t and I’m so sorry. Mighty fine woman you had there."

“Then my boy Gus is in the army. He’s stationed at Camp Lewis
near Tacoma. His being gone is really a hardship, as it leaves me short
handed, with any kind of help almost impossible.”

"How’s Louise?" asked Joe, and then he continued in a meditative
manner, "Is she married?"

"No, no she isn’t. With Lena gone, Louise has stayed home to help
me raise the girls. Fine job she’s doing too.”

They chinned for a few more moments, then Papa tentatively asked,
“Don’t suppose you’d consider coming out and working for me for a
month or so. I surely could use some help with the spring plowing.”

“Well, yes, I guess I could give you a hand for a bit.”

Papa, the practical realist, didn’t give Joe a chance to change his
mind. When Papa returned from town that evening, there was Joe in the
buggy beside him.

It wasn't too many days later, that Lou cornered Papa on his way
out to do the chores. "Papa, I want to talk with you for a minute. Do
you know that old fool is still looking me over? I can’t stand his ogling
and I know he’s going to propose the first chance he gets. What will I
do?”

“Well Louise, I won’t try to change your mind, but Joe always
seemed like a decent fellow to me. However, if its no go its no go. See
if you can’t stall him until the plowing is finished.”

With Bert, Rose, Minna and me at home, it was fairly easy for
one of us to be with Lou as soon as Joe came in from the field until he
went out again. All went surprisingly well, and we had almost come to
the conclusion that Lou’s imagination had led her astray.

The plowing on the home place was finished. It was time to move
operations over to Mondovi. As Herman was needed at home, Joe
was sent over to do the work. As Lou was the only one of the girls
who could drive the Buick, which was needed at both places, she was
the logical one to be sent out to Mondovi to do the cooking. I was sent
along as chaperone.

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At twelve, I was probably a pretty good candidate for the job. For
one thing, I was the baby and it seemed necessary for Lou to keep me
under her protective wing. For another, I was at an age when I talked
incessantly. At every meal I usurped all conversation at the table. There
was simply no possibility of a pregnant silence. After several days, I
could sense Joe’s annoyance at the situation in which he found himself
and realized only too well he was biding his time for an opportunity to
declare himself.

An event occurred that was a blessing in disguise. I came down
with a severe case of conjunctivitis. It seemed to me that about that age,
any contagious disease found me a likely candidate. My eyes were
swollen and inflamed. Each morning when I awakened, my lashes
were tightly glued together from the dried secretion. I couldn’t even see
until Lou had brought me cold compresses with which to bathe my eyes.
Some neighbor suggested cold tea applied to the eyes, which did seem
to bring some relief. I’d stagger out to the kitchen, sit by the stove with
a large basin of cold tea and dab at my eyes, all the while commiserating
with myself. A few days later Lou came down with the same malady.
Under such adverse conditions, it hardly seemed propitious for Joe to
do more than offer sympathy.

All during this time, the plowing went steadily on. Also, the pink
eye ran its course and was swiftly forgotten. This particular morning,
after Joe had gone to the field, I went out to the barn to play with my
little homemade car. I didn’t realize that the work Joe was doing was so
near the house. Apparently he had seen me leave, so he tied up the team
and re-entered the kitchen.

"What’s the matter, Joe?" was Lou’s startled retort. "Why are
you back in the house?”

"I’ve been sticking around here now for weeks, waiting for a chance
to ask you to be my wife. Surely you knew what was in my mind and
yet you seemed to have avoided me."

Lou was silent a few moments, and then shook her head in negation.
“I’m sorry.”

"Why, Louise, why? You know how much your Mother wanted you
to marry me. Isn’t her wish important to you?”

“Yes, Joe, I know Mama liked you very much. You’re a nice
fellow, but it's just no go.”’

"Then why in the hell am I sticking around here. I’ll be damned
if I ask you again.”

By the time I had gotten back to the kitchen, Joe had passed
outside in a huff. "Did he pop the question?”

"Yes," whispered Lou, half sobbing. "And he didn’t even finish the
plowing. What am I going to tell Papa?”

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===CHAPTER TWELVE: Auto-Mo-Bubbling to the Coast===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-073-chapter-12-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 12 sketch
</gallery>

Our first trip to the coast was made by car to see our brother Gus,
who was stationed near Aberdeen. It must have been in June or early
July, as we had already moved out of the upstairs bedrooms, with their
smothering heat, into the more comfortable sleeping accommodations
outside. Papa had helped us put up the tent and bring down the beds.

Moving out each year was a momentous occasion. Because the
stairs were narrow with no hallway at the bottom, anything of any size
was moved in and out by way of the front windows and over the porch.
First of all, we removed the tall windows from the casement. Then, with
all of us helping as much as we could between groans and giggles, we
pulled the beds apart, slid them down over the porch, where Papa waited
to maneuver the bulky heavier pieces. Our big twelve by fourteen foot
tent was ample enough to accommodate three double beds. Sleeping outside
in the cooler air was much more comfortable, although we usually
had to swat several mosquitoes, or put our heads under the sheets to avoid
being bitten. Minna was especially vulnerable to their poison and usually
had one or more big welts on her arms or face.

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On this particular night the moon was full. It seemed to shed an
unusual brightness over the lake, the house and the fields. Bertie could
not sleep. As she kept turning in bed, she noticed Rose shifting her body.

“Res-la, are you awake?" she wispered.

“Yes” Rose answered, ‘It is so light outside that I can't settle
down.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” Bertie suggested.
"Let me awaken Minna first.”

The whispering awakened me, and not wanting to be left out, I
immediately announced, "I’m coming too.”

We slid out of bed, slipped on our felt bedroom slippers, and still
clad in only our nighties, started through the garden, past the chicken
house and then on around the lake. We had had a letter from Gus that
day and we were discussing his new transfer from Fort Lewis to the
Spruce Division near Aberdeen.

Suddenly Bertie said, "Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could drive
over to the coast and see him.”

Several months before, Gus, who had been drafted into the army,
was sent to Fort Lewis for his basic training. The first draft included
unmarried men from eighteen to thirty. Gus was twenty-eight. Papa was
a pacifist and had imbued us all against the evils of fighting or war. Gus
went into the service reluctantly and it was with heavy hearts that we all
gathered at the depot to say goodbye. Gus had been so close to his family,
that it was inevitable that he was homesick. In one of his early letters
to Anne he wrote.

"My dear Anne,

“I just finished eating supper and will write a line to you tonight.
Been here four days and have had some time of it. When we first came
here, they were not ready for us in the way of accommodation. Hardly
nothing to eat and the first three nights I nearly froze to death. Have only
two small blankets and they are not much.”

Gus was appalled at the lack of organization. The utterly inane
tasks the sergeant of his platoon assigned to the recruits sickened him.
While he seemed to have avoided any confrontation with his officers, he
still rebelled privately at the way some of the draftees were disciplined.
Soon after he finished his basic training and was awaiting shipment over
seas, he stopped by the bulletin board where he spotted a notice calling
for volunteers to work in the woods. The Aviation section of the Signal
Corps needed spruce in the manufacture of planes. This was a crucial
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shortage, so it was decided to send soldiers in to get the work done. This
offered a postponement to being sent to the war front, so Gus jumped at
the chance to join this.unit,.which was called the Spruce Division.

“I am in with a strange bunch of fellows here," he. wrote. "This
was a picked bunch from Camp Lewis and I have to look up to them in
size. They are the wildest, huskiest fellows I ever saw.”

He went on, “We will work in the timber and may be here for a
long while. I might never see the front at all. I feel pretty good about it.”

Elsie Cutler, one of the nurses who had graduated from St. Luke’s
Hospital the same year Anne did, had been a frequent visitor out at the
farm. She and Gus became engaged a few months before he went into
the service. Now he felt fairly secure in the Aberdeen area, so he and
Elsie made plans for marriage. She went to the coast and in a simple
ceremony, the first of the Wagners had a spouse. They were able to set
up housekeeping at the logging camp, so for the rest of his stay in the
army, Gus enjoyed the security of love and affection.

Bertie’s suggestion was almost too unbearable to even contemplate.
It seemed so wonderful, and the more we talked about the idea, the more
plausible it seemed. By the time we returned the more it was, in our
minds at least, a ''fait accompli''.

As we were dressing, the following morning, the four of us enlisted
Lou to help us persuade Papa on the idea of the trip. As the eldest girl,
with the levelest head, Papa gave her ideas consideration. It was at the
supper table that night that Lou approached the subject.

“Papa,” she said, “I have an idea on my mind and I want to know
what you think of it. As you well know, the spring plowing is all finished,
the hay isn’t quite ready to cut, so we have a lull in the farm work.”

She paused a moment, and then finally blurted out, "Oh Papa,
couldn’t we drive over to the coast and see Gus?” The rest of us added
our entreaties to hers.

Papa did not answer her for a fem moments. His vivid blue eyes
took on an opaque color. One could almost tell what thoughts were sweeping
his mind, as he considered the situation.

"Could it be possible to swing the trip?" What Louise said made
sense. It was a fairly quiet time before harvest and Herman could take
care of the place and the stock.” These and a hundred ideas must have
crossed ‘his mind. “I don’t know,” he finally spoke. "I’ll think about it."

That evening, after they left the table, Papa and Herman went
out to the granary to look over and check the Buick. Papa never learned
to drive the car. He felt much more comfortable behind a span of horses,
but he gravely consulted with Herman about the engine as they peered
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under the hood. They kicked the wooden spokes on the wheels to check
for solidness and examined the tires. The two back ones were worn and
would have to be replaced. At fifty dollars a tire, this represented a good
deal of money. Roads were poor, tires were expensive and of poor quality.
If you got five thousand miles to a tire, you thought you had good
service out of it.

We never considered taking the car out on the road without first
checking to see that the jack, the air pump, extra boots for repairing a
blow-out and vulcanizing material and patching cement for repairing the
inner tube were easily available. The road from Reardan to Spokane was
surfaced with cement, which was relatively easy on tires. If we got into
Spokane and back, a distance of fifty miles, without some kind of tire
trouble, we thought we were lucky. Constant repetition of the job made
all of us girls extremely efficient. We made a game of timing each
change to see if we could increase our speed. It took us about seventeen
minutes from the time we all piled out of the car, to jack up the wheel
and make a simple change of putting on a spare.

We could tell Papa was warming up to the idea of a trip. Rose suggested
a call to Anne in Spokane to tell her about our plans. We did not
call long distance unless it was a grave necessity, but we felt this one
was warranted. When Lou explained the tire situation, Anne immediately
offered to buy the two tires. She could always be counted on to come to
the rescue.

Herman made a call at Raymers the next time he was in town.
He stopped for two reasons, one to see the pert young stenographer,
Martha Knudson, to whom he was engaged, and the other was to talk
with Mr. Raymer about our proposed trip to the coast. Mr. Raymer
had the biggest store in Reardan in tools, machinery and hardware. He
was also the Buick agent who sold Papa our car for fifteen hundred
dollars.

“What can you tell me about the road from here to the coast?”
asked Herman. "My folks are considering making the trip over to see
Gus. Do you think they can make it?”

"Goodness, Herman,” Mr. Raymer replied. "I don’t know of anyone
around here that has made a trip that long. I would guess the hardest
part of the trip would be over the mountains. Which way are they figuring
on going?”

By the time the talk was completed, Mr. Raymer had really given
Herman very little help concerning the roads. Some signs had been
posted, we knew, from seeing a small weather worn unpainted board
nailed to a fence post just west of town. Route 10. If there were signs
along the way, then surely that indicated people were traveling along
route 10. If other people could make the trip, so could we.

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There was an endless discussion of what to wear and what to take.
The war had brought on tremendous changes in peoples attitudes concerning
dress. We could decide to wear coveralls and knew we would not be
censored for it. As we planned on camping along the way, we four younger
girls bought khaki colored coveralls, but Lou said she wouldn’t feel right
unless she could wear a dress.

I wonder how we all fitted into the car. Besides the six of us, we
had camping paraphernalia, food and cooking equipment, as well as extra
clothes. The Buick had no trunk, but it did have an ample running
board, so Papa used this space to store our things. We drove with the
black canvas top folded back, the isinglass side curtains left at home.

On the morning of our departure, we were up at two. The standard
breakfast, that was usually served when we took the horses and wagon
into Spokane, was in evidence again. Hard boiled eggs, homemade bread
and hot cocoa. Papa, as usual when we were leaving home for a few
days, quipped, "Now eat plenty. There’ll be no more until we get back
home." Then he beamed a benign smile on his girls.

Rose, the realist in the family, said, "Now Papa, really."

At last we were on our way, Lou supreme at the wheel, then I and
then Papa. The three other girls were in the back. There was just a
hint of dawn, as we waved goodbye to Herman. A slight amount of dew
was falling, irradiant with morning rainbow colors. I hugged myself in
sheer delight.

We first traversed familiar country, around the lake to Aunt Barbara's
and Capps'. Another mile and here was Reardan, quiet in the early
morning. Not even a dog barked a greeting. West past the Arthur Toll
place, on to the Sparks’ farm, with its affluent house, barn and
out-buildings and then to the Zimmands, where we often visited.

Davenport. Wilbur, Almira. The roads were not too bad. From
Almira on, however, the road was like driving down a river bed. Course
gravel as big as your fist had been laid out on top of the dust, not packed
down, and not even rutted. We made our own track, traveling slower
and slower, until it seemed one could walk faster than the speed of our
car. Lou’s mouth became a little more set, her hands clutched the steering
wheel with more determination and conversation all but stopped. We
kept saying to each other, "What will this do to our tires?"

Finally, the gravel gave way to the old familiar dust and our spirits
lightened and chattering was resumed. We checked each field of wheat,
guessed the probable yield, moaned over each frost damaged draw. As
we came closer to Coulee City, the soil became thin and alkali. Many
of the homesteads had been abandoned, leaving ramshackle buildings.
On some, only the windmills turning in the breeze, told the story of hope
and despair.

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We passed very few cars, although occasionally we could wave to
a farmer driving a team of horses. Headlines, a few days earlier from
the Spokesman Review, carried the story of three escaped convicts from
Walla Walla that were presumed to be hiding somewhere in the grand
coulee. We kept an eagle eye open for anyone or anything that might
be suspect. The desolation of the area in the coulee and its feeling of
hostility made us uncomfortable, so we all gave a sigh of relief when we
came to the top and Waterville.

From Waterville, we caught our first glimpse of the Cascade mountains,
faint, blue, mysterious and exciting. At the edge of the plains we
could look down far below to the Columbia River. It seemed as though
the switchbacks would go on forever, as Lou, keeping the car in low to
Save the brakes, slowly moved from one to another. We made numerous
stops. At each one, Papa bounded out of the car with a big rock he
kept handy at his feet, to anchor the back wheel. Finally, we reached
the banks of the river, crossed over it and came to Wenatchee. From
dawn until mid-afternoon, we had been traveling steadily to log the first
hundred and fifty miles of our trip.

Road maps had yet to be thought of, road signs, what few there
were, were elusive. It took all our combined watching to spot them.
When we needed gas, we often had to thoroughly search a town before
we could find the one gas pump. We always stopped and asked the farmers
along the way for directions. More often than not, they knew little,
but they were usually friendly, which made us feel good.

In Wenatchee, we slowly canvassed the town before we finally located
a pump in front of a general store. After a few moments, a man
came out of the shop, looked us over and said, “You need gas?”

“Yes,” said Papa. “We’re on our way over to Aberdeen to see my
son, who is in the army."

“You don’t say. Where you from?”

"Reardan, in Lincoln County. We are farmers there.”

“Well now, you folks are making quite a trip." And then, as he looked
Lou over he added, "Is the young lady doing all the driving?"

Papa had gotten out of the car so he could watch the gas gauge.
There was a cylinder of glass at the top of the pump, which was filled
from a storage tank by pulling and pushing a lever. When the ten gallon
container was filled, the gasoline was released by gravity flow into the
car tank. The measurement from one to ten was marked on the outside.
When Papa was assured he had gotten his fair measure, he took his suede
money pouch from his pocket and counted the change.

“We’re looking for a place to camp. Where would you suggest we
could find a likely spot?" Papa asked.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-079-1600.jpg|Page 79]]}}

“If I were you, I’d push on until I got to the foot of Blewett Pass.
That is the one you have to take to get over the mountains. There is a
nice little stream with plenty of good water and you’ll be all set to go
over the pass first thing in the morning. I haven’t made the trip myself,
but I understand the road is passable during the summer.”

With such reassuring words, Lou pushed the Buick on to end the trip
for the day.

I don’t believe any of us had camped in woods that were as dense
as the Douglas fir. The blue-black trees, so closely spaced; seemed
awesome and forbidding compared to our own pine forests. The mountain
stream tumbled from boulder to boulder, white and busy. Soon
Papa had arranged a ring of river stones to contain the cooking fire.
By the time supper was over and camp readied for the night, we were
more than willing to call it a day. Papa rolled up in his blanket near
the fire, so he could keep a watchful eye on the embers, which he kept
burning through the night. The rest of us snuggled into a common bed.
I’m sure I must have commandeered the center position for safety and
security. The next morning at dawn, as I awakened, I looked up through
the lacy pattern of the overhanging brake fern and momentarily thought,
"I must be dead.”

...Another early morning departure, to get a head start on the two
other campers nearby. Back and forth we climbed, the road narrow,
steep, winding and tortuous. At times, we wondered how Lou could ever
get the car around some of the sharp corners. We finally made it almost
to the top without meeting any other vehicle. Then, at the last
curve, we met face-to-face a model T Ford. Could they get past us or
not? Bertie began to cry. Papa got out to size up the situation and consult
with the other driver, while the rest of us froze with fright, except
Lou, who at least managed an outward calm.

“We at least have the inside of the road. We'll be all right.”

With much “Whoaing” from Papa and “Hold it" by the others,
the driver of the Ford inched his car to the extreme edge of the bluff.
Slowly, Lou made her way forward bit by bit, until she managed to clear.
The breathless moments seemed eternity, until we were safely past. The
men congratulated each other, shook hands all around and then, with
Papa back in the car, we continued on our way.

Our route took us through Olympia, where we saw our first Capitol
building. It seemed the most beautiful, the most elegant building I had
ever seen in all my life. Somehow, it called for a song, so we all joined
in singing:

<poem>
Washington, my Washington
From Mica Peak to Tobish Isle
Thy bounteous wealth exacts a smile
Washington, my Washington.
</poem>

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About noon of the third day, we finally arrived in Aberdeen. Sixteen
more miles to the woods camp and Gus. We gathered around him
''en masse'', chattering like magpies, we were so happy to see him again.

The days flew by all too quickly. Gus’ C.O. gave him a little time
off. We spent one whole day at the beach, where there were so many
new sights, sounds and smells to absorb. That tremendous expanse of
water, was it really the Pacific Ocean? And if it really was pacific, why
did it roar all the time with such endless regularity? Accustomed to the
dry air and higher altitude of Spokane country, the dampness of fog and
water seemed so strange, the odors of the drying kelp, bilge and dead
marine life, seemed too different on first impact to assimilate.

Papa thoroughly enjoyed digging for razor clams. "You have to
be fast to get these," he boasted as he lifted each one for us to admire.
The Dungeness crabs were so prolific, we raked them out of the tide
pools. The girls raced barefooted before incoming breakers, but I was
too timid to follow, and contented myself picking up small treasures on
the beach. I found a smooth, perfect sand dollar which I carried back
home. For months afterward I caressed that shell, gently rubbing my
hand over its surface.

Back at camp, they gave us the use of the hand car, so we went
riding back and forth on the tracks if we got clearance from the switchman.
There were wild blackberries to pick for pies, woods to explore,
strange birds to watch. One day, while berry picking, we momentarily
shared the same patch with a brown bear. We did not stop to argue
prior picking rights, but went scurrying back to our conveyance and on
down the tracks.

The most wonderful part of the trip though, was being able to visit
with Gus. Each day he spent at the donkey engine, maneuvering the big
spruce logs into position and bringing them down by cable to the railroad
siding for loading. Each evening he recounted the interesting incidents,
or made some comment on the crew with whom he worked.

What was there about our six-foot-two, one hundred and ninety-seven pound,
rangy, big-boned brother, that made him so extra special
to us all? He had charisma, a touch of gentleness and an intuitive ability
to make each one of us seem extra special, as he talked to us. Gus
would slouch comfortably on his spine with one big foot across his knee,
while his penetrating big blue eyes gave encouragement. He had that
rare quality of being a good listener as well as an interesting talker.

In the few letters of Gus’ that have survived, one catches a glimpse
of his brotherly encouragement and advice.

“Dear little girls," he wrote to Minna and Rose, who were attending
]Washington State College. "How are you getting along with your
{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-081-1600.jpg|Page 81]]}}
studies? I am most interested in and looking forward for you to make
a good record. It will mean work, I know, but that is what you are
there for.”

Or to me, "Dear Mudge. You wrote me the nicest letter last week.
That was a lot of news." And surely he would have inquired into the
piano lessons and encouraged the practicing. It was Gus who wanted me
to have piano lessons and paid for them.

All too soon it was time to say goodbye. The nearest town on the
western side of Blewett Pass was Cle-Elum which was our first night’s
destination. An intense heat and acrid pall of smoke hung over the valley
as we approached the town. Almost all of Cle Elum was a mass of hot,
smoldering coals. We drove on a few miles. The sadness and desolation
we had just seen made us ill at ease and fitful as we prepared to camp.
Papa stayed awake through the night. Once again I had my repetitive
dream of fire that plagued me all during my growing up years. We
were all glad when the night was over and we could be on our way.

On the grade out of the Columbia River gorge up into Waterville,
the Buick repeatedly boiled and the engine overheated. We were fortunate
to find a small spring where we filled the coffee pot, which Papa
kept between his knees in readiness to refill the radiator. We were almost
near the top, when Papa burned his hand quite badly in removing
the radiator cap.

From Waterville on, we saw signs of heavy wind damage.
Buildings were askew, crops were laid flat and dust covered. "Would it be
this bad at home?” we wondered. Finally we got to Mondovi, where we
turned north to check our wheat there. All looked fine. What a relief.

Herman greeted us gladly. "No, there was no wheat damage, but
the dust had really been kicked up by the storm."

Lou looked around the house. Everything was covered with dust
from one end to the other. Already, she was mentally parceling out jobs
for each of us to do in the morning. With Lou in command, everything
was going to be neat, clean and tidy.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-082-1600.jpg|Page 82]]}}
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-082b-first-buick-papa-in-back-rose-and-friend-1600.jpg | Our first Buick, papa in back and Rose and friend in front.
mcj-082c-lou-and-bertie-1600.jpg | Lou and Bertie
mcj-082d-gus-suit-1600.jpg | Gus Wagner
mcj-082e-gus-uniform-1600.jpg | Gus Wagner
</gallery>

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-083-1600.jpg|Page 83]]}}

===CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Holidays Remembered===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-083b-chapter-13-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 13 sketch
</gallery>

Every family builds their own traditions. Holidays become special
by the repetition of certain activities that eventually become time honored.
In our family, many things we did were because we had so
learned them from Papa or Mama. There were others that developed
quite by chance. I don’t know who thought of the idea of going out to the
granary before Thanksgiving dinner for a weighing in of each of us, and
then after dinner, going out again to get on the wheat scales to see who
had gained the most. We thought this was great fun, so we continued the
practice until it became a family tradition. There were variations from
year to year. A prize was given to the one who gained the most,
and eventually each one had to be searched on the second round
for heavy objects hidden in pockets. Herman especially loved to put a
pistol in his hip pocket with the stock prominently showing.

Another tradition, which I simply adored, was shared mostly by
Papa and me. This happened each Easter when the Easter bunny came
to our house. In the corner of the garden nearest the barn, was a large
boulder, approximately three by five feet in size. The top of the boulder
had a slight depression, where each year I built a nest of straw for
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the Easter bunny. Our Easter bunny was special. He was shy, so he
would only lay his eggs when no one was peeking, and he continued his
egg laying through the entire day, usually laying one candy Easter egg
at a time. I might be practicing the piano, wiping dishes or playing a
game, when I would hear Papa calling from the dining room window.

“Margret, come quickly. I think I just saw the Easter bunny going
over the hill." As I tore over to catch a glimpse of this elusive fellow,
Papa always said, “Did you see him? There, just over the hill you can
still see his tail, Oh, no, he’s gone. Let’s go see if he left an egg for you.”

Without fail, there would be a nice chocolate egg, or a pink, blue or
yellow one with marshmallow filling. Perhaps this would be repeated a
half dozen times a day, and even after I knew for certain that the Easter
bunny and Papa were one and the same, I still enjoyed keeping up the
illusion. It was a sad day, the last time I built a nest and found instead
of one egg, a kitchen bowl containing all of the candy eggs.

During most of my growing up, Mama was no longer living and
Papa was in California for the winter, so Louise and Gus assumed the
responsibility of making each Christmas a memorable one. By December,
harvest was a thing of the past, fall chores, such as spreading animal
manures out in the fields, would be finished before the ground froze
solid, and the machinery would be oiled and put under cover. Usually by
Thanksgiving, the ice in Spring Creek was thick enough for the fellows to
cut into blocks. The building that housed our chickens also contained
space for ice storage. There, deep in sawdust, Gus and Herman stored
several tons of ice for use in making ice cream the following summer.
There was still the routine feeding and caring for the livestock, as well as
the yearly chore of making wood, cords and cords of it for the kitchen
stove and heaters. Especially in winter, a prodigious amount of fuel was
consumed to keep the house snug and warm. Still, the pace of life was
much more leisurely than at any other time of the year.

From the time that Christmas vacation from school began, until
Christmas Eve, when we opened our gifts, there was bustling activity and
enjoyable visiting as we prepared for "The Day." Herman or Gus would
bring in an anvil and a hammer from the blacksmith’s shop, set it up near
the fire and take turns cracking and shelling walnuts for the candy making
in progress. Gus, who was quite a visitor, would talk as he worked,
so the girls were constantly traveling back and forth from the kitchen
to the dining room, so they would not miss the conversation. His gentle
sense of humor and his dry witticism would send us all off into gales of
laughter.

Our cousin, Albert Erdman, who lived a quarter of a mile away on
the adjacent farm, usually dropped in for a daily visit. A blast of icy
north wind would come rushing in ahead of him as he opened the door and
called, "Anybody home?"

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“Of course we are, you silly," someone would exclaim. "Come in
fast and shut the door."

Albert would shuck his heavy mackinaw coat and outer garments,
then back up to the cozy warmth of the stove.

“Say, I saw a funny one today." Without being more explicit, he
would wait with a big grin on his face for someone to urge him to continue.
"I was walking back from town just now and as I passed Capps, I
happened to notice Molly’s clothesline."

Molly and Henry Capps were the third family that lived in our
hollow. Their place was on the other side of the lake toward Reardan.
They were Mama and Papa’s contemporaries. Henry Capps was tall,
angular, taciturn; Molly was tall, voluminous, friendly. Molly, who made
tender delicious cakes, was usually selected to make the wedding cakes
for Reardan brides. I guess she enjoyed eating as much as she did
cooking, for we decided she weighed at least three hundred pounds.

"Well," continued Albert, "between the frost and the wind, that
long underwear of Molly’s billowed out into quite a size. I'll bet it's as
big as it is when she has it on. Yes sir, it was quite a sight.”

He broke into a hearty laugh. Every time Albert came over, he
had some event to relate that had amused him. He told his stories with
enough dramatic emphasis that we loved listening to him.

Each girl had her own special candy for making. Anne’s was
penuche, Bertie’s divinity, while Lou made the fudge. In addition to these
three standbys, we might try some new variety such as fondant, which
we stuffed into dates or dipped in chocolate, peanut brittle, taffy or popcorn
balls. Occasionally, the syrup was under-cooked and the candy would
not thicken, regardless of how long it was beaten. Then, one of the girls
would brave the icy weather and drop the candy by spoonfuls onto a
clean white patch of snow. Usually, after an hour or so, it would have
solidified sufficiently so it could be taken in and wrapped in wax paper.

Lou collected shoe boxes through the year. A few days before
Christmas, eight of these were brought out, placed on the dining table
and filled to overflowing with our homemade candy, and various kinds of
unshelled nuts. If there wasn’t quite enough to make a good showing,
Lou might add store bought hard candies. The boxes were never wrapped
or decorated in any way, just utilitarian receptacles, still smelling faintly
of shoe leather on the inside, while outside, over labels such as W. L.
Douglas, Peters or Shelby, each of our names was written in crayon by
Lou’s neat hand.

About four miles from the ranch, the rolling prairie gave way to
a canyon where the woods began. Mostly, the trees were of yellow pine,
but interspersed among them were small fir. On down the canyon several
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miles, we owned a quarter section of land called the wood lot, where
in the winter the boys cut our firewood. Usually they would bring home
our Christmas tree, but on several occasions some of us girls took my
sled and walked after a tree. Near the head of the canyon, the small fir
were plentiful. We had a fine time looking over many trees before we
found the perfect one to chop down and bring home to set up in the parlor.
What a delight it was for me to find buckberry peeking out of the
snow. Their velvety white texture felt so smooth under my fingers. I'd
pick some chartreuse moss growing on the north side of the pines, to
take back with the buckberry for a little arrangement.

During the winter, when the weather was so cold, most of our living
was confined to the kitchen and dining room. Although we had a wood
heater in the parlor, we used the room very little, except for special
occasions. However, during the Christmas season, we kept the parlor
warm so we could enjoy the tree.

Many of our ornaments Mama had brought back from Germany on
her last trip there. The red paper Christmas bells that folded flat for
storage which when opened revealed the intricate pattern, the cutouts of
angels bordered with tinsel, the small pictures of the Christ Child and
scenes of the nativity, we used lovingly each year. In addition, we strung
popcorn, which with silver tinsel, we used to festoon the branches. Finally,
the candles were placed with great care on the outer limbs, balanced
as nearly erect as possible. The ever-present hazard of fire from the
burning candles, was always in Lou’s mind, so she would delegate one
of us to sit by the tree to guard against such a mishap.

In addition to the shoe boxes of candy under our tree, there was
always a gift or two for each of us, usually a book or a game. Santa Claus
had no part in our Christmas. For us, Christmas was the story of the
Christ Child. On Christmas Eve, after an early supper, we gathered
around the piano to sing carols before we lighted the candles and opened
our gifts. Then, dressed warmly with leggings and boots, bonnets, scarves,
mittens and mufflers, we would go to Reardan for the seven o’clock
church service. If the weather was stormy, we would take the horses
and sled, but otherwise we walked the two miles into town.

From the time I was four until we stopped going to Christmas Eve
service, I always had a song to sing. Lou, who played the organ at the
church for many years, would coach me until she decided I was letter
perfect. One year, I wore a red and white striped flannel nightgown and
carried a doll in my arms, so the costume must have been apropos to
the song. Just before we left for church, I’d stand on the dining room
table while I sang one last time for the family.

Some Christmases were more memorable than others. The first
one that I can remember, was while Mama was still living. The details
of memory are fragmented. It was dark, I remember. I must have
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awakened from my sleep and Papa had picked me up to comfort me. I
can recall how warm and snug I felt in Papa’s arms. The kitchen was
dark, with only a faint light shining from the opening into the dining
room. Papa opened the cupboard door and through the pass way that
joined the china cupboard on the other side, we could see the tree. Lou
and Mama were hanging ornaments on it.

Papa whispered, “Look, Christina, see what Mama is doing. That
is a Christmas tree and she is making it beautiful for Christmas.”

Mama apparently heard the noise as she came out into the kitchen.
“Fred, what in the world are you doing with the baby. Take her back
to bed.”

There was the Christmas of the big doll. Anne had looked and
looked at the doll section of the Sears and Roebuck catalog. She knew,
almost by heart, the description of each and every doll that Sears and
Roebuck had for sale. Anne wanted the very best doll in the world for
me, her baby sister. She didn’t know just how she was going to get the
money, but somehow, somewhere, she would find a way. She talked so
much about wanting to earn some money, that Papa finally gave her a
calf of her very own. For about eight weeks after it was born, Anne fed,
groomed and cared for the calf, until it grew to marketable size. When
Papa butchered it, he and Anne packed it into the back of the light spring
wagon and took the calf to market in Spokane.

The twenty-five mile trip took about five hours, as Papa never
abused his animals. The horses seldom traveled faster than a walk, even
when they were pulling a light load. It was shortly after eight o’clock in
the morning when Anne and Papa arrived at the wholesale market, where
Papa was well known.

"Good morning, Fred. What do you have today?”

“My daughter Anne has a vealer she’d like to sell."

“Bring it in here and we’ll take a look. The market is pretty firm
today on prime veal.”

The transaction was finally over. Five dollars the butcher said he’d
give for the calf. Five dollars. That was the most money Anne had ever
owned in all of her seventeen years. The butcher went to the till, picked
up a five dollar gold piece and handed it to Anne. She clutched it tightly
in her hand until she and Papa got back into the wagon.

"Papa, will you please keep this safe for me until we get home?”
she asked.

When Anne returned home, she hid the money in a secret place,
checking every so often to see that it was secure. Now that Anne knew
how much money she had to spend, she spent more time than ever peering
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through the catalog. First she would decide on one, and then she
would decide on another. Finally, Anne’s mind was made up.

"Dainty Dorothy," a beautiful German import, twenty-four inches
long, kid leather body, flesh-like arms and legs, a bisque head, blue eyes
that open and close, blonde curly hair. So read the description.

The price of the doll was exactly five dollars. Lou said she would
pay for the postage and make the clothes. This included a petticoat,
edged with ruffled embroidery and a soft silk dress the color of the sky.

Anne could hardly wait for Christmas to arrive that year. She could
barely keep from telling me. "What do you want for Christmas, Mudge?
What do you want most in the whole world?"

Dainty Dorothy was almost as big as a baby. I soon discovered
that our christening robes fit my doll and that my crib was just the
right size. Dorothy wore the christening clothes until Elsie used them
when Robert, Gus’ only son, was baptized.

Then there was the Christmas of Mama’s new hat. The family
had moved to Petaluna, California that fall of 1904, and it was the first
Christmas the children had experienced without snow. The move had
been made in the hope that a milder climate would be beneficial to
Mama’s health. In the few months they had been south, Mama seemed
stronger. She had taken a renewed interest in clothes, in church and in
newly-made friends.

While shopping for gifts for the children at Goldman’s Department
Store, Mama noticed some hats shown in the window. She succumbed to
an impulse and walked into the hat department to look around. Hats
were one of Mama’s weaknesses. She loved them. There it was, on
the head of a manikin, one of the loveliest hats Mama had ever seen.
It was fashioned in black chiffon, shirred and gathered over a wire
frame. As she tried it on and looked at herself in the mirror, Mama felt
almost pretty and suddenly much perkier and gay. “It’s a good thing
its black," she-said to herself. She was still in mourning for Papa’s
Mother, who had died in July. Before she knew it, Mama bought the hat,
brought it home and placed it in her hat box with the others she owned.

"I'll wear it to the Lutz's" she thought. "I'll wear it when we go
calling on them Christmas Day.”

Mr. Lutz worked for McNear Feed and Seed Company of Petaluna.
Mr. Lutz had successfully developed or improved on a brooder for hatching
chickens. It was called "Must Hatch." Mrs. Lutz was always called
“Tante.” The Lutzs became close friends of Mama and Papa. They especially
enjoyed playing cards together.

On December 24, Papa brought home a double crate of big navel
oranges. This was a special treat to the Wagner clan, who had had very
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few oranges in their lifetime. There also were nuts and candy in abundance.
Early in the evening, Mama sent Anne, Bertie, Rose and Minna
upstairs to bed, while she and Lou stayed down to trim the tree.

The four little girls were beside themselves with excitement and
could not seem to settle down. Finally, they all congregated in one bedroom.

“Did you see Mama’s new hat?" Anne asked.

"No, no. When did she get it?" was the concerted reply.

Anne went to the closet and brought out the hat box. She carefully
placed the new hat on the bed, where all the girls looked admiringly
at it. One of the girls put on one of Mama’s old hats, nodded her head
and took a big bow. Soon the game of "Trying Mama’s hats" was on.
All of the girls had to have a try and each one tried to outdo the other,
as they made silly grimaces at each other. Finally, one of the older girls
daringly touched Mama’s new hat and tried it on.

“I want my turn. I want my turn." Minna was insistent.

“Oh, no, you can’t try on Mama’s new hat, Minna. You are too
little."

“I'm a big girl, I can so. I’m six tomorrow. I can, I can, I can."

Minna grabbed the hat and put it on her head. Her head was so
small, the hat fell over her ears and eyes. She stood in front of the mirror
on tiptoes, trying to get some sort of a view of herself. As she leaned
forward, the burning candle, which provided light for the room, accidentally
touched the chiffon of the new hat, which ignited instantly.
Anne grabbed the hat, still aflame, and stumbled down the stairs.
By the time she reached Mama, the chiffon had disintegrated, but the
wire frame was still burning hot in her hands. Anne dropped it at Mama’s
feet, her eyes tear-filled with pain and shame. The other girls followed
Closely behind, all of them crying and screaming. Eventually, Mama
soothed the tears. Again the girls were sent upstairs to bed. This time,
very subdued, they went to their own beds and stayed there.

Mama’s emotions were mixed. She was so thankful the girls had
not been seriously hurt, but oh, how she did love that hat!

The Christmas of the year 1918 was bitter-sweet. The war was over
— the Armistice was announced on November 11. We were beside ourselves
with joy. Now Gus could come home. Our family would be together again.
Papa was home that winter. During the war years, when
help was almost impossible to get, Papa had foregone his yearly winter
trips to California. Now our thoughts turned to Gus’ release from the
service. Would he, could he possibly be home in time for Christmas? His
letters were alternately filled with hope and despair. He sent his wife,
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Elsie, back to Spokane to be with her family until his release. She was
pregnant with their first child, which simply delighted us all.

On November 30, Gus wrote to Minna and Rose at Pullman, where
they were attending Washington State College.

"Dear Little Ones,

"It is Saturday night, and I am so lonely I thought I would write
you a few lines. Elsie has been gone now almost two weeks, and if I had
known we would have been here this long, we wouldn’t have packed up
so soon. We surely thought today would be the last day we were going
to be in the woods, but somehow we are to be here longer. We have to
stay until the 14th of December. Anyhow at least until the C.O. doesn’t
want us any more. They are going to start mustering out at Vancouver
next Monday and it will take sixty days before we are all out. I do want
to be home for Christmas so badly.”

On the following week the girls received this letter from Gus.

"Dear Little Girls,

“I have time enough to write before dinner, so here goes. I am
still here at Coats Fordney and another long Sunday is upon us. I might
have written before that we were to leave this place last Thursday, but
we are still here and no telling how long it will be. I have lost all hope
of getting home for Christmas.”

Increasingly, Gus discussed the flu, Spanish Influenza it was called.
Here are a few excerpts from letters written during the fall months.
“I’m glad Bertie got to go home, as the flu is pretty bad around Harrington,
I hear. We have had but one case of flu, Mr. Hatten, but he is nearly
better, and I am glad of it." Then later. "I was in for three days. The
Doctor thought I might get the flu, but I’m feeling fine and dandy again.
In one of the camps, nine men were taken to the hospital and if they
should slap the quarantine on us, we won’t get out for another six weeks.”

The influenza reached epidemic proportions. Rose and Minna were
quarantined in Pullman. Bertie’s school was closed, and she was back
home. Lou and I made trips into Spokane with flu masks of cotton gauze
over our noses. The Spokane Public Health Department issued an order
making the wearing of face masks mandatory. How weird everyone
looked. Herman and Martha Knudson were married in October. Herman
had a new home built on his property on the brow of the hill overlooking
Reardan, several miles away. Although the house faced the county
road, it was the only home on that section line. During the winter months,
they were often marooned as the snow lay deep around them. I thought
the house was elegant. I was especially impressed with the big fireplace
at the end of the living room with matching open bookcases on either
side. It was a delight to find new books to read.

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Martha had planned a big wedding in Spokane. The Spokesman
Review carried this little article. "A large number of invitations were
sent out for the wedding of Miss Martha Ethel Knudson of this city and
Herman E. Wagner of Reardan at the Fowler M. E. Church tonight, but
owing to the epidemic, the wedding will take place quietly and the friends
will not be expected. The Rev. Stanley G. Logan will perform the ceremony.”

It was the first wedding in which I had a part, so I was thrilled and
excited. I was the ring bearer, carrying the ring in the center of a large
white Turner chrysanthemum. Lou had put my hair up in rags the night
before. At the last moment, before we left for the twenty-five mile drive
through low tule fog to Spokane, Lou took off the rags and combed my
hair in long curls. My pink crepe de chine dress had full, soft pleats that
fell from a yolk. As I walked down the aisle, I stepped on the furnace
register. The warm air billowed my skirt out and up. Somehow I held on
to the ring, but I was mortified beyond comparison. Lou was Martha’s
bridesmaid and I think Albert Erdman stood up with Herman.

Afterward, Aunt Barbara, Molly Capps, Bertie, Anne, Papa, Mrs.
Knudson and Martha’s brother, with the wedding party, had a lavish banquet
at the Davenport Hotel. There must have been eight or ten courses
served. It seemed to me, the array of forks, knives and spoons was endless.
I was sitting next to Papa, so I watched him for a cue on the proper
piece of silver to use. Papa, I am sure, watched Martha surreptitiously,
so we survived from soup to nuts with our pride intact.

Finally it was Christmas time. Bertie and I walked to the canyon
to get a tree. At Washington State College, students were released from
quarantine and sent home, so Rose and Minna could hardly wait to catch
the train and come on to the ranch. Anne, who was just off a baby case,
decided she would not sign in with the Nurses Register until after the
holidays. The best news of all was from Elsie. She called to say Gus would
make it home for Christmas after all. She would wait for him in Spokane
and they would come home together.

When they arrived on the afternoon of December 24, Gus was very
ill with the flu. His face was flushed with fever, his eyes glazed. Elsie
and Anne consulted in low tones together because as nurses they realized
the danger of Gus’s illness turning into pneumonia. Because Papa’s
bedroom off the parlor was warm and convenient, they put Gus to bed
there.

Soon afterward, Herman and Martha came laden with packages.
Anne had wrapped and placed a small favor at each place at the table,
mostly inexpensive wind up toys, or things that popped when you pressed
them. I still remember mine was a figure of Charlie Chaplin, who shuffled
across the table top. All through dinner, the tree lighting and the opening
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of gifts, our gaiety seemed forced and artificial. Bertie received an
umbrella, which she opened and then put over her head for effect.

“Oh, don’t do that, Bertie," said Martha. "It’s bad luck to put an
umbrella over your head in the house.”

"I’m not superstitious," responded Bertie, but she immediately put
the umbrella down.

Martha and Herman, that year, gave me a manicure set which I
thought was the most elegant thing I had ever possessed. There were
three pieces in all, each one pearl handled, impressively boxed in a blue
velvet case. Mr. Hanel, Reardan’s druggist, must have had the merchandise
in stock for a long time, for the velvet had faded.

The next day, Gus was worse. Anne called Dr. T. M. Alquist, a
close friend, who, harassed and weary from overwork, took the time to |
drive out from Spokane. Gus’ flu had turned into pneumonia. In spite of
all the nursing skill of Elsie and Anne, he grew progressively worse. Twice
more Dr. Alquist came to tap Gus’ lungs of excess fluid, but it did not
help. On January 1, 1919 our oldest brother was dead.

We were all in a daze as we stood at graveside for the final rites for
Gus. Four soldiers from Fort Wright stood at attention and fired a volley
of shots across the bier. The weather was bitter cold. The few clods of
earth the minister dropped on the casket, were frozen solid.

Rose and Minna returned to college, Bertie to her school in Harrington,
and Anne back to the hospital, while Elsie embittered with grief, returned
to her family home in the valley. In less than a week, two more of
our family, Lou and Herman came down with the flu. This time, Anne
insisted they be brought by ambulance to St. Lukes Hospital. Martha
drove into town so she could be near Herman. Papa and I carried on at
home.

The moon grew to full that week, its light so bright on the crystallized
snow, I was sure it was daytime. One morning, I awakened, dressed
and made myself some warm cocoa on the dining room heater, coal
banked to hold the heat through the night. Aroused by the noise, Papa
came out into the dining room to see what was going on.

"What are you doing up so early?”

“I’m getting ready to leave for school.”

"What ever for? It's only the middle of the night."

I looked at the clock. It was barely three. We were both so wide
awake, we sat down near the stove to talk. Our conversation was about
the sick and the dead. The daily calls from Anne regarding Lou and Herman
were guarded. The flu had developed into pneumonia for them
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both. It was still too early to estimate the outcome. Our lives took on a
dream-like quality, as non-substantive as the illusion of day from the
moonshine.

In the days that followed, we vacillated between hope and despair.
Then once again, the reality of death was thrust upon us, grim and stark.
On January 14, exactly two weeks after Gus’ death, Herman also became
a victim of the flu.

Somehow we survived. Papa buried his grief deep within him. We
girls, with the resiliency of youth, soon looked to the future.

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<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-093b-cousin-albert-erdman-herman-wagner-1600.jpg | Cousin Albert Erdman and Herman Wagner
mcj-093c-herman-wagner-1600.jpg | Herman Wagner
mcj-094b-margret-and-dainty-dorothy-1600.jpg | Margret and Dainty Dorothy
mcj-094-1b-bertie-1600.jpg | Bertie
mcj-094-2b-louis-lou-wedding-1919-1600.jpg| Lou and Louis on their wedding 1919
</gallery>

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===CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Now Is the Time for Love===
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-095b-chapter-14-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 14 sketch
</gallery>

“Now’s the time for love" was a repetitive refrain at the ranch
during the spring and summer of 1919. I guess it all began on that cold, gray,
bleak January day when we buried our brother Gus. Among those who
attended the funeral, was an old beau of Lou’s, Louis Miller, who had
recently been released from Uncle Sam’s Army.

Our friendship with the Miller family dated back to the time when
we lived in Union Park, after we returned north from Petaluma. They
were our neighbors there. Mama did much of her grocery shopping at
the small neighborhood store which was owned by Louis’ step father,
Dick Miller. Later, after our new house was built and we moved back
to the ranch, Mr. Miller sold his business and moved to a new location
on Diamond Avenue in Hillyard, a small town adjacent to Spokane. The
town was named for James Hill, builder of the Great Northern Railway.
The repair shops located there provided steady employment for several
hundred people.

Louis was one of four children born to Anna and Louis Miller. His
father’s unexpected death left Anna Miller a widow with a family of
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small children to raise. Some time later Anna married Richard, Louis’
younger brother and from this marriage there were two more children,
Frank and Edna.

We dearly loved the Millers, and almost felt as though they were
part of the family. On our infrequent trips into Spokane with the horse
and buggy, when it was necessary to take two days, we always spent the
night at the Miller home. I loved that house, its substantial Victorian
furnishings seemed to me the epitome of elegance. I can still remember
the white linen slipcovers that covered the upholstered pieces in the parlor
and the large rubber plant in its brown jardiniere with fluted edges
that dominated the front hall.

Although Edna was two years older than I, we were bosom friends.
Yearly she would spend part of the summer with us. For several years
we improvised a stage in one of the empty bedrooms upstairs and performed
amateur theatricals for the family. Usually we dramatized whatever
story we were currently reading.

At other times I would be invited in to the Miller home for a few
days. Edna had a passion for chocolate ice cream sodas. I had never
learned to like the fizz of soda, but always tried to force down the
concoction as she seemed so enthusiastic about this delectable treat.
Invariably I’d get sick to my stomach and up-chuck it all. It seemed to
me, that Mrs. Miller was constantly sending us down to the store, a half
block away, for some item of food or to announce meal times. All of the
boys helped out in the store, so meals were served in shifts. I had a feeling
that Mrs. Miller spent most of her life in the kitchen or hovering over
her menfolk.

Diamond Avenue, between the Miller home and shop, was tree-lined
with mountain ash, fully mature and colorful with clusters of red
berries. We spent hours of each day searching for bird nests in the ash
trees or riding around the block in a little cart which Edna hitched to
her pet goat. Twice a week the water wagon, belonging to the town, would
water down the dust in the street. We loved to trail the wagon, letting
the spray fall over our bare feet. Then on the days the iceman delivered
ice, we could filch small pieces from the back of the dray.

Lou especially felt a kinship for the Miller family. The Millers were
still living in Union Park when Lou, at nineteen, went into Spokane to
take a course in fashionable dressmaking. Mama made arrangements
for her to live with the Millers while she was going to school. During
this time she and Louis got to know each other very well. Louis was
taking a course of study through correspondence, which involved a bit of
mathematics, Louis’ anathema, so Lou spent a lot of her free time
tutoring Louis and helping him with the problems.

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Mr. Miller bought his first car in 1910, a Ford, and there were Sunday
outings to Mica Peak, where the family had holdings. Lou and Louis
attended parties together, flirted a bit and occasionally talked about
becoming engaged. Lou could never be pinned down to a definite commitment.

Always she said, “Please don’t ask me now. I can’t think about
marriage with Mama so sick. I promised her I’d look after the girls.”

Lou went back to stay with the Millers a second time, while she
took a course in millinery. By this time Mama was no longer living, so
Lou’s responsibility of raising the girls was heavier than ever.

During the intervening years Louis had not married and after he
returned from the service, it seemed natural that Lou and Louis should
get together. Louis often came to the ranch on Sundays and after several
such visits we four younger girls did all we could to nurture the romance.
Early in the spring Lou took a two week vacation in Spokane and while
she was there she and Louis became officially engaged. When she returned
home, she had a new engagement ring to show us.

Rose’s comment was, "Well thank heaven, Lou, I was afraid you
were going to be an old maid.”

“How Are You Going To Keep ’em Down On The Farm” was one
of the popular songs of the post-war era. The lyrics expressed the social
upheaval in America following the armistice. Thousands of young men.
did leave the farms for urban areas seeking work in industry. A few of
the farm boys went into Spokane to find jobs but most of them came home
to lease acreage for themselves, to work for their dads or one of the
neighbors.

With both the boys no longer living, Papa had to look for outside
help and again assume the responsibility of running the ranch. In February,
cousin Albert and cousin Ernie Wagner, Uncle Charles’ sons, came
from California to work for Papa. Soon after, Roy Wagner from St. John
started to work for us.

The St. John Wagners became our friends through Lou. When she
was in dressmaking school, the teacher seated her pupils alphabetically,
so Lou and Bess Wagner sat next to each other. Bess was the only daughter
of the nine children of Jake Wagner, a prosperous rancher. Bess
visited our home on several occasions and after we bought the Buick, we
drove down to St. John a few times. With so many boys around of all
sizes and ages, we decided it was a great place to visit.

Roy was one of the middle sons, tall, personable and engaging. He
had a fine singing voice, played the guitar with assurance, and had a
wide range of melodies at his command. We used to test him by naming
a variety of objects, but he always had a song at his fingertips that
fitted the object named.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-098-1600.jpg|Page 98]]}}

Papa needed someone to cut and make wood for us on our woodlot.
He was talking about it one day, when Elsie, Gus’ widow came to
visit with her new son, Gustave Robert. Elsie immediately suggested
a neighbor of her father’s, Guy Fleming. Soon after, Guy (you can call
me Dick) was the fourth young man around our dining table. Dick was
slight, of medium height, blonde wavy hair. He possessed a subtle
low-keyed sense of humor which delighted us all.

Almost without effort the patterns of love became the dominant
theme of our life style. Lou and Louis, Bertie and Roy, Rose and Dick.
Edith Allen, a close friend of the girls from Union Park, came from
Spokane for a prolonged visit and soon she and cousin Albert joined the
threesome and made it a quartet.

How I hated that summer! I stood on the periphery, an outsider.
It never occurred to me that Minna, in some degree, must have felt the
same way.

The grove of alder trees on the other side of the lake had long been
a favorite spot for relaxation. Here the newly engaged couples would
rendezvous in the evenings. Mostly they sat apart, but at other times,
when Roy had his guitar along, they would all join in singing, “I Love
You Truly,” "K-K-K-Katy,” “Til We Meet Again,” "Smiles" and other
current tunes.

On August 21, 1919 Lou and Louis were married in the Fowler M. E.
Church, where less than a year before Herman and Martha had exchanged
their wedding vows. Bertie and Louis’ half brother Frank were
their attendants. The heavy white crepe material Lou bought to make her
wedding dress was expensive, $18.00 a yard, but she wanted the very
best. They rented a cottage at Newman Lake, north of Spokane, for a
week, where they spent their honeymoon before returning to Hillyard.
Louis went to work for the Great Northern Railway.

The following month, Bertie Wagner and Roy Wagner went to the
County Courthouse in Spokane to apply for a wedding license.

“You both have the same surnames. Are you related?” asked the
clerk.

“No, no relationship at all, even though we do have the same last
names,” said Roy. "At least we won’t be related until after we are
married."

“This is really quite unusual,” continued the clerk. “If you had a
name like Smith it would be different, but Wagner. There aren’t all that
many Wagners around here.”

Even the minister at the Fowler M.E, church commented, "In all
my years of performing wedding ceremonies, this is the first time I’ve
ever married two people with the same surname.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-099-1600.jpg|Page 99]]}}

Bertie and Roy came back to spend the fall and winter at the ranch.
I guess I sort of went with the place. That year I was a freshman in High
School and Bertie helped me with my home work so, in part, my good
grades were attributable to her effort and interest.

Papa went back to his yearly routine of spending the winter in
California. Minna and Rose returned to Washington State College;
however, at the end of the semester, Rose transferred to Cheney Normal so
she could get her teaching credentials. She planned on teaching a year
before she and Dick were married.

Anne joined the staff at St. Lukes Hospital, first as an anesthetist,
then in charge of the maternity ward and later as night superintendent of
nurses.

Martha had a baby boy the summer of 1919, named Herman after
his father. Although the boys were gone, Papa had two grandsons, Gustave
Robert Wagner and Herman Wagner, to carry on the family name.

For us, as a family, it was the end of an era.

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<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-100b-martha-and-herman-wagner-wedding-1918-1600.jpg| Martha and Herman wedding
</gallery>

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===CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Medicine Calls It Thanatopnomonic===
1G<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-101b-chapter-15-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 15 sketch
</gallery>

With Lou, Bertie and Rose married, Anne involved in her nursing
career and Minna away at college, our life as a family unit dissolved. I
was shunted back and forth from one married sister to another until I
was old enough to go away to school.

Papa continued his routine of winters in California and summers
at the ranch, although each year he spent more of his time in the south.
When Anne, Minna and I made our first trip, in 1923, to California in
Anne’s maroon Buick roadster (which we christened "Pegasus"), Papa
was still living across from the Mint on Mission Street. It must have
been late June or early July, as we did not leave on our trip until Minna’s
school was out and I was through with finals at Washington State College.
Papa was anxious to play host and prepared the lunch served to us in
his apartment. We went to the Crystal Palace Market on Market Street
a few blocks away, where Papa gave close scrutiny to each of his food
purchases. He knew most of the tradespeople, so we stopped many times
so Papa could proudly introduce the three of us to each and every one.

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Sometime in the late twenties, Papa moved into a two story apartment
house situated at the end of First Street with a lovely view of San
Francisco Bay. He maintained permanent quarters there until the end
of his life.

On the last day of 1938, Arthur and I left Eureka with Alfred and
Alice Abrahamsen for a six weeks trip by car through Mexico. The nine
hour drive to San Francisco was a pleasant one, although low tule fog
through the mountains slowed down our rate of speed. It was, however,
only a little after five in the evening when we drove up to the Whitcomb
Hotel, where we had reservations for rooms and for the gala dinner
dance to welcome in the new year. Market Street, glowing with lights,
was already crowded with merrymakers. We dropped the Abrahamsens
off at the hotel and then Arthur and I drove over to Papa’s apartment
for a little visit with him and to let him know about our planned trip.

He had already finished his evening meal. Captain Wieprecht, his
closest friend in San Francisco, was with him and they were engrossed
in their usual game of pinochle.

"Oh, Margret," said Papa after greetings were over, “I am glad
to see you. Are you staying over in San Francisco for a day or so?”

"No, Papa,” I replied. "We have tickets for the Rose Bowl game
and will leave San Francisco very early in the morning to get on down to
Los Angeles."

He sat silent for a few moments. From the movements of his facial
muscles and the far off expression of his eyes, I felt a gravity in his
demeanor that was different.

"Can you possibly stay over until Monday when the bank opens?”

This was a most unusual request from Papa. I was truly puzzled
and could not imagine what was behind it.

“Oh, Papa, I can’t possibly. We have our plans all made with the
Abrahamsens and I’m afraid it would be very difficult to change them
now. Can’t you wait until we get back from our trip? Then I’ll be glad
to stay over for a day or so and do whatever you want me to do. What
have you in mind, anyway?”

"I feel death upon me, Margret,” he answered in a simple matter
of fact way. I’m not sure when, but it will be very soon. I want to get
my funds from the Bank of San Francisco transferred up to the Reardan
bank and I thought you could do this for me.”

"Oh, Papa," I protested vehemently, "how can you think of anything
like that. You are in such wonderful health you still have years
to live.”

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"Why, Mr. Wagner,” said my husband, "there aren’t many people
at 84 who can hold a candle to you."

Papa said nothing to refute our statements. He had made his request
and I had refused. I was loathe to leave him and my conscience
bothered me that I was not able to fulfill his wish. He asked so little
for himself. "No one can really feel the approach of death” I said to
myself, but at the same time I hated myself because I could not do as
he asked.

In the day or two that followed we were caught up in the excitement
of the Rose Bowl parade and game, as well as visiting with Minna
and her husband, William Addington.

I spoke to Minna about Papa, "He looks so wonderfully well and
is so at peace, but I can’t get over his positive feeling that his days here
on earth are truly almost over. Do you suppose it is really possible for
anyone to foretell his own death?”

"I’ve never heard of it," responded Minna, "but there are lots of
things about living or dying that we don’t really know.”

Our entry into Mexico was to be through Laredo, Texas. We left
Los Angeles early in the morning via highway 60. We detoured to see
Palm Springs, then still a little country village whose one and only
feature was the Desert Inn, caught the main highway at Indio and pushed
on to Phoenix for our first night’s stop. The second day we traversed New
Mexico with its numerous “Thank you Mam’s" or dips in the highway
and through western Texas, cattle and mesquite country, as far as Uvalde.
It seemed to us that every man in Uvalde, from druggist to cowboy,
affected cowboy boots and black western style Stetson hats.

By noon the third day we were ready to cross the Mexican border,
having stopped first at the AAA office for Mexican car insurance. We
waited our turn to cross the international bridge across the Rio Grande
and into Mexico.

“All set?" asked Art as he slipped the car into low gear and
released the brake. At the same moment, one of the American Immigration
officers came out of his office and ordered us to stop. He walked to
the front of our car, checked the license number and then came on around
to Art, sitting behind the wheel.

"Are you Arthur Johnson?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“I have a telegram for you," he said as he handed us the yellow sheet.

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-104-1600.jpg|Page 104]]}}

Art backed the car out of the main line of traffic before he handed
the message to me. William briefly stated, "Just to let you know that
Fred Wagner died on January 3.”

“What do you want to do?” asked Art, Alice and Alfred almost
simultaneously.

I sat silent for a few moments.

“Papa did know after all,” I thought. "How is this possible?”

“I guess I’ll call Minna,” I said. “I’ll find out a few more details
and see if they need me at home. If I can’t be of help, I think we should
go on with our original plans. It doesn’t seem right that your trip should
be canceled just because of me.”

I felt reassured after calling. "We’ll go on anyway.”

When we returned to Los Angeles several weeks later, Minna gave
me the details of Papa’s death. She and William had gone north to claim
his body and make arrangements to have it shipped north to Reardan.

Captain Wieprecht had spent most of the last day with Papa.

“Your father went to the San Francisco Bank as soon as it opened
after the New Year holiday. He drew his account and forwarded it to
your sister, Anne, in Spokane. Then we came back home where he checked
in with the landlord and paid his monthly rental.”

“I'm not sure what he did during the afternoon," continued the
Captain, "but I do know he packed all his belongings.”

I could almost see Papa, as methodically and surely he prepared
for his next unknown journey. I could see him taking his suitcase out
from under his bed and neatly packing into it, his few extra clothes. I
could imagine him finally sitting quietly and looking out over the bay.

“I stopped by again in the early evening,” said the Captain as
he continued his story. "Want to play a little game of pinochle tonight,
Fred?”

"Might just as well."

“We were in the middle of our first game when your father quietly
collapsed and fell over the card table. It was almost as if he had
rehearsed the scene. Then he was gone.”

“I went downstairs and the landlord called the police. They came
and took him away to the morgue. I learned later that an autopsy was
held on your father as there was no physician in attendance at his death.
The findings were death caused by heart failure.”

{{PageNumber |[[:file:mcj-105-1600.jpg|Page 105]]}}

What an odd phenomenon this knowledge of Papa’s, that death was
upon him. To us it seemed strange and singularly unusual and yet
somehow it seemed appropriate that Papa could know of and accept with
dignity his demise. His life had been lived with courage and fortitude and
so, in a similar way, he approached death.

A remarkable man, a memorable father.

It was not until several years later that I happened to bring home a
book from the library in which the author, a medical examiner, devoted
a chapter to case histories of persons who had pre-cognition of their own
death. Medicine calls it thanatopnomonic.

Wagner Family

2023-04-11T17:58:00Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: /* Time Line */

{{Draft}}

This is a strange complicated story. A story of domestic abuse, suicide by hanging, accusations of murder, rumors, and innuendo. The story caused a three-generation rift, so is somewhat sensitive. To report this as factually, much of the telling is through contemporaneous reporting, even though some of that is salacious. It is also told in the order of publication, even though some events are not sequentially reported. It is difficult to pick out the true facts, especially when they may remain hidden.

=== The Wagner Family ===
This story involves various members of the Wagner Family, some living in Germany, Reardan and other places. This listing of the family tree is to help alleviate some of the confusion. Those who lived at Reardan at one time or another are in '''bold''' type. "+" indicates a marriage. "|-" indicates an offspring of the above marriage. "b." indicates a year of birth and "d." indicates a death year. Where known the date of immigration is also shown.

Charles Karl Gotlieb Wagner d. 1881
+ '''Marie Therese Rothe''' b.1829 d.1904 (immigrated to Reardan about 1894. She lived with Fred Wagner for a time before moving to a shack on Adolf's homestead. She was worked hard by her husband and wasn't kind to her kids.)
|- Anna b.1854 d.1919 (the birth and death dates match up with Wilhelmine Wagner Rothe of Oshkosh, WI)
|- '''Frederick "Fred"''' b.1855 d.1939 immigrated to US in 1874, first to Wisconsin, then to California and finally to Reardan in 1877.
| + '''Magdelena "Lena" Gebelein''' b.1862 d.1911 immigrated in 1886 m.1887
| |- '''Gustave''' b.1888 d.1919
| |- '''Louise''' b.1889
| |- '''Herman''' b.1892 d.1919
| | + '''Martha Knutson''' (married 2.William Colville)
| | |- '''Herman'''
| | | + Geraldine
| | | |- William "Bill"
| | | + Nancy
| |- '''Anne Marie''' b.1894 d.1968
| |- '''Bertha''' b.1896 d.1992
| | + '''Homer Pike'''
| |- '''Rose''' b.1897 d.1977
| | + '''Guy "Dick" Fleming''' b.1898 d.1972
| | |- '''Jack''' b.1923 d.2000
| | |- '''Annabelle''' b.1925
| |- '''Minna''' b.1898 d.1971
| |- '''Margret Clare''' b.1905 f.1975
|- Herman b.1858
|- '''Amalie or Ameila''' b.1863 d.1943
| + '''Herman Franke'''
| |- two more children mentioned in the paper?
| |- '''Hulda Franke''' b. 1885 d.1953
| | + '''John Schumer''' b.c.1875 d.1938 m.1910
| | |- baby girl b.1912 d.1912
| | |- baby girl b.1912 d.1912
| | |- Clara b.1912
| | |- Anna b.1920 m.1940
| |- '''Bruno Franke''' b. 1894 d.1960
|- Mina Frieauf b.1864 d.1955
|- Pauline b.1864
|- '''Adolph''' b.1864 d.1939 (used name Carl in 1910 census) (Immigrated 1890.)
| + '''Emma''' b.1868 d.1954
| |- '''Richard''' b.1891 d.1968
| | + '''Amelia Scharff''' b.1894 d.1952
| | |- '''George''' b.1930 d.2010
| | |- '''Helen Grace''' b.1934 d.1948
| |- Elsie b.1893 d.1984
| |- Adolph Jr. b.1897 d.1958
| |- Clara b.1899 d.1910
| |- Lydia b.1899 d.1911
| |- Edith b.1903 (Ida in 1910 census)
| |- Emma b.1904 d.1974
|- '''Charles "Charlie"''' b.1867 or 1840 d.1931 (immigrated to Wisconsin before 1884, moved to Reardan before 1887, moved to Petaluma, CA between 1899 and 1906)
| + '''Emma''' m.1884 in Oshkosh, WI.
| |- eight children, seven born in Reardan
|- '''Gustave''' b.1869 (was living with Gottlieb in Reardan in 1900, immigrated in 1887)
|- Karl August b.1869 (suspect this is the same as Gustave above)
|- Clara b. 1870
|- '''Gottlieb "Godhelp"''' b.1872 (immigrated in 1894, moved to Wyoming) (also used name Carl on some land transfers)
|- Mollie b.1874 (she is mentioned in Charles' obituary as being from Reardan, but this may be confused with Amalia.

=== Fred Wagner Homestead ===
Fred Wagner left Germany in 1874 and went to California. In 1877 he moved to Reardan and homesteaded a quarter section of land about a mile north of Reardan (SE/4 S4 T25N R39EWM) in 1888. Land throughout this article is specified according the [[Early Public Land Survey System Plats|Public Land Survey System]]

=== Adolph Wagner Homestead ===
According to the census, Adolph Wagner immigrated in 1890, but he completed his homestead requirements in 1889 for a quarter section of land (SW/4 S4 T25N R39EWM) directly west of Fred Wagner's homestead.

=== Charles Wagner Homestead ===
Charles homesteaded a quarter at (E/2 E/2 S34 T26N R39EWM) on the west flanks of Gray's Butte in 1888. This is about a mile north of Fred Wagner's homestead.

'''Misplaced fragment??:''' and Charles who homesteaded about a mile north (E/2 NE/4 and W/2 SW/4 S18 T26N R39EWM).

=== Gotlieb Wagner Land Purchase ===
Gotlieb Wagner (or C.G. Wagner as recorded) purchased a quarter section of land (E/2 NW/4 and Lots 1 and 2 S18 T26N R39EWM) from Josiah Starkey in 1895. The Starkeys had homesteaded this land in 1892. This land was about 5 miles NNW of the Fred Wagner Homestead. Gotlieb sold this to John C. Green in 1897.

=== Herman and Amelia (Wagner) Franke Land Purchase ===
Herman and Amelia (Wagner) Franke purchased three quarters of land from Moore ad Catherine Getty, the namesake of the Getty Butte (or sometimes called the Zwainz Butte (NW/4 S33 R26N T39EWM, SW/4 S33 R26N T39EWM, SW/4 NW/4 and lots 2, 3, 4 S4, R25N T39EWM) in 1894. This latter quarter was later farmed by Rich and Lorraine Paul and lies about a mile northwest of the Fred Wagner homestead. The former two quarters are further north.

=== The Core Disputes ===
Adolph accused Fred of putting in a fence on his land to divide their two quarters. The book "Without a Little Teamwork You Can't Run the Ranch: Sketches of a Reardan Pioneer and His Family" indicated that Adolph has moved a fence between their properties and that Fred had sued Adolph in court. Unfortunately the records for that case have been lost.

When the Franke's bought their land, Herman but all of the land in his name. Amelia had contributed roughly a third of the money from her mother's estate and believed that one quarter should be in her name. The other two quarters were community property. Herman did not want to change the title to the land. Arguments and abuse ensued.

===SUICIDE IN A SHED===
'''November 05, 1894 Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''UNKNOWN MAN HANGS HIMSELF'''
----
'''Suspended From a Rafter Six Feet From the Ground Near Holm & Hansen's Blacksmith Shop--His Identity a Mystery--Particulars.''' When Fred Nelson, an employee of the blacksmith firm of Holm & Hansen 14 Ceape Street, arrived at the shop this morning, a sickening sight met bis eyes. Suspended from a rope with bis feet on the ground, hung the body of a man cold in death, with bis glassy eyes transfixed and staring. The body was hanging in an old shed in the rear and to the east of the shop and in full view of passers-by, if it had been light enough to discern the object. Nelson discovered the body at 6:30 o'clock and immediately notified the police. A coroner's Jury composed of J. C. Halse, John Rosenkranz, J. C. Merton, Joe Kilp, Fred Wendorf, and Fred Nelson was hastily impaneled, and after viewing the remains they adjourned until two o'clock Thursday afternoon. Tho body was cut down and removed to Konrad's undertaking establishment. The body appeared to be no doubt as to the Identity of the dead man and friends and fellow laborers who thought they recognized him, pronounced him to be Constantine Meklei, who works for tho Cook & Brown Line company, and resides at 43 Evans street. The news quickly spread that Meklei had taken his own life, and crowds of morbid curiosity seekers streamed Into the under-taking establishment to gaze at the features of the corpse.

It fell upon Detective Lynch to notify the supposed wife of the dead man, and accompanied by a ''Northwestern'' reporter they sought the residence of Meklei on Evans street. In answer to the knock, a buxom and pre-possessing young lady answered the summons and then Detective Lynch's nerve failed him. Ha dared not break the new without first quieting any fears the young lady might possibly have had in regard to the errand of the officer. So he asked if Mr. Meklei was at home and she replied that he was and before anything further could be said, the man who was thought to be dead, put in an appearance and welcomed the visitors with a hand shake that felt very different from the clammy touch of the corpse. Recovering from his surprise, the officer explained matters and started off to discover the identity of the dead man.

On his person was found a silver watch with open face, a tobacco bag, spectacles and case, and twelve cents in change.

The body is apparently that of a laborer attired in his Sunday clothes. He wears a blue linen shirt without collar, or necktie, and his hair and beard are tinged with gray. His features are narrow and shrunken and belong to a man of sixty-five years. He is five feet and three inches in height.

The unknown was evidently determined to end his existence at all costs, for had he repented he could have extended his limbs while hanging and saved himself. From the hole in the beam through which the rope was placed, to the ground was but six and a half feet. Apparently, he placed the noose around his neck while standing on the base board to a fence which ran along the side of the shed, and then jumped off. Tho rope was too long to permit him to hang free of the ground, and rather than try it over again, he bent his knees and with feet resting on the earth be slowly strangled to death.

John Bonacker, residing at 343 Waugoo street, is employed as chore man at the sample room of J. Thalnofer 20 Main street, and though at work since five o'clock within twenty feet from where the man was found hanging, yet he was unaware of the occurrence until the arrival of the police.
</blockquote>
===STILL UNIDENTIFIED===
'''November 6, 1894 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''Remains of the Supposed Suicide Removed to the Vault at Riverside.''' The remains of the suicide are still unidentified. Undertaker Konrad removed the body this morning to the vault at Riverside cemetery, awaiting further disclosures in the case. The remains were viewed yesterday by hundreds of fellow employees and neighbors, of Meklei, who saw a strong resemblance between the dead man and Meklei, for they could not b persuaded that the body was any other than that of their friend. However, Ossian Cook and R. C. Brown, members of the Cook & Brown Lime company, for whom Meklei worked, failed to find any similarity between the two men. One circumstance that appeared to give strength to the report that the dead man was Meklei's was that he had failed to put in an appearance for his day's work. But this has since been explained, as he was engaged in straightening up a few matters at the court house.

S. N. Bridge the music dealer visited Konrad's undertaking establishment this afternoon and stated that a relative of his arrived from the state of Washington some time ago, for whom he purchased a suit of clothes corresponding to those worn by the dead man. He has not heard from the relative in tho last three weeks. The body had been removed to the city vault and Mr, Bridge left for the cemetery at a late hour.
</blockquote>
===THE INQUEST ADJOURNED===
'''November 8, 1894 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
The inquest over the body of the old man who was found hanging in a shed on Ceape street was to have been held this afternoon, but was adjourned until a week from today. The body will remain in the vault at Riverside in the meantime. As yet no information has been received which tends to throw any light on the identity of the supposed suicide.
</blockquote>
===THE MYSTERY UNSOLVED===
'''November 15, 1894 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''Coroner's Jury Renders a Verdict in this Unknown Suicide's Case.''' On Monday morning, November 5, the body of an unknown man was found hanging In the shed in the rear of Holm & Hansen's blacksmith shop on Ceape street. The dead man evidently had no friends in this city for all efforts to discover his identity have proved futile, A coroner's jury composed of J. C. Heise, John Rosenkranz, J. C. Merten, John Kilp, Fred Wendorf and Fred Nelsou was impaneled and after viewing tbe remains, adjourned until Nov. 8 at which time it was thought the body would be claimed. But when that day arrived and no additional light had been thrown on the matter the jury decided to delay rendering a verdict for another week. This afternoon the jury again met and rendered a verdict of death from strangulation produced by a rope. The body of the suicide which has lain tn the vault at the cemetery for the past week, will now be interred in the potter's field.

The case is a strange and unusual one. The dead man was dressed in fairly good clothes and appeared to be a well-to-do laborer or farmer about fifty years of age. Not a mark could be found on his person to help tell who he was or where he came from. No one can be found who remembers having seen him the day before he was found hanging in the shed, nor did he visit any of the saloons or eating houses in the vicinity of the tragedy. The deed was done with a piece of bran new window sash cord and where this came from is also a mystery. For a time the theory of murder was advanced, but this was abandoned, as it would have been almost impossible for anyone to have smuggled the stranger into the city and then killed him or to have taken the body to tho place where it was found without being seen. Altogether the case is a very mysterious one, and there is little hope now of unraveling it unless an inquiry is made for such a man or the solution is stumbled on accidentally.
</blockquote>
===WAS HERMAN FRANKE SUPPOSED NAME OF A SUICIDE===
'''February 11, 1895 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''Disappeared From Reardan, Wash., on October 20-- as a brother-in Law in Oshkosh--Trouble With His Wife--Particulars.''' On November 5 the body of an unknown man was found hanging in an old shed near Holm & Hansen's blacksmith shop on Ceape street. There was nothing about his person which revealed his identity, and the police set about to discover if possible who the man was and where he came from. The verdict of the coroner's jury was that the man came to his death by hanging himself. The body was held a few days to await identification, but was finally buried in the potter's field at Riverside. At the time the police were convinced that the man was no tramp, from his respectable appearance and the articles found in his pockets, which included a silver watch of German make, a pair of glasses in a tin case, a leather tobacco pouch, an old knife, three keys, a tooth brush, and a box of matches. After being announced that the suicide was not an Oshkosh man, the police dropped the search, and no more was thought of the matter.

But Chief Weisbrod has received a letter which may lead to the identity of the man. It is from W. H. Capps, a constable at Reardan, Wash. The constable says that on October 20, Herman Franke mysteriously disappeared from Reardan, and has not been heard from since although his relatives have resorted to almost every means to ascertain his whereabouts. The letter further states that Franke is a brother-in-law of a family named Wagner, three of whom, with the wife of Franke reside at Reardon, and a brother and sister at Oshkosh. August Richter is referred to as one who might give some information regarding Franke. Franke came from Germany and at the time of his disappearance he could not speak English. He is described as 5 feet 4 inches in height, weighs 155 pounds and was an inveterate smoker. From the description and the time of the disappearance Chief Weisbrod is inclined to believe that the man referred to is Franke. The description tallies exactly with that of the suicide, and from one of the relatives referred to in the letter the police have learned that Franke had some trouble with his wife before leaving home. It is supposed that when be reached Oshkosh be was penniless, and could not find his relatives, which drove him to despondency and suicide. The articles found on the man's person will be sent to Reardan for identification by Mrs. Franke. Meanwhile an effort will be made in this city to unravel the mystery.

Mrs. Fred Rothe, [nee Wilhelmine Wagner b. 26 Feb 1858, d. 8 May 1919] residing at 315 Thirteenth street, is a sister-in-law of Herman Franke. When seen this morning by Detective Lynch she said she had heard of the disappearance of Franke through her sister. She had not seen Franke in twenty years, but knew that he came over from Germany about-two months before he disappeared. He then had $8,600 in money and invested it in real estate in Washington. He had some trouble with his wife, and about four days after leaving home wrote a letter to his folks, in which he intimated that he would put an end to himself. Mrs. Rothe said that Franke was about fifty years old. She is of the belief, from the description of the suicide, that it is Franke.
</blockquote>
===A MYSTERY CLEARED UP===
'''February 19, 1895 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''Herman Franke of Reardan, This State, Hanged Himself at Oshkosh, Wisconsin.'''
----
'''He Had Trouble With His Wife and Disappeared Suddenly From His Home.''' The mystery of a strange tragedy at Oshkosh, Wis., has been cleared up in Spokane. The body of an unknown man was found hanging in a woodshed there on the 5th of November last and was buried in the potter's field after diligent inquiry to ascertain his identity. Subsequently light on the subject led to the exhumation of the corpse a week ago yesterday, when it was identified as that of Herman Franke of Reardan, Wash. He had claimed to have lost $8,000 in a real estate deal, but concealed the true cause of his suicide.

Herman Franke and hie wile, Emelie, 42 and 32 years old respectively, were formerly well-to-do peasants at Bossenheim, province of Saxony, Prussia. They were married on Christmas day, 1881, and with their four children removed to Reardan in Lincoln county, this state, in August, 1894. He brought with him about $4,000 and she $1,800 which they had realized from the sale their property In Germany, the wife's separate interest having accrued from her wedding portion.

With the joint money Franke purchased 480 acres of land near Reardan, together with implements, machinery and stock, paying therefore $5,200. The property was free from all encumbrance and they started out in their new field with brighter prospects than do the average of pioneers in agricultural pursuits in the west. Franke promised at the time to place title to a quarter section of the land in his wife's name, but instead of doing so had the deeds all written in his own name.
This was the beginning of their domestic differences, which culminated in his self-destruction. Although frequently urged by him wife to convey a portion of the property to her, he stubbornly refused to do so, and increased his abusive and cruel treatment of her, which she has said commenced shortly after their marriage.

She called upon Adolph Munter of Spokane for legal advice, stating that her husband was in the habit of beating and kicking her, and had threatened her with a shotgun October 1, 1894.

"While I was willing," she said to Mr. Munter in her native tongue, "to put up with his abuse in Germany. I will not endure it in this country."

She desired to bring action for divorce and a division Of the property, but was informed that she could not proceed in this manner until after a year's residence in this state. Suit was accordingly brought to compel Franke to convey to his wife 160 acres of land, bought with her separate money, and to be held by her separately. Mr. Munter drew up a summons and complaint, first writing to Franke, requesting him to call at the office and settle the matter. Frank apparently suspected the real motive, which was to obtain service upon him in Spokane county and save expense. He therefore failed to respond. Mrs. Franke wrote the attorney that she was unable to induce her husband to come to the city, and recommending that he be served with the summons in Lincoln county. The husband and wife were then living half a mile apart, she with her brother.

Mr. Munter immediately sent the summons and complaint, which were returned to him by Mrs. Franks with the explanation that since the receipt of the lawyer's letter her husband had treated her more shamefully than ever, when she celled to see him. On the occasion of her last visit she was greeted In a manner so shockingly outrageous that she caused his arrest. The justice of the peace at Reardan fined him $50 and costs, which so enraged him that he cut to pieces her household effects and clothing, with which she was well supplied, as German peasant women in good circumstances always are. The mutilated articles were thrown out of the house and subsequently gathered up by her and taken to her brother's house.

The justice had permitted him to go on him own recognizance, but later urged payment of the fine and costs. Franke borrowed $150 on a chattel mortgage ostensibly to settle with the court, but the next day thereafter he disappeared, leaving everything behind except the suit he wore and one blanket and a pillow. This led the wife to suspect foul play, and she immediately advised Mr. Munter to that effect. She was in Spokane about a month ago and had not then heard of her husband's whereabouts. In the meantime she had taken possession of the property.

Mr, Munter has notified Mrs. Franke of her husband's death, and is expected in this city in a few days to take ts necessary to take such steps as may be necessary to protect the rotate.
</blockquote>
===ANOTHER CHAPTER===
'''February 25, 1895 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''Additional Particulars of the Troubles Leading to Herman Franke's Suicide.''' Chief of Police Weisbrod is in receipt of another letter from Constable Capps cf Reardan, Washington, respecting the so-called Herman Franke suicide in this city in November last. In all probability the watch and other effects found upon the person of Franko will at once be forwarded to Reardan for identification and the mystery is in a fair way to be conclusively cleared up. Mrs. Franke is expected to be able to identify the watch, if it was her husband's, and a Mr. Wagner, also of Reardan, who was in the old country with Franke when the watch was purchased, will also be appealed to. Accompanying the letter was a clipping from the Spokane, Wash., Review of the 19th inst., giving a lengthy statement of the troubles of the Frankes and their subsequent separation. The couple were formerly well-to-do peasants of the province of Saxony in Prussia, and removed to Washington in August, 1894, with their four children. Franke had $4,000 in cash and his wife had $1,800 realized from a sale of property in Germany. With the joint money they purchased 480 acres of land near Reardan, securing a fine property without encumbrance of any sort. Franke promised at this time to place title to a quarter section of the land in his wife's name, but instead had the deeds all written in his own name. This was the beginning of their troubles which were augmented by a suit brought to compel Franke to convey to his wife the 160 acres of land which had been bought with her separate money. Franke began to abuse his wife, according to her statement, and on one occasion was fined $50 and costs for beating her. Husband and wife took up their residence apart, and a suit for divorce and division of the property was begun by the injured wife. About this time Franke disappeared and was never heard from by the interested persons in the west until the news came in a round about way of his suicide in this city. As previously published it is supposed that Franke came here to visit and make his home with relatives. Being without funds and meeting with a great deal of difficulty in locating his people, be concluded to take his life.
</blockquote>
===FRANKE'S EFFECTS SENT WEST===
'''March 5, 1895 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
Chief Weisbrod has forwarded for identification to the constable at Reardan, Washington, the silver watch, knife, handkerchief and other personal effects found on the body of Herman Franke, who committed suicide here in November last. Tho chief received a letter from the widow of Franke this morning requesting him to send these articles to her but advising that the remains be left in the resting place they have found here. The mystery seems in a fair way to be cleared up in a week or so.
</blockquote>
===CLAIM OF HOMESTEAD===
'''April 8, 1896 Claim of Homestead recorded at Lincoln county'''
<blockquote>
Know all men by these Presents, that I Amalie Franke of Reardan Lincoln County State of Washington, being now and for thirteen years last past the lawful wife of Herman Franke, late of Reardan, Washington, And by reason of said matrimonial relation of said Herman Franke, and by other reasons fully appearing below, I claim the following interest in the following real-estate described as follows: S. W. 1/4 Sec. 33 Tp. 26 N., R. 39 E. W. M and Lots 2, 3, and 4 and S. W. 1/2 of N. W. 1/4 Sec. 4 Tp. 25 N., R. 39 E. W. M in all about 320 acres in Lincoln County, State of Washington, to-wit: $1800.00 of the purchase prices paid for such lad was used and is my separate property, being money from my mother's estate, and the money paid for the residue of said land was community property and all of said land is not worth to exceed the sum of $3600.00, therefore, I claim that one-half of said real estate is my separate property for reasons above given that that on the other half of said real estate I hold a one half interest which is a community interest; that the title to all of said real-estate is now in the name of my husband Herman Franke aforesaid, contrary to my directions and against my will, and that I have commenced an action to obtain such land; and I hereby give notice of all the above.

In witness whereof I have here onto set m name and seal the 7th day of April, 1896. Signed, sealed and delivered in the presence of H. N. Martin State of Washington, County of Lincoln Amalie Franke (seal)

This certifies that on this 7th day of April 1896, before me the undersigned, a Notary Public in and for said State, personally appeared within named Amalie Franke who is known to me t be the identical person who executed the within instrument and acknowledged that she did it for the uses and purposes therein mentioned.

In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand affixed my seal this day and year last above written. H. N. Martin Notary Public in and for the State of Washington Residing at Davenport.
</blockquote>
===WAGNERS ARRESTED===
'''July 23, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
Reardan, Wash., July 22--Considerable excitement was evinced here when Sheriff Devenish and Deputy Grant came over from Davenport and took Fred Wegner, G. [Godhelp or Gottlieb] Wegner and Herman Franke's wife to Davenport. In October, 1894, Herman Franke, a prominent farmer living about three miles north of Reardan, disappeared. Many rumors were in the air, some claiming that he had been murdered; again it was claimed that he committed suicide in Wisconsin. About a month ago a searching party went over his farms, digging in several places. It was rumored a depression had been found where an old straw stack stood and which had been burned down under very suspicious circumstances. Since then the county has been petitioned to offer a reward of $500 for the apprehension of the murderers or information. It is claimed by the parties who are active in the prosecution that important testimony and strong clues have been secured, and that they have the guilty ones in sight.
</blockquote>
===MURDER CHARGED===
'''July 23, 1897 Spokane Chronicle'''
<blockquote>
'''Three Reardan Residents Taken Into Custody.''' Reardan, July 23,--[Special]--Considerable excitement prevailed here yesterday afternoon when the sheriff of this county passed through town en route to Davenport with three prisoners in his charge, supposed to be the murderers of Herman Franke, who lived about two miles north of this place. About two years ago Mr. Franke was missed from his place and has never been seen nor heard from since. No particular pains were taken by any one, not even the family, to ascertain his whereabouts at the time, but it was thought that he went east and committed suicide. Recently a dispute came up between the Wagner brothers, who are brothers-in law of Mr. Franke, regarding a line of fence, which terminated in Adolph Wagner having a warrant sworn out for the arrest of his two brothers, Godlope and Frederick and their sister, Mrs. Amelia Franke, wife of Herman Franke, as having committed or being implicated in the murder of Mr. Franke. It this charge be proven true it will be the means of bringing to justice the perpetrators of one of the most cold-blooded murders ever committed in this county. Great interest is taken in the matter by residents in and around this place.
</blockquote>

===PRELIMINARY HEARING TUESDAY===
'''July 23, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''The Prisoners Are Unable to Furnish Bail and Are in Jail''' Davenport, Wash., July 22--Ameilia Franke, Fred Wagner, and Godhelp Wagner, charged with the crime of murdering Herman Franke on the 25th of October, 1894, were arraigned before Justice Parks this afternoon and pleaded not guilty. The case was set for for a preliminary hearing Tuesday morning at 10 o'clock. Their bail was set at $5000 each, failing to get which they were remanded back to jail to await their preliminary trial. They have engaged the law firms of Myers and Warren and Caton, Martin & McComb to defend them, while in addition to Prosecuting Attorney Brock, Sessions and Salisbury represent the state. It is understood that the defendants will set up that the murder was committed by Adolph Wagner, another brother, though the latter, it is said, was always on friendly terms with Franke, while the defendants, it is said, stood as a unit against him. It is a difficult matter to get a statement from the Wagners as they speak very little English and are somewhat illiterate. They appear to realize the enormity of the crime with which they are charged and are at high, nervous tension.
</blockquote>
===A MURDER MYSTERY===
'''July 23, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''Three Arrests at Reardan for the Murder of Herman Franke.'''
----
'''KILLED IN OCTOBER, 1894'''
----
'''His Wife and Her Two Brothers Arrested on Warrants Obtained by a Neighbor.'''
----
'''NOW IN JAIL AT DAVENPORT''' Davenport, July 22.--John Thyme of Rearden arrived here yesterday, appeared before Justice Parks, and caused a warrant to be sworn out for the arrest of Amelie Franke, Fred Wagner and Godhelp Wagner, living north of Reardan, charging them with being implicated in the murder of Herman Franke, who mysteriously disappeered on or about October 25, 1894.

As soon as the warrant was placed in the hands of Sheriff Devenish, with Deputies Grant and Kennedy, he went out and brought in the parties accused, placing them in jail to await their preliminary trial before Judge Parks at 10 o'clock today.

Amelie Franke was the wife of Herman Franke, and the Wagners, four boys living in the same neighborhood, are her brothers.

A few days before the disappearance of Mr. Franke, he and his wife quarreled, resulting in the arrest of the former, charged by the latter with assault and battery. Franke was fined $75 and costs, borrowing the money to pay the same from John Christian of Reardan and giving a chattel mortgage for the same. About 10 days after the mortgage was given Christian went to the home of Franke to see him on business, but Franke could not be found. It was then that suspicion of foul play was aroused. When the quarrel occurred Mrs. Franke removed to the home of her brother, Fred, where she resided until Franke had disappeared, after which she returned home.

The Frankes came from Wisconsin a little over three years ago, bringing with them $7000, which they invested in land, stock and farm machinery. Fred Wagner came to Washington 14 years ago and has resided north of Reardan most of the time. His brothers have arrived since he came. About a year after Franke disappeared, his wife secured a divorce, having previously, it is said, probated his interest in the property which they owned in common.

Fred Wagner maintains that his brother, Godhelp, and his sister are the victims of malicious prosecution and that the mystery is hidden to them as it is to everybody. He says they spent day after day looking for indications that would lead to the solution of the mystery, that they do not know whether Franke left the country or was murdered. Fred says if any one murdered Franke it must have been Adolph, another brother.

John Thyne, the prosecuting witness, is a resident of Reardan, having resided in that town the most of the time for three years. He is in the employ of W. H. Childs in the grain business. Those who know him best say he is a sharp, shrewd man, and the presumption is that he knows what he is about. He is reticent and unwilling to give any information in advance. It Is said he is a detective employed to handle the case and that he worked up the bitter enmity between Fred and hie brother Adolph, and by this means he has succeeded in getting sufficient evidence to convict those who have been arrested. At any rate, it is believed he will be able to solve the mystery.

At their last meeting the county commissioners offered $500 for the arrest and conviction of the guilty parties.
----
'''PRELIMINARY HEARING TUESDAY''' '''The Prisoners Are Enable to, Furnish Bail and Are in Jail.''' Davenport, Wash., July 22. Amella Franke, Fred Wagner and Godhelp Wagner, charged with the crime of murdering Herman Franke on the 25th of October, 1894, were arraigned before Justice Parks this afternoon and pleaded not guilty The case was set for preliminary hearing Tuesday morning at 10 o'clock. Their bail was set at $5000 each, failing to get which they were remanded back to jail to await their preliminary trial. They have engaged the law firms of Myers & Warren and Caton, Martin & McComb to defend them, while in addition to Prosecuting Attorney Brock, Sessions & Salisbury represent the state. It is understood that the defendants will set up that the murder was committed by Adolph Wagner, another brother, though the latter, it is raid. was always en friendly terms with Franke, while the defendants, it is said, stood as a unit against him, It is a difficult matter to get a statement from the Wagners as they speak very little English and are somewhat illiterate. They appear to realize the enormity of the crime with which they are charged and are at a high nervous tension.
</blockquote>
===MRS. FRANKE ON BAIL===
'''July 25, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''Puts up a $5000 Bond for Her Appearance at the Trial for Murder Tuesday.''' Davenport, July 24.--Mrs. Amelia Franke, one of the parties charged with murdering her husband, Herman Franke, on or about October 25, 1894, was released from the county jail yesterday on a bond of $5000 furnished by her two brothers, Fred and Godhelp Wagner, who are also in jail, charged with being accomplices in the same crime. There seems to be some doubt in the minds of the legal fraternity as to the constitutionality of accepting a bond at this stage of the case. The only step so far taken in the case has been the arraignment of the prisoners and their answer of not guilty. No evidence has been taken, hence the belief that Prosecuting Attorney Brock advised Justice Parks contrary to the law when he Instructed him to accept a bond from any or all of the prisoners. Section 20 of the state constitution reads: "All persons charged with crime shall be bailable by sureties except for capital offenses, when the proof is evident, or the presumption great." The construction placed upon this section presupposes a preliminary hearing, with evidence submitted, previous to the allowance of a bond for appearance. The preliminary hearing in the case of Mrs. Franke and her brothers has been set for Tuesday, July 27.
</blockquote>
===PRELIMINARY HEARING FOR WAGNERS===
'''July 28, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
Davenport, Wash., July 27.--The preliminary trial of Godhelp Wagner, Fred Wagner and Mrs. Amelia Franke for the murder of the husband of the latter, Herman Franke, in October, 1894, took place today before Justices Parks and Birge, sitting together. Six witnesses were examined by the state, but no evidence was given pointing to the prisoners at the bar as the guilty parties, and the case was dismissed and the defendants released upon motion of the prosecuting attorney. No witnesses for the defense were introduced.
</blockquote>
===WAGNER MAKES A REPLY===
'''August 5, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''He Says the Story of Murdering His Father is Ridiculously False.''' Fred Wagner, who with Gottlieb Wagner and Mrs. Amalie Franke, was arrested near Davenport, charged with the murder of Herman Franke, Mrs. Franke's husband, makes a statement of the affair to The Spokesman-Review. He said yesterday:

"There is absolutely no foundation for the charges against myself or my brother or sister. Herman Frank- three years ago was sued by my siste for about $1800, of which he lad obtained possession, but which belonged to her. My mother gave her the money in Germany. Franke was given the money in the old country and brought it out here with the intention of buying land with it. Franke had some money of his own, and all of it was sent by draft to the Davenport bank. Mrs. Franke, on account of ill treatment by Franke in the old country and here, demanded her portion of the money which had been brought from Germany. He beat and abused her on Adolph Wagner's place, near Reardan. Franke had drawn the money from the bank and taken it to Adolph Wagner's house, and had it in a trunk.

When Franke came from the old country he first stopped at my place, but Adolph Wagner, my own brother, coaxed him away from the house and took him to his place. They took all the money with them, something over $5000. My wife and myself were in Spokane, and they forcibly removed this property from my house. My mother, who was in the house at the time, attempted to stop them, but they threw her over some boxes and hurt the old lady badly and went away with the box and money. A few days after this Mrs. Franke had Franke arrested and fined for abusing her, and the children, four of them, were taken from Franke, and my sister came to my house. Franke disappeared about that time. The only reason I can give for his disappearance is that he feared further prosecution. He had gotten into the place where her clothes were kept and cut all the garments to pieces. My sister talked of having him arrested for this, and it may have caused him to leave the country.

"Not since the disappearance of Franke have I interfered with Adolph, my own brother, but now he is trying to have me sent to prison. I am accused by rumor in the paper of also killing my own father in Germany in 1871. My father died in Germany in 1881. I came here in 1874 and have made but one trip to Germany since that time, three years ago, when I went for my mother. The record of my father's death is duly attested in Germany. He died while I was thousands of miles from him. My mother, this same Adolph Wagner, a sister, and still another brother, were at his bedside when he died. There is nothing but spitework in the whole business. John Thyne, who claims to have known the family in the old country, who some people say is a detective, never knew us until he came here. Thyne came from Pommer, north Germany, and our family came from south Germany, a long way from him. Thyne and Adolph Wagner are quite intimate, and that is the reason Thyne is mixed up in these accusations."

The case was dismissed when it came up in court at Davenport.
</blockquote>

=== Wagners Serve in World War I (1917-1919) ===
* Bruno Franke. Inducted at Davenport on 21 Sept 1917 and discharged 21 Feb 1919. He was in Battery F 346 F A to 20 Oct 1917; 166 Dep Brig to discharge. Private first class 24 Apr 1918, corporal 19 Aug 1918. ...he applied for naturalization 27 Mar 1917 (Signed by William Bartholomew, a barber in Davenport). This was dismissed for (unreadable).
* Gustav Wagner served in a [[wikipedia:Spruce Production Division|Spruce Squadron]] out of Vancouver, WA.
* Herman Wagner appears to have served in the infantry in France, although early on he had a deferral.
* Richard Wagner served in 45th Co 166th Depot Brig, which is similar to Bruno Franke.

=== Where Did the Wagners Go? ===

'''Fred Wagner''' stayed on his home place. He and his wife had some kids including '''Rose''' (who married Dick "Guy" '''Fleming'''), '''Gustave''' and '''Herman'''. Herman married Martha Knutson and they have a son Herman Jr. Gustave and Herman are farming Fred Wagner's land and they both died from pneumonia due to Spanish influenza within two weeks of each other. Martha remarried William J. '''Colville''' and they adopted Herman, Jr. After they died, Dick Fleming took up the task of farming the land.

'''Adolph Wagner''' married Emma. They had three daughters, Edith (Guyer), Emma (Karle), Elsie (Weyen); and one son Richard who marries Amelia Scharf of Davenport and they had one son George. Adolph Wagner sold his homestead quarter (SW/4/ S4 T25N R39EWM) to Fred Wagner in 1903 and by 1911 he took a lease of the school land for the entire section (S36 T25N R39E) in addition to purchasing another half section (E/2 S25 T25N R39E).

'''Amelia Franke''' also stayed near Reardan. It appears that she was living off farm income in 1910 and two of her children, Hulda (15) and Bruno (13), were living with her. In 1943 Amelia/Amalie Franke (80) was found dead in a chair in her home. It was decided that no inquest was necessary and her body was cremated. In 1911 Mrs. Franke has title to an 80 (N/2 SE/4 S32 T26N R39E). She must have purchased this later, although she no longer owns the half section acquired with her husband.

'''Hulda Franke''' marries John '''Schumer''' and they farmed around Reardan (NE/4 S12 T25N R38EWM, N/2 S7 T25N R39EWM, and SW/4 S7 T25N R29EWM) along the present day Schumer Road. They may have had a lease on a half quarter section just west of Reardan (S/2 NE/4 S16 T25N R39EWM). He dies in 1938 and she dies in 1953.

'''Bruno Franke''' was living with his mother in 1930. In 1942, he was committed to the Eastern State Hospital in Medical Lake. He was found dead in 1960. He was hung by a belt around a fixture in a shower in an apparent suicide. In 1911 the quarter in Section 4 is still in the Herman Franke name. This may be because it was held in trust for his children. Eventually it was transferred to Bruno Franke to support him.

'''Charles Wagner''' died in 1931 in Petaluma, CA. Charles sold his land to __ in __. His obituary says that this brother Fred and sister Mollie Franke live at Reardan. Another brother Godfried is living in Wyoming. Adolph is living in Spokane. No mention of other siblings. Charles married Emma and they had eight children, seven of which were born at Reardan before they moved to California.

=== Time Line ===

Since this story winds out over Fred Wagner's lifetime, it is important to try to sort out what happened when to make sense of the events and what happened when.

{| class="wikitable"
|+ Time Line of Events for the Wagner Family
|-
! Date !! Event
|-
| 1849 July || Karl Wagner and Maria Theresia Rothe marry in Leissing, Germany.
|-
| 1855 || Fred is born to Karl and Maria Theresia.
|-
| 1874 || Fred immigrates to the US (Wisconsin, California and then Reardan).
|-
| 1877 || Fred arrives at Reardan.
|-
| ???? || Charles arrives at Reardan.
|-
| ???? || Gotlieb/Godhelp/Carl arrives in Reardan.
|-
| 1881 || The Fred's father Karl dies.
|-
| 1888 || Fred Wagner is granted homestead on his quarter section of land.
|-
| 1888 || Charles Wagner is granted homestead on his quarter section of land.
|-
| 1889 || Adolph Wagner is granted homestead on his quarter section of land.
|-
| 1894 || Amelia and Herman Franke and Fred's mother Maria move to Reardan. Herman Franke purchases three quarters of land from Moore and Catherine Getty on Getty's or Zwainz's Butte.
|-
| 1894 || Herman Franke disappears after being arrested for assaulting his wife.
|-
| 1894 || An unknown man in Oshkosh, WI hangs himself. He is presumed to the Herman Franke and presumed to be identified by Wilhelmine Wagner Rothe, one of Fred's sisters. [See news articles above.]
|-
| 1895 || Gotlieb/Carl purchases a quarter of land from Josiah Starkey.
|-
| 1897 July || Fred, Amelia and Gotlieb Wagner are arrested for the murder of Herman Franke. Not enough evidence is produced to hold them over to trial.
|-
| 1897 month?|| Gotlieb/Carl sells his a quarter of land to John C. Green.
|-
| ???? month?|| Gotlieb/Godhelp/Carl leaves Reardan eventually winding up in Wyoming.
|-
| ???? month?|| Charles leaves Reardan for Petaluma, CA
|-
| 1903 || Adolph Wagner sells his homestead quarter to Fred Wagner.
|-
| 1904 || the Fred Wagner family moves to Spokane for Lena's health
|-
| 1904 July || Fred's mother Maria Theresa dies in Reardan. (Gustave, the eldest child, is 16). She had only been in the US 10 years.
|-
| 1904 fall || the Fred Wagner family moved again to Sebastopol, CA to be with Fred's brother Charles because of Lena's health issues and the warmer climate.
|-
| 1905 || Fred Wagner's daughter Margret was born in Sebastopol.
|-
| 1906 Spring || the Fred Wagner family moves from Sebastopol to Union Park neighborhood on the lower south hill in Spokane. Fred Lou, Gustave and Herman move to the farm to work for the summer.
|-
| 1906 || A new house was built on the farm for Lena and a phone was installed. Lena spends very little time in that house in the remaining years of her life.
|-
| 1911 || Lena dies in Petaluma, CA. (Gustave is now 23, Margaret is 5)
|-
| 1915 || Lou and Gustave accompany Fred to California to attend exposition.
|-
| 1918 || Gustave tries to get of draft. Not successful. Herman reportedly left Reardan.
|-
| 1918 || Gustave inducted to serve in the Army and he elects to serve in a [[wikipedia:Spruce Production Division|Spruce Squadron]] in Aberdeen, WA. He also marries Elsie Cutler while in the service.
|-
| 1918 October || Herman marries Martha. Photo on Find-A-Grave shows him in uniform. Did he serve in the war?
|-
| 1919 January || Gustave and Herman die (Gustave was 31 and Herman was 27, Margret is 14). Later in the year Gustave and Herman have a child named after them.
|-
| 1939 January || Fred dies in San Francisco. His obit say he has spent winters in CA for the last 40 years (1899) [That may be an exaggeration]
|}

{{note|
=== Loose Ends ===
* there are threads of three stories: the land dispute between Adolph and Fred, the disappearance or murder of Herman Franke, and Fred Wagner's abandonment of his kids to spend winters in California.
* From Fred Fleming. rumors of a body hauled in a box or coffin to the river.
* From Audrey Wagner. rumors that Fred's father was an alcoholic and abusive to his wife. At a minimum, work was beneath him, so his wife did all of the heavy work. It is said that he was killed by someone smashing his skull with a stick of lumber (2x4). [Fred Wagner disputes this in a newpaper interview, so I believe this was part of the discord between Fred and Adolph.]
* from a couple of sources: Fred Wagner's mother was living alone in a shack in a field. The book says this was in the quarter west of Fred's place. This would be the Adolph Wagner homestead and likely to be his house. This would have been after he transferred the property to Fred in 1903 unless the house was elsewhere or other arrangements pertained to Adolph's land and house. Books says Fred sued Adolph for moving the fence on an "established line." Unfortunately cannot find criminal or civil case records for the time period in question. These may have been lost in the courthouse fire in the 1980s. It may have been recorded contemporaneously in local newspapers.
* there is a rumor that Fred Wagner's mother died by hanging herself on a bedpost. Cannot find Lincoln county death records for her. Again this may be recorded in local newspapers.
* Herman Wagner's entry on Find-A-Grave.com shows Martha and Herman together, perhaps a wedding photograph. Herman appears to be in a uniform. Did he serve in WWI?
}}

Wagner Family

2023-04-11T17:51:09Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: /* The Wagner Family */

{{Draft}}

This is a strange complicated story. A story of domestic abuse, suicide by hanging, accusations of murder, rumors, and innuendo. The story caused a three-generation rift, so is somewhat sensitive. To report this as factually, much of the telling is through contemporaneous reporting, even though some of that is salacious. It is also told in the order of publication, even though some events are not sequentially reported. It is difficult to pick out the true facts, especially when they may remain hidden.

=== The Wagner Family ===
This story involves various members of the Wagner Family, some living in Germany, Reardan and other places. This listing of the family tree is to help alleviate some of the confusion. Those who lived at Reardan at one time or another are in '''bold''' type. "+" indicates a marriage. "|-" indicates an offspring of the above marriage. "b." indicates a year of birth and "d." indicates a death year. Where known the date of immigration is also shown.

Charles Karl Gotlieb Wagner d. 1881
+ '''Marie Therese Rothe''' b.1829 d.1904 (immigrated to Reardan about 1894. She lived with Fred Wagner for a time before moving to a shack on Adolf's homestead. She was worked hard by her husband and wasn't kind to her kids.)
|- Anna b.1854 d.1919 (the birth and death dates match up with Wilhelmine Wagner Rothe of Oshkosh, WI)
|- '''Frederick "Fred"''' b.1855 d.1939 immigrated to US in 1874, first to Wisconsin, then to California and finally to Reardan in 1877.
| + '''Magdelena "Lena" Gebelein''' b.1862 d.1911 immigrated in 1886 m.1887
| |- '''Gustave''' b.1888 d.1919
| |- '''Louise''' b.1889
| |- '''Herman''' b.1892 d.1919
| | + '''Martha Knutson''' (married 2.William Colville)
| | |- '''Herman'''
| | | + Geraldine
| | | |- William "Bill"
| | | + Nancy
| |- '''Anne Marie''' b.1894 d.1968
| |- '''Bertha''' b.1896 d.1992
| | + '''Homer Pike'''
| |- '''Rose''' b.1897 d.1977
| | + '''Guy "Dick" Fleming''' b.1898 d.1972
| | |- '''Jack''' b.1923 d.2000
| | |- '''Annabelle''' b.1925
| |- '''Minna''' b.1898 d.1971
| |- '''Margret Clare''' b.1905 f.1975
|- Herman b.1858
|- '''Amalie or Ameila''' b.1863 d.1943
| + '''Herman Franke'''
| |- two more children mentioned in the paper?
| |- '''Hulda Franke''' b. 1885 d.1953
| | + '''John Schumer''' b.c.1875 d.1938 m.1910
| | |- baby girl b.1912 d.1912
| | |- baby girl b.1912 d.1912
| | |- Clara b.1912
| | |- Anna b.1920 m.1940
| |- '''Bruno Franke''' b. 1894 d.1960
|- Mina Frieauf b.1864 d.1955
|- Pauline b.1864
|- '''Adolph''' b.1864 d.1939 (used name Carl in 1910 census) (Immigrated 1890.)
| + '''Emma''' b.1868 d.1954
| |- '''Richard''' b.1891 d.1968
| | + '''Amelia Scharff''' b.1894 d.1952
| | |- '''George''' b.1930 d.2010
| | |- '''Helen Grace''' b.1934 d.1948
| |- Elsie b.1893 d.1984
| |- Adolph Jr. b.1897 d.1958
| |- Clara b.1899 d.1910
| |- Lydia b.1899 d.1911
| |- Edith b.1903 (Ida in 1910 census)
| |- Emma b.1904 d.1974
|- '''Charles "Charlie"''' b.1867 or 1840 d.1931 (immigrated to Wisconsin before 1884, moved to Reardan before 1887, moved to Petaluma, CA between 1899 and 1906)
| + '''Emma''' m.1884 in Oshkosh, WI.
| |- eight children, seven born in Reardan
|- '''Gustave''' b.1869 (was living with Gottlieb in Reardan in 1900, immigrated in 1887)
|- Karl August b.1869 (suspect this is the same as Gustave above)
|- Clara b. 1870
|- '''Gottlieb "Godhelp"''' b.1872 (immigrated in 1894, moved to Wyoming) (also used name Carl on some land transfers)
|- Mollie b.1874 (she is mentioned in Charles' obituary as being from Reardan, but this may be confused with Amalia.

=== Fred Wagner Homestead ===
Fred Wagner left Germany in 1874 and went to California. In 1877 he moved to Reardan and homesteaded a quarter section of land about a mile north of Reardan (SE/4 S4 T25N R39EWM) in 1888. Land throughout this article is specified according the [[Early Public Land Survey System Plats|Public Land Survey System]]

=== Adolph Wagner Homestead ===
According to the census, Adolph Wagner immigrated in 1890, but he completed his homestead requirements in 1889 for a quarter section of land (SW/4 S4 T25N R39EWM) directly west of Fred Wagner's homestead.

=== Charles Wagner Homestead ===
Charles homesteaded a quarter at (E/2 E/2 S34 T26N R39EWM) on the west flanks of Gray's Butte in 1888. This is about a mile north of Fred Wagner's homestead.

'''Misplaced fragment??:''' and Charles who homesteaded about a mile north (E/2 NE/4 and W/2 SW/4 S18 T26N R39EWM).

=== Gotlieb Wagner Land Purchase ===
Gotlieb Wagner (or C.G. Wagner as recorded) purchased a quarter section of land (E/2 NW/4 and Lots 1 and 2 S18 T26N R39EWM) from Josiah Starkey in 1895. The Starkeys had homesteaded this land in 1892. This land was about 5 miles NNW of the Fred Wagner Homestead. Gotlieb sold this to John C. Green in 1897.

=== Herman and Amelia (Wagner) Franke Land Purchase ===
Herman and Amelia (Wagner) Franke purchased three quarters of land from Moore ad Catherine Getty, the namesake of the Getty Butte (or sometimes called the Zwainz Butte (NW/4 S33 R26N T39EWM, SW/4 S33 R26N T39EWM, SW/4 NW/4 and lots 2, 3, 4 S4, R25N T39EWM) in 1894. This latter quarter was later farmed by Rich and Lorraine Paul and lies about a mile northwest of the Fred Wagner homestead. The former two quarters are further north.

=== The Core Disputes ===
Adolph accused Fred of putting in a fence on his land to divide their two quarters. The book "Without a Little Teamwork You Can't Run the Ranch: Sketches of a Reardan Pioneer and His Family" indicated that Adolph has moved a fence between their properties and that Fred had sued Adolph in court. Unfortunately the records for that case have been lost.

When the Franke's bought their land, Herman but all of the land in his name. Amelia had contributed roughly a third of the money from her mother's estate and believed that one quarter should be in her name. The other two quarters were community property. Herman did not want to change the title to the land. Arguments and abuse ensued.

===SUICIDE IN A SHED===
'''November 05, 1894 Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''UNKNOWN MAN HANGS HIMSELF'''
----
'''Suspended From a Rafter Six Feet From the Ground Near Holm & Hansen's Blacksmith Shop--His Identity a Mystery--Particulars.''' When Fred Nelson, an employee of the blacksmith firm of Holm & Hansen 14 Ceape Street, arrived at the shop this morning, a sickening sight met bis eyes. Suspended from a rope with bis feet on the ground, hung the body of a man cold in death, with bis glassy eyes transfixed and staring. The body was hanging in an old shed in the rear and to the east of the shop and in full view of passers-by, if it had been light enough to discern the object. Nelson discovered the body at 6:30 o'clock and immediately notified the police. A coroner's Jury composed of J. C. Halse, John Rosenkranz, J. C. Merton, Joe Kilp, Fred Wendorf, and Fred Nelson was hastily impaneled, and after viewing the remains they adjourned until two o'clock Thursday afternoon. Tho body was cut down and removed to Konrad's undertaking establishment. The body appeared to be no doubt as to the Identity of the dead man and friends and fellow laborers who thought they recognized him, pronounced him to be Constantine Meklei, who works for tho Cook & Brown Line company, and resides at 43 Evans street. The news quickly spread that Meklei had taken his own life, and crowds of morbid curiosity seekers streamed Into the under-taking establishment to gaze at the features of the corpse.

It fell upon Detective Lynch to notify the supposed wife of the dead man, and accompanied by a ''Northwestern'' reporter they sought the residence of Meklei on Evans street. In answer to the knock, a buxom and pre-possessing young lady answered the summons and then Detective Lynch's nerve failed him. Ha dared not break the new without first quieting any fears the young lady might possibly have had in regard to the errand of the officer. So he asked if Mr. Meklei was at home and she replied that he was and before anything further could be said, the man who was thought to be dead, put in an appearance and welcomed the visitors with a hand shake that felt very different from the clammy touch of the corpse. Recovering from his surprise, the officer explained matters and started off to discover the identity of the dead man.

On his person was found a silver watch with open face, a tobacco bag, spectacles and case, and twelve cents in change.

The body is apparently that of a laborer attired in his Sunday clothes. He wears a blue linen shirt without collar, or necktie, and his hair and beard are tinged with gray. His features are narrow and shrunken and belong to a man of sixty-five years. He is five feet and three inches in height.

The unknown was evidently determined to end his existence at all costs, for had he repented he could have extended his limbs while hanging and saved himself. From the hole in the beam through which the rope was placed, to the ground was but six and a half feet. Apparently, he placed the noose around his neck while standing on the base board to a fence which ran along the side of the shed, and then jumped off. Tho rope was too long to permit him to hang free of the ground, and rather than try it over again, he bent his knees and with feet resting on the earth be slowly strangled to death.

John Bonacker, residing at 343 Waugoo street, is employed as chore man at the sample room of J. Thalnofer 20 Main street, and though at work since five o'clock within twenty feet from where the man was found hanging, yet he was unaware of the occurrence until the arrival of the police.
</blockquote>
===STILL UNIDENTIFIED===
'''November 6, 1894 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''Remains of the Supposed Suicide Removed to the Vault at Riverside.''' The remains of the suicide are still unidentified. Undertaker Konrad removed the body this morning to the vault at Riverside cemetery, awaiting further disclosures in the case. The remains were viewed yesterday by hundreds of fellow employees and neighbors, of Meklei, who saw a strong resemblance between the dead man and Meklei, for they could not b persuaded that the body was any other than that of their friend. However, Ossian Cook and R. C. Brown, members of the Cook & Brown Lime company, for whom Meklei worked, failed to find any similarity between the two men. One circumstance that appeared to give strength to the report that the dead man was Meklei's was that he had failed to put in an appearance for his day's work. But this has since been explained, as he was engaged in straightening up a few matters at the court house.

S. N. Bridge the music dealer visited Konrad's undertaking establishment this afternoon and stated that a relative of his arrived from the state of Washington some time ago, for whom he purchased a suit of clothes corresponding to those worn by the dead man. He has not heard from the relative in tho last three weeks. The body had been removed to the city vault and Mr, Bridge left for the cemetery at a late hour.
</blockquote>
===THE INQUEST ADJOURNED===
'''November 8, 1894 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
The inquest over the body of the old man who was found hanging in a shed on Ceape street was to have been held this afternoon, but was adjourned until a week from today. The body will remain in the vault at Riverside in the meantime. As yet no information has been received which tends to throw any light on the identity of the supposed suicide.
</blockquote>
===THE MYSTERY UNSOLVED===
'''November 15, 1894 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''Coroner's Jury Renders a Verdict in this Unknown Suicide's Case.''' On Monday morning, November 5, the body of an unknown man was found hanging In the shed in the rear of Holm & Hansen's blacksmith shop on Ceape street. The dead man evidently had no friends in this city for all efforts to discover his identity have proved futile, A coroner's jury composed of J. C. Heise, John Rosenkranz, J. C. Merten, John Kilp, Fred Wendorf and Fred Nelsou was impaneled and after viewing tbe remains, adjourned until Nov. 8 at which time it was thought the body would be claimed. But when that day arrived and no additional light had been thrown on the matter the jury decided to delay rendering a verdict for another week. This afternoon the jury again met and rendered a verdict of death from strangulation produced by a rope. The body of the suicide which has lain tn the vault at the cemetery for the past week, will now be interred in the potter's field.

The case is a strange and unusual one. The dead man was dressed in fairly good clothes and appeared to be a well-to-do laborer or farmer about fifty years of age. Not a mark could be found on his person to help tell who he was or where he came from. No one can be found who remembers having seen him the day before he was found hanging in the shed, nor did he visit any of the saloons or eating houses in the vicinity of the tragedy. The deed was done with a piece of bran new window sash cord and where this came from is also a mystery. For a time the theory of murder was advanced, but this was abandoned, as it would have been almost impossible for anyone to have smuggled the stranger into the city and then killed him or to have taken the body to tho place where it was found without being seen. Altogether the case is a very mysterious one, and there is little hope now of unraveling it unless an inquiry is made for such a man or the solution is stumbled on accidentally.
</blockquote>
===WAS HERMAN FRANKE SUPPOSED NAME OF A SUICIDE===
'''February 11, 1895 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''Disappeared From Reardan, Wash., on October 20-- as a brother-in Law in Oshkosh--Trouble With His Wife--Particulars.''' On November 5 the body of an unknown man was found hanging in an old shed near Holm & Hansen's blacksmith shop on Ceape street. There was nothing about his person which revealed his identity, and the police set about to discover if possible who the man was and where he came from. The verdict of the coroner's jury was that the man came to his death by hanging himself. The body was held a few days to await identification, but was finally buried in the potter's field at Riverside. At the time the police were convinced that the man was no tramp, from his respectable appearance and the articles found in his pockets, which included a silver watch of German make, a pair of glasses in a tin case, a leather tobacco pouch, an old knife, three keys, a tooth brush, and a box of matches. After being announced that the suicide was not an Oshkosh man, the police dropped the search, and no more was thought of the matter.

But Chief Weisbrod has received a letter which may lead to the identity of the man. It is from W. H. Capps, a constable at Reardan, Wash. The constable says that on October 20, Herman Franke mysteriously disappeared from Reardan, and has not been heard from since although his relatives have resorted to almost every means to ascertain his whereabouts. The letter further states that Franke is a brother-in-law of a family named Wagner, three of whom, with the wife of Franke reside at Reardon, and a brother and sister at Oshkosh. August Richter is referred to as one who might give some information regarding Franke. Franke came from Germany and at the time of his disappearance he could not speak English. He is described as 5 feet 4 inches in height, weighs 155 pounds and was an inveterate smoker. From the description and the time of the disappearance Chief Weisbrod is inclined to believe that the man referred to is Franke. The description tallies exactly with that of the suicide, and from one of the relatives referred to in the letter the police have learned that Franke had some trouble with his wife before leaving home. It is supposed that when be reached Oshkosh be was penniless, and could not find his relatives, which drove him to despondency and suicide. The articles found on the man's person will be sent to Reardan for identification by Mrs. Franke. Meanwhile an effort will be made in this city to unravel the mystery.

Mrs. Fred Rothe, [nee Wilhelmine Wagner b. 26 Feb 1858, d. 8 May 1919] residing at 315 Thirteenth street, is a sister-in-law of Herman Franke. When seen this morning by Detective Lynch she said she had heard of the disappearance of Franke through her sister. She had not seen Franke in twenty years, but knew that he came over from Germany about-two months before he disappeared. He then had $8,600 in money and invested it in real estate in Washington. He had some trouble with his wife, and about four days after leaving home wrote a letter to his folks, in which he intimated that he would put an end to himself. Mrs. Rothe said that Franke was about fifty years old. She is of the belief, from the description of the suicide, that it is Franke.
</blockquote>
===A MYSTERY CLEARED UP===
'''February 19, 1895 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''Herman Franke of Reardan, This State, Hanged Himself at Oshkosh, Wisconsin.'''
----
'''He Had Trouble With His Wife and Disappeared Suddenly From His Home.''' The mystery of a strange tragedy at Oshkosh, Wis., has been cleared up in Spokane. The body of an unknown man was found hanging in a woodshed there on the 5th of November last and was buried in the potter's field after diligent inquiry to ascertain his identity. Subsequently light on the subject led to the exhumation of the corpse a week ago yesterday, when it was identified as that of Herman Franke of Reardan, Wash. He had claimed to have lost $8,000 in a real estate deal, but concealed the true cause of his suicide.

Herman Franke and hie wile, Emelie, 42 and 32 years old respectively, were formerly well-to-do peasants at Bossenheim, province of Saxony, Prussia. They were married on Christmas day, 1881, and with their four children removed to Reardan in Lincoln county, this state, in August, 1894. He brought with him about $4,000 and she $1,800 which they had realized from the sale their property In Germany, the wife's separate interest having accrued from her wedding portion.

With the joint money Franke purchased 480 acres of land near Reardan, together with implements, machinery and stock, paying therefore $5,200. The property was free from all encumbrance and they started out in their new field with brighter prospects than do the average of pioneers in agricultural pursuits in the west. Franke promised at the time to place title to a quarter section of the land in his wife's name, but instead of doing so had the deeds all written in his own name.
This was the beginning of their domestic differences, which culminated in his self-destruction. Although frequently urged by him wife to convey a portion of the property to her, he stubbornly refused to do so, and increased his abusive and cruel treatment of her, which she has said commenced shortly after their marriage.

She called upon Adolph Munter of Spokane for legal advice, stating that her husband was in the habit of beating and kicking her, and had threatened her with a shotgun October 1, 1894.

"While I was willing," she said to Mr. Munter in her native tongue, "to put up with his abuse in Germany. I will not endure it in this country."

She desired to bring action for divorce and a division Of the property, but was informed that she could not proceed in this manner until after a year's residence in this state. Suit was accordingly brought to compel Franke to convey to his wife 160 acres of land, bought with her separate money, and to be held by her separately. Mr. Munter drew up a summons and complaint, first writing to Franke, requesting him to call at the office and settle the matter. Frank apparently suspected the real motive, which was to obtain service upon him in Spokane county and save expense. He therefore failed to respond. Mrs. Franke wrote the attorney that she was unable to induce her husband to come to the city, and recommending that he be served with the summons in Lincoln county. The husband and wife were then living half a mile apart, she with her brother.

Mr. Munter immediately sent the summons and complaint, which were returned to him by Mrs. Franks with the explanation that since the receipt of the lawyer's letter her husband had treated her more shamefully than ever, when she celled to see him. On the occasion of her last visit she was greeted In a manner so shockingly outrageous that she caused his arrest. The justice of the peace at Reardan fined him $50 and costs, which so enraged him that he cut to pieces her household effects and clothing, with which she was well supplied, as German peasant women in good circumstances always are. The mutilated articles were thrown out of the house and subsequently gathered up by her and taken to her brother's house.

The justice had permitted him to go on him own recognizance, but later urged payment of the fine and costs. Franke borrowed $150 on a chattel mortgage ostensibly to settle with the court, but the next day thereafter he disappeared, leaving everything behind except the suit he wore and one blanket and a pillow. This led the wife to suspect foul play, and she immediately advised Mr. Munter to that effect. She was in Spokane about a month ago and had not then heard of her husband's whereabouts. In the meantime she had taken possession of the property.

Mr, Munter has notified Mrs. Franke of her husband's death, and is expected in this city in a few days to take ts necessary to take such steps as may be necessary to protect the rotate.
</blockquote>
===ANOTHER CHAPTER===
'''February 25, 1895 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
'''Additional Particulars of the Troubles Leading to Herman Franke's Suicide.''' Chief of Police Weisbrod is in receipt of another letter from Constable Capps cf Reardan, Washington, respecting the so-called Herman Franke suicide in this city in November last. In all probability the watch and other effects found upon the person of Franko will at once be forwarded to Reardan for identification and the mystery is in a fair way to be conclusively cleared up. Mrs. Franke is expected to be able to identify the watch, if it was her husband's, and a Mr. Wagner, also of Reardan, who was in the old country with Franke when the watch was purchased, will also be appealed to. Accompanying the letter was a clipping from the Spokane, Wash., Review of the 19th inst., giving a lengthy statement of the troubles of the Frankes and their subsequent separation. The couple were formerly well-to-do peasants of the province of Saxony in Prussia, and removed to Washington in August, 1894, with their four children. Franke had $4,000 in cash and his wife had $1,800 realized from a sale of property in Germany. With the joint money they purchased 480 acres of land near Reardan, securing a fine property without encumbrance of any sort. Franke promised at this time to place title to a quarter section of the land in his wife's name, but instead had the deeds all written in his own name. This was the beginning of their troubles which were augmented by a suit brought to compel Franke to convey to his wife the 160 acres of land which had been bought with her separate money. Franke began to abuse his wife, according to her statement, and on one occasion was fined $50 and costs for beating her. Husband and wife took up their residence apart, and a suit for divorce and division of the property was begun by the injured wife. About this time Franke disappeared and was never heard from by the interested persons in the west until the news came in a round about way of his suicide in this city. As previously published it is supposed that Franke came here to visit and make his home with relatives. Being without funds and meeting with a great deal of difficulty in locating his people, be concluded to take his life.
</blockquote>
===FRANKE'S EFFECTS SENT WEST===
'''March 5, 1895 The Oshkosh Northwestern'''
<blockquote>
Chief Weisbrod has forwarded for identification to the constable at Reardan, Washington, the silver watch, knife, handkerchief and other personal effects found on the body of Herman Franke, who committed suicide here in November last. Tho chief received a letter from the widow of Franke this morning requesting him to send these articles to her but advising that the remains be left in the resting place they have found here. The mystery seems in a fair way to be cleared up in a week or so.
</blockquote>
===CLAIM OF HOMESTEAD===
'''April 8, 1896 Claim of Homestead recorded at Lincoln county'''
<blockquote>
Know all men by these Presents, that I Amalie Franke of Reardan Lincoln County State of Washington, being now and for thirteen years last past the lawful wife of Herman Franke, late of Reardan, Washington, And by reason of said matrimonial relation of said Herman Franke, and by other reasons fully appearing below, I claim the following interest in the following real-estate described as follows: S. W. 1/4 Sec. 33 Tp. 26 N., R. 39 E. W. M and Lots 2, 3, and 4 and S. W. 1/2 of N. W. 1/4 Sec. 4 Tp. 25 N., R. 39 E. W. M in all about 320 acres in Lincoln County, State of Washington, to-wit: $1800.00 of the purchase prices paid for such lad was used and is my separate property, being money from my mother's estate, and the money paid for the residue of said land was community property and all of said land is not worth to exceed the sum of $3600.00, therefore, I claim that one-half of said real estate is my separate property for reasons above given that that on the other half of said real estate I hold a one half interest which is a community interest; that the title to all of said real-estate is now in the name of my husband Herman Franke aforesaid, contrary to my directions and against my will, and that I have commenced an action to obtain such land; and I hereby give notice of all the above.

In witness whereof I have here onto set m name and seal the 7th day of April, 1896. Signed, sealed and delivered in the presence of H. N. Martin State of Washington, County of Lincoln Amalie Franke (seal)

This certifies that on this 7th day of April 1896, before me the undersigned, a Notary Public in and for said State, personally appeared within named Amalie Franke who is known to me t be the identical person who executed the within instrument and acknowledged that she did it for the uses and purposes therein mentioned.

In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand affixed my seal this day and year last above written. H. N. Martin Notary Public in and for the State of Washington Residing at Davenport.
</blockquote>
===WAGNERS ARRESTED===
'''July 23, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
Reardan, Wash., July 22--Considerable excitement was evinced here when Sheriff Devenish and Deputy Grant came over from Davenport and took Fred Wegner, G. [Godhelp or Gottlieb] Wegner and Herman Franke's wife to Davenport. In October, 1894, Herman Franke, a prominent farmer living about three miles north of Reardan, disappeared. Many rumors were in the air, some claiming that he had been murdered; again it was claimed that he committed suicide in Wisconsin. About a month ago a searching party went over his farms, digging in several places. It was rumored a depression had been found where an old straw stack stood and which had been burned down under very suspicious circumstances. Since then the county has been petitioned to offer a reward of $500 for the apprehension of the murderers or information. It is claimed by the parties who are active in the prosecution that important testimony and strong clues have been secured, and that they have the guilty ones in sight.
</blockquote>
===MURDER CHARGED===
'''July 23, 1897 Spokane Chronicle'''
<blockquote>
'''Three Reardan Residents Taken Into Custody.''' Reardan, July 23,--[Special]--Considerable excitement prevailed here yesterday afternoon when the sheriff of this county passed through town en route to Davenport with three prisoners in his charge, supposed to be the murderers of Herman Franke, who lived about two miles north of this place. About two years ago Mr. Franke was missed from his place and has never been seen nor heard from since. No particular pains were taken by any one, not even the family, to ascertain his whereabouts at the time, but it was thought that he went east and committed suicide. Recently a dispute came up between the Wagner brothers, who are brothers-in law of Mr. Franke, regarding a line of fence, which terminated in Adolph Wagner having a warrant sworn out for the arrest of his two brothers, Godlope and Frederick and their sister, Mrs. Amelia Franke, wife of Herman Franke, as having committed or being implicated in the murder of Mr. Franke. It this charge be proven true it will be the means of bringing to justice the perpetrators of one of the most cold-blooded murders ever committed in this county. Great interest is taken in the matter by residents in and around this place.
</blockquote>

===PRELIMINARY HEARING TUESDAY===
'''July 23, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''The Prisoners Are Unable to Furnish Bail and Are in Jail''' Davenport, Wash., July 22--Ameilia Franke, Fred Wagner, and Godhelp Wagner, charged with the crime of murdering Herman Franke on the 25th of October, 1894, were arraigned before Justice Parks this afternoon and pleaded not guilty. The case was set for for a preliminary hearing Tuesday morning at 10 o'clock. Their bail was set at $5000 each, failing to get which they were remanded back to jail to await their preliminary trial. They have engaged the law firms of Myers and Warren and Caton, Martin & McComb to defend them, while in addition to Prosecuting Attorney Brock, Sessions and Salisbury represent the state. It is understood that the defendants will set up that the murder was committed by Adolph Wagner, another brother, though the latter, it is said, was always on friendly terms with Franke, while the defendants, it is said, stood as a unit against him. It is a difficult matter to get a statement from the Wagners as they speak very little English and are somewhat illiterate. They appear to realize the enormity of the crime with which they are charged and are at high, nervous tension.
</blockquote>
===A MURDER MYSTERY===
'''July 23, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''Three Arrests at Reardan for the Murder of Herman Franke.'''
----
'''KILLED IN OCTOBER, 1894'''
----
'''His Wife and Her Two Brothers Arrested on Warrants Obtained by a Neighbor.'''
----
'''NOW IN JAIL AT DAVENPORT''' Davenport, July 22.--John Thyme of Rearden arrived here yesterday, appeared before Justice Parks, and caused a warrant to be sworn out for the arrest of Amelie Franke, Fred Wagner and Godhelp Wagner, living north of Reardan, charging them with being implicated in the murder of Herman Franke, who mysteriously disappeered on or about October 25, 1894.

As soon as the warrant was placed in the hands of Sheriff Devenish, with Deputies Grant and Kennedy, he went out and brought in the parties accused, placing them in jail to await their preliminary trial before Judge Parks at 10 o'clock today.

Amelie Franke was the wife of Herman Franke, and the Wagners, four boys living in the same neighborhood, are her brothers.

A few days before the disappearance of Mr. Franke, he and his wife quarreled, resulting in the arrest of the former, charged by the latter with assault and battery. Franke was fined $75 and costs, borrowing the money to pay the same from John Christian of Reardan and giving a chattel mortgage for the same. About 10 days after the mortgage was given Christian went to the home of Franke to see him on business, but Franke could not be found. It was then that suspicion of foul play was aroused. When the quarrel occurred Mrs. Franke removed to the home of her brother, Fred, where she resided until Franke had disappeared, after which she returned home.

The Frankes came from Wisconsin a little over three years ago, bringing with them $7000, which they invested in land, stock and farm machinery. Fred Wagner came to Washington 14 years ago and has resided north of Reardan most of the time. His brothers have arrived since he came. About a year after Franke disappeared, his wife secured a divorce, having previously, it is said, probated his interest in the property which they owned in common.

Fred Wagner maintains that his brother, Godhelp, and his sister are the victims of malicious prosecution and that the mystery is hidden to them as it is to everybody. He says they spent day after day looking for indications that would lead to the solution of the mystery, that they do not know whether Franke left the country or was murdered. Fred says if any one murdered Franke it must have been Adolph, another brother.

John Thyne, the prosecuting witness, is a resident of Reardan, having resided in that town the most of the time for three years. He is in the employ of W. H. Childs in the grain business. Those who know him best say he is a sharp, shrewd man, and the presumption is that he knows what he is about. He is reticent and unwilling to give any information in advance. It Is said he is a detective employed to handle the case and that he worked up the bitter enmity between Fred and hie brother Adolph, and by this means he has succeeded in getting sufficient evidence to convict those who have been arrested. At any rate, it is believed he will be able to solve the mystery.

At their last meeting the county commissioners offered $500 for the arrest and conviction of the guilty parties.
----
'''PRELIMINARY HEARING TUESDAY''' '''The Prisoners Are Enable to, Furnish Bail and Are in Jail.''' Davenport, Wash., July 22. Amella Franke, Fred Wagner and Godhelp Wagner, charged with the crime of murdering Herman Franke on the 25th of October, 1894, were arraigned before Justice Parks this afternoon and pleaded not guilty The case was set for preliminary hearing Tuesday morning at 10 o'clock. Their bail was set at $5000 each, failing to get which they were remanded back to jail to await their preliminary trial. They have engaged the law firms of Myers & Warren and Caton, Martin & McComb to defend them, while in addition to Prosecuting Attorney Brock, Sessions & Salisbury represent the state. It is understood that the defendants will set up that the murder was committed by Adolph Wagner, another brother, though the latter, it is raid. was always en friendly terms with Franke, while the defendants, it is said, stood as a unit against him, It is a difficult matter to get a statement from the Wagners as they speak very little English and are somewhat illiterate. They appear to realize the enormity of the crime with which they are charged and are at a high nervous tension.
</blockquote>
===MRS. FRANKE ON BAIL===
'''July 25, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''Puts up a $5000 Bond for Her Appearance at the Trial for Murder Tuesday.''' Davenport, July 24.--Mrs. Amelia Franke, one of the parties charged with murdering her husband, Herman Franke, on or about October 25, 1894, was released from the county jail yesterday on a bond of $5000 furnished by her two brothers, Fred and Godhelp Wagner, who are also in jail, charged with being accomplices in the same crime. There seems to be some doubt in the minds of the legal fraternity as to the constitutionality of accepting a bond at this stage of the case. The only step so far taken in the case has been the arraignment of the prisoners and their answer of not guilty. No evidence has been taken, hence the belief that Prosecuting Attorney Brock advised Justice Parks contrary to the law when he Instructed him to accept a bond from any or all of the prisoners. Section 20 of the state constitution reads: "All persons charged with crime shall be bailable by sureties except for capital offenses, when the proof is evident, or the presumption great." The construction placed upon this section presupposes a preliminary hearing, with evidence submitted, previous to the allowance of a bond for appearance. The preliminary hearing in the case of Mrs. Franke and her brothers has been set for Tuesday, July 27.
</blockquote>
===PRELIMINARY HEARING FOR WAGNERS===
'''July 28, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
Davenport, Wash., July 27.--The preliminary trial of Godhelp Wagner, Fred Wagner and Mrs. Amelia Franke for the murder of the husband of the latter, Herman Franke, in October, 1894, took place today before Justices Parks and Birge, sitting together. Six witnesses were examined by the state, but no evidence was given pointing to the prisoners at the bar as the guilty parties, and the case was dismissed and the defendants released upon motion of the prosecuting attorney. No witnesses for the defense were introduced.
</blockquote>
===WAGNER MAKES A REPLY===
'''August 5, 1897 Spokesman-Review'''
<blockquote>
'''He Says the Story of Murdering His Father is Ridiculously False.''' Fred Wagner, who with Gottlieb Wagner and Mrs. Amalie Franke, was arrested near Davenport, charged with the murder of Herman Franke, Mrs. Franke's husband, makes a statement of the affair to The Spokesman-Review. He said yesterday:

"There is absolutely no foundation for the charges against myself or my brother or sister. Herman Frank- three years ago was sued by my siste for about $1800, of which he lad obtained possession, but which belonged to her. My mother gave her the money in Germany. Franke was given the money in the old country and brought it out here with the intention of buying land with it. Franke had some money of his own, and all of it was sent by draft to the Davenport bank. Mrs. Franke, on account of ill treatment by Franke in the old country and here, demanded her portion of the money which had been brought from Germany. He beat and abused her on Adolph Wagner's place, near Reardan. Franke had drawn the money from the bank and taken it to Adolph Wagner's house, and had it in a trunk.

When Franke came from the old country he first stopped at my place, but Adolph Wagner, my own brother, coaxed him away from the house and took him to his place. They took all the money with them, something over $5000. My wife and myself were in Spokane, and they forcibly removed this property from my house. My mother, who was in the house at the time, attempted to stop them, but they threw her over some boxes and hurt the old lady badly and went away with the box and money. A few days after this Mrs. Franke had Franke arrested and fined for abusing her, and the children, four of them, were taken from Franke, and my sister came to my house. Franke disappeared about that time. The only reason I can give for his disappearance is that he feared further prosecution. He had gotten into the place where her clothes were kept and cut all the garments to pieces. My sister talked of having him arrested for this, and it may have caused him to leave the country.

"Not since the disappearance of Franke have I interfered with Adolph, my own brother, but now he is trying to have me sent to prison. I am accused by rumor in the paper of also killing my own father in Germany in 1871. My father died in Germany in 1881. I came here in 1874 and have made but one trip to Germany since that time, three years ago, when I went for my mother. The record of my father's death is duly attested in Germany. He died while I was thousands of miles from him. My mother, this same Adolph Wagner, a sister, and still another brother, were at his bedside when he died. There is nothing but spitework in the whole business. John Thyne, who claims to have known the family in the old country, who some people say is a detective, never knew us until he came here. Thyne came from Pommer, north Germany, and our family came from south Germany, a long way from him. Thyne and Adolph Wagner are quite intimate, and that is the reason Thyne is mixed up in these accusations."

The case was dismissed when it came up in court at Davenport.
</blockquote>

=== Wagners Serve in World War I (1917-1919) ===
* Bruno Franke. Inducted at Davenport on 21 Sept 1917 and discharged 21 Feb 1919. He was in Battery F 346 F A to 20 Oct 1917; 166 Dep Brig to discharge. Private first class 24 Apr 1918, corporal 19 Aug 1918. ...he applied for naturalization 27 Mar 1917 (Signed by William Bartholomew, a barber in Davenport). This was dismissed for (unreadable).
* Gustav Wagner served in a [[wikipedia:Spruce Production Division|Spruce Squadron]] out of Vancouver, WA.
* Herman Wagner appears to have served in the infantry in France, although early on he had a deferral.
* Richard Wagner served in 45th Co 166th Depot Brig, which is similar to Bruno Franke.

=== Where Did the Wagners Go? ===

'''Fred Wagner''' stayed on his home place. He and his wife had some kids including '''Rose''' (who married Dick "Guy" '''Fleming'''), '''Gustave''' and '''Herman'''. Herman married Martha Knutson and they have a son Herman Jr. Gustave and Herman are farming Fred Wagner's land and they both died from pneumonia due to Spanish influenza within two weeks of each other. Martha remarried William J. '''Colville''' and they adopted Herman, Jr. After they died, Dick Fleming took up the task of farming the land.

'''Adolph Wagner''' married Emma. They had three daughters, Edith (Guyer), Emma (Karle), Elsie (Weyen); and one son Richard who marries Amelia Scharf of Davenport and they had one son George. Adolph Wagner sold his homestead quarter (SW/4/ S4 T25N R39EWM) to Fred Wagner in 1903 and by 1911 he took a lease of the school land for the entire section (S36 T25N R39E) in addition to purchasing another half section (E/2 S25 T25N R39E).

'''Amelia Franke''' also stayed near Reardan. It appears that she was living off farm income in 1910 and two of her children, Hulda (15) and Bruno (13), were living with her. In 1943 Amelia/Amalie Franke (80) was found dead in a chair in her home. It was decided that no inquest was necessary and her body was cremated. In 1911 Mrs. Franke has title to an 80 (N/2 SE/4 S32 T26N R39E). She must have purchased this later, although she no longer owns the half section acquired with her husband.

'''Hulda Franke''' marries John '''Schumer''' and they farmed around Reardan (NE/4 S12 T25N R38EWM, N/2 S7 T25N R39EWM, and SW/4 S7 T25N R29EWM) along the present day Schumer Road. They may have had a lease on a half quarter section just west of Reardan (S/2 NE/4 S16 T25N R39EWM). He dies in 1938 and she dies in 1953.

'''Bruno Franke''' was living with his mother in 1930. In 1942, he was committed to the Eastern State Hospital in Medical Lake. He was found dead in 1960. He was hung by a belt around a fixture in a shower in an apparent suicide. In 1911 the quarter in Section 4 is still in the Herman Franke name. This may be because it was held in trust for his children. Eventually it was transferred to Bruno Franke to support him.

'''Charles Wagner''' died in 1931 in Petaluma, CA. Charles sold his land to __ in __. His obituary says that this brother Fred and sister Mollie Franke live at Reardan. Another brother Godfried is living in Wyoming. Adolph is living in Spokane. No mention of other siblings. Charles married Emma and they had eight children, seven of which were born at Reardan before they moved to California.

=== Time Line ===

Since this story winds out over Fred Wagner's lifetime, it is important to try to sort out what happened when to make sense of the events and what happened when.

{| class="wikitable"
|+ Time Line of Events for the Wagner Family
|-
! Date !! Event
|-
| 1849 July || Karl Wagner and Maria Theresia Rothe marry in Leissing, Germany.
|-
| 1855 || Fred is born to Karl and Maria Theresia.
|-
| 1874 || Fred immigrates to the US (Wisconsin, California and then Reardan).
|-
| 1877 || Fred arrives at Reardan.
|-
| ???? || Charles arrives at Reardan.
|-
| ???? || Gotlieb/Godhelp/Carl arrives in Reardan.
|-
| 1881 || The Fred's father Karl dies.
|-
| 1888 || Fred Wagner is granted homestead on his quarter section of land.
|-
| 1888 || Charles Wagner is granted homestead on his quarter section of land.
|-
| 1889 || Adolph Wagner is granted homestead on his quarter section of land.
|-
| 1894 || Amelia and Herman Franke and Fred's mother Maria move to Reardan. Herman Franke purchases three quarters of land from Moore and Catherine Getty on Getty's or Zwainz's Butte.
|-
| 1894 || Herman Franke disappears after being arrested for assaulting his wife.
|-
| 1894 || An unknown man in Oshkosh, WI hangs himself. He is presumed to the Herman Franke and presumed to be identified by Wilhelmine Wagner Rothe, one of Fred's sisters. [See news articles above.]
|-
| 1895 || Gotlieb/Carl purchases a quarter of land from Josiah Starkey.
|-
| 1897 July || Fred, Amelia and Gotlieb Wagner are arrested for the murder of Herman Franke. Not enough evidence is produced to hold them over to trial.
|-
| 1897 month?|| Gotlieb/Carl sells his a quarter of land to John C. Green.
|-
| ???? month?|| Gotlieb/Godhelp/Carl leaves Reardan eventually winding up in Wyoming.
|-
| ???? month?|| Charles leaves Reardan for Petaluma, CA
|-
| 1903 || Adolph Wagner sells his homestead quarter to Fred Wagner.
|-
| 1904 || the Fred Wagner family moves to Spokane for Lena's health
|-
| 1904 July || Fred's mother Maria Theresa dies in Reardan. (Gustave, the eldest child, is 16). She had only been in the US 10 years.
|-
| 1904 fall || the Fred Wagner family moved again to Sebastopol, CA to be with Fred's brother Charles because of Lena's health issues and the warmer climate.
|-
| 1905 || Fred Wagner's daughter Margret was born in Sebastopol.
|-
| 1906 Spring || the Fred Wagner family moves from Sebastopol to Union Park neighborhood on the lower south hill in Spokane. Fred Lou, Gustave and Herman move to the farm to work for the summer.
|-
| 1906 || A new house was built on the farm for Lena and a phone was installed. Lena spends very little time in that house in the remaining years of her life.
|-
| 1911 || Lena dies in Petaluma, CA. (Gustave is now 23, Margaret is 5)
|-
| 1915 || Lou and Gustave accompany Fred to California to attend exposition.
|-
| 1918 || Gustave tries to get of draft. Not successful. Herman reportedly left Reardan.
|-
| 1918 || Gustave inducted to serve in the Army and he elects to serve in a [[wikipedia:Spruce Production Division|Spruce Squadron]] in Aberdeen, WA. He also marries Elsie Cutler while in the service.
|-
| 1918 October || Herman marries Martha. Photo on Find-A-Grave shows him in uniform. Did he serve in the war?
|-
| 1919 January || Gustave and Herman die (Gustave was 31 and Herman was 27, Margret is 14). Later in the year Gustave and Herman have a child named after them.
|-
| 1939 January || Fred dies in San Francisco. His obit say he has spent winters in CA for the last 40 years (1899) [That may be an exaggeration]
|}

{{note|
=== Loose Ends ===
* From Fred Fleming. rumors of a body hauled in a box or coffin to the river.
* From Audrey Wagner. rumors that Fred's father was an alcoholic and abusive to his wife. At a minimum, work was beneath him, so his wife did all of the heavy work. It is said that he was killed by someone smashing his skull with a stick of lumber (2x4). [Fred Wagner disputes this in an interview, so I believe this was part of the discord between Fred and Adolph.]
* from a couple of sources: Fred Wagner's mother was living alone in a shack in a field. The book says this was in the quarter west of Fred's place. This would be the Adolph Wagner homestead and likely to be his house. This would have been after he transferred the property to Fred in 1903 unless the house was elsewhere or other arrangements pertained to Adolph's land and house. Books says Fred sued Adolph for moving the fence on an "established line." Unfortunately cannot find criminal or civil case records for the time period in question. These may have been lost in the courthouse fire in the 1980s. It may have been recorded contemporaneously in local newspapers.
* there is a rumor that Fred Wagner's mother died by hanging herself on a bedpost. Cannot find Lincoln county death records for her. Again this may be recorded in local newspapers.
* Herman Wagner's entry on Find-A-Grave.com shows Martha and Herman together, perhaps a wedding photograph. Herman appears to be in a uniform. Did he serve in WWI?
}}

Without a Little Teamwork Photos

2023-04-10T19:00:12Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

These are the photos and sketches of the book "Without a Little Teamwork You Can't Run the Ranch: Sketches of a Reardan Pioneer and His Family" by Margret Clare Wagner Johnson. The sketches are by the author's granddaughter Janeth Nash.
<gallery heights=150 mode="packed">
mcj-000-1-1600.jpg | Cover of book
mcj-000-2-1600.jpg | Book Title Page
mcj-000-3-1600.jpg | Book Dedication to Barbara and Jack with love
mcj-000-4-1600.jpg | Book Poem and publication information
mcj-000-5a-reaped-wheat-jackson-fork-1600.jpg | Stack of cut wheat waiting to be threshed and portable Jackson fork. 1912
mcj-000-5b-unloading-header-box-1600.jpg | Unloading a horse drawn header box with Jackson fork. 1912
mcj-000-5c-seeding-1600.jpg | Woman (likely to be Rose) driving a team of mules and seeder.
mcj-000-5d-plowing-1600.jpg | Two teams of mules and horses likely plowing with three girls and man
mcj-001b.chapter-1-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 1 sketch
mcj-009b-chapter-2-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 2 sketch
mcj-016b-minna-and-grandmother-teressa-wagner-1600.jpg | Minna and her grandmother Teressa Wagner
mcj-016c-teressa-wagner-germany-1600.jpg | Teressa Wagner in Germany
mcj-017b-chapter-3-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 3 sketch
mcj-023a-momas-house-in-germany-1600.jpg | Moma's house in Germany
mcj-024b-fred-wagner-lena-gabellein-1600.jpg | Fred Wagner and Len Gabellein wedding photo
mcj-025b-chapter-4-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 4 sketch
mcj-033b-chapter-5-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 5 sketch
mcj-039b-margret-1600.jpg | Margaret
mcj-039c-minna-margret-rose-1600.jpg | Minna, Margret and Rose
mcj-041a-chapter-6-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 6 sketch
mcj-048-1b-lou-rose-anne-minna-bertie-1600.jpg | Lou, Rose, Anne, Ninna, Bertie
mcj-048-2b-top-gus-lou-herman-bottom-ann-rose-bertie-1600.jpg | back: Gus, Lou, Herman; front: Ann, Rose, Bertie
mcj-048-3b-louise-1600.jpg | Louise
mcj-048-3c-margret-clare-six-months-1600.jpg | Margret Clare at six months
mcj-048-4a-louise-herman-gus-1600.jpg | Louise, Herman and Gus
mcj-048-4b-louise-herman-gus-1600.jpg | Louise, Herman and Gus
mcj-048c-fred-and-lena-wagner-1600.jpg | Fred and Lena Wagner
mcj-049b-chapter-7-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 7 sketch
mcj-053b-chapter-8-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 8 sketch
mcj-058b-bertie-minna-margret-rose-off-to-school-1600.jpg | Bertie, Minna, Margret, and Rose off to school.
mcj-059b-chapter-9-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 9 sketch
mcj-062b-reardan-baseball-team-1600.jpg | Reardan baseball team
mcj-062c-medical-lake-baseball-team-1600.jpg | Medical Lake baseball team
mcj-063b-chapter-10-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 10 sketch
mcj-068b-1913-reardan-fire-1600.jpg | 1913 Reardan fire
mcj-069b-chapter-11-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 11 sketch
mcj-073b-chapter-12-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 12 sketch
mcj-082b-first-buick-papa-in-back-rose-and-friend-1600.jpg | Our first Buick, papa in back and Rose and friend in front.
mcj-082c-lou-and-bertie-1600.jpg | Lou and Bertie
mcj-082d-gus-suit-1600.jpg | Gus Wagner
mcj-082e-gus-uniform-1600.jpg | Gus Wagner
mcj-083b-chapter-13-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 13 sketch
mcj-093b-cousin-albert-erdman-herman-wagner-1600.jpg | Cousin Albert Erdman and Herman Wagner
mcj-093c-herman-wagner-1600.jpg | Herman Wagner
mcj-094-1b-bertie-1600.jpg | Bertie
mcj-094b-margret-and-dainty-dorothy-1600.jpg | Margret and Dainty Dorothy
mcj-095b-chapter-14-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 14 sketch
mcj-101b-chapter-15-sketch-1600.jpg | Chapter 15 sketch
</gallery>

George W. Wilson (Wilbur)

2023-03-02T21:38:00Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "During the winter of 1889-1890 a number of people would have frozen to death if “Wild Goose” Bill Condon had not come to the rescue by selling the settlers his rail fences at five dollars per load. In December, 1889, during the big snow storm, we were living in a cabin in Wilbur. On the morning following the heaviest snow, we found our cabin completely covered by a snow drift. It was necessary to tunnel our way out and shovel snow form the window. This was a tough wi..."

During the winter of 1889-1890 a number of people would have frozen to death if “Wild Goose” Bill Condon had not come to the rescue by selling the settlers his rail fences at five dollars per load. In December, 1889, during the big snow storm, we were living in a cabin in Wilbur. On the morning following the heaviest snow, we found our cabin completely covered by a snow drift. It was necessary to tunnel our way out and shovel snow form the window. This was a tough winter for all of the settlers, as about 90 per cent of the livestock was lost by freezing or starvation.
{{DEFAULTSORT:Wilson, George W. (Wilbur)}}
[[Category: Pioneer Stories]]

Joseph and James LeFevre (Medical Lake)

2023-03-02T21:35:52Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

==== The Ranges About Medical Lake -- Joseph and James LeFevre (Spokane County) ====

In 1871, our father, with a partner, Mr. Martin, bought a band of five hundred head of sheep, a few cattle and horses and drove them to Medical Lake, where Father settled on a pre-emption claim on the present site of Medical Lake. The first winter they lost two hundred and fifty head of sheep from scab disease. In the spring they washed their sheep in the lake and to their great surprise, discovered that the medicinal properties of the water, which cured the sheep, also cured Father of rheumatism in one of his arms, which had almost become useless. This was the first discovery of the medicinal qualities of the water by the Whites.
{{DEFAULTSORT:LeFevre, Joseph and James}}
[[Category:Pioneer Stories]]

Joseph and James LeFevre (Medical Lake)

2023-03-02T21:34:52Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "==== The Ranges About Medical Lake -- Joseph and James LeFevre (Spokane County) ==== In 1871, our father, with a partner, Mr. Martin, bought a band of five hundred head of sheep, a few cattle and horses and drove them to Medical Lake, where Father settled on a pre-emption claim on the present site of Medical Lake. The first winter they lost two hundred and fifty head of sheep from scab disease. In the spring they washed their sheep in the lake and to their great surpri..."

Julius Johnson (Lincoln County)

2023-03-02T21:33:07Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "==== Julius C. Johnson (Lincoln County) ==== At the beginning of the severe winter of 1889 and 1890, I had thirty head of horses and thirty head of cattle, but when the snow was gone I had only three or four cows and three horses left, as the others were frozen or starved to death. When it was time for seeing, my remaining horses were in such a weakened state that they could be worked for only short intervals, and it was necessary to do to about half the seeding by hand...."

==== Julius C. Johnson (Lincoln County) ====
At the beginning of the severe winter of 1889 and 1890, I had thirty head of horses and thirty head of cattle, but when the snow was gone I had only three or four cows and three horses left, as the others were frozen or starved to death. When it was time for seeing, my remaining horses were in such a weakened state that they could be worked for only short intervals, and it was necessary to do to about half the seeding by hand.
[[DEFAULTSORT:Johnson, Julius]]
[[category:Pioneer Stories]]

Mrs. John Robertson (Wilbur)

2023-03-02T21:30:23Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Removed redirect to 1959 Pioneer Stories

{{ box| This page is part of the [[Reardan History 1959]] booklet that was written by the Washington State History class of 1958-1959.}}

I came to Washington Territory from Andres County, Missouri, in 1887. This trip was made in an immigrant train with my husband and two children. Our destination was Tacoma, where I had a sister.

We came west because of my failing health, as I suffered from tuberculosis, and welcomed my sister’s suggestion that the dry climate of eastern Washington might be beneficial. After a short stay in Tacoma, we came to Sprague, where my husband secured work as a blacksmith in the Northern Pacific car shops. After working about three months. He quit his job, bought a team, harness and a buckboard and drove to the present site of Wilbur, where Mr. Robertson bought a small blacksmith shop. There were only two board shacks, “Wild Goose” Bill Condon’s two story log house, and the blacksmith shop on the site at that time. Dr. B. H. Yount, a physician,, occupied one of the cabins with his family and carried on a country wide practice for many miles around, and “Wild Goose” Bill occupied his house only during the haying season with a large stock of liquor and a small stock of groceries. On our arrival in front of Bill’s cabin, after a two day’s trip from Sprague, I refused to leave the buckboard to go into his place and sat there until Dr. Yount came out, introduced himself, and invited me into his cabin. We remained with the Younts three days until Mr. Robertson completed a cabin. It was without a floor or windows. The first rain leaked through the roof and we were obliged to raise our umbrellas inside our cabin in order to keep dry.

My husband’s business thrived and customers came great distances to have their horses shod. After buying machinery and a large stock of hardwood, he added a wagon shop in conjunction with his blacksmith shop. In 1888 he bought a quarter section of lieu land, three miles south of Wilbur. In 1901 his wagon shop, $4,000 worth of hardwood that he had just received, and all of his machinery were destroyed by fire. His insurance had expired two days before and it was a total loss. Mr. Robertson continued blacksmithing until 1907, when he sold out and was elected town marshal. He held that office until his death in 1919. He disposed of his land and sold a business lot on the main street of Wilbur to the Woodmen of the World for $3,050.

I was one of the organizers of the Methodist Church, which was the first church built in Wilbur. I was superintendent of this institution for a number of years.

I was born in Andres County, Missouri, in 1852, of American born parents. I was married in 1878. I have two children and three grandchildren. They are Mrs Bessie Dalton, Wilbur, widow with one child; Mrs. Myrtle Peffley, Davenport, Washington, married, and the mother of two children.

So when I came to the Big Bend country there were very few settlers in this district. The houses were rough board shacks and a few log cabins. “Wild Goose” Bill Condon homesteaded the townsite of Wilbur. At the time the town was organized, the question of an appropriate name for the village came up. Some suggested “Goose Town,” but I protested, saying I wouldn’t live in the town if it were given that name. I suggested that if it were desirable to name the town after Mr. Condon, why not call it Wilbur, which was his middle name. This was agreeable to the committee and this name was adopted.

Transportation was by stage, horseback, and wagon. Supplies were hauled from Cheney and Spokane, a distance of about 60 miles over very rough roads. These towns were the nearest railroad points. The Washington Central Branch of the Northern Pacific Railroad was constructed through the Big Bend country and Wilbur in 1888-1889 and the growth of the county from that time was very rapid.

There were many Indians living about Wilbur, but they were peaceable and gave very little trouble unless they were drunk. I learned the Chinook jargon. Mr. Robertson’s uncle was killed by two drunken Indians in Okanogan County in 1889 in a dispute over some tobacco. When found, his body, all except his lower limbs, which were protected by his boots, had been eaten by coyotes.
{{DEFAULTSORT: Roberson, John}}
[[category:Pioneer Stories]]

Template:Note

2023-03-02T18:52:24Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "<div style="background-color: #fdfd96; border: 2px solid maroon; margin:5px; padding:5px!important;"> {{{1}}} </div>"

Harl Aldrich, Sr.

2023-01-01T20:32:33Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

[[file: 1915-harl-and-lucy-aldrich-wedding-1600.jpg | right| 200px | thumb | Lucy and Harl Aldrich wedding in 1915]]
Harl Aldrich, Sr. was born in 1890 in Indiana. He graduated from Purdue University in 1914 with Bachelor of Science in Electrical Engineering. Although he had a job offer to work at Westinghouse, his father persuaded him to go into teaching. He looked to the west and took a job at Reardan as a manual training [wood shop] teacher and athletic coach. A year later he was married to his home town girl. During the summers he worked harvest as a sacker on a horse drawn combined thresher.

[[file: 193x-harl-aldrich-sr-family-1600.jpg | right| 200px | thumb | Harl Aldrich family around 1930 as they were at Reardan, Clare Elise, Lynn, Harl, Jr.]]

In 1916 they moved to Pasco where he was a warehouse foreman and electrician at a flour mill. In 1921 he went to the Cheney Normal School to renew his teaching certificate. In 1922 he accepted a job in Davenport as the principal of the school. A year later he was called back to Reardan, this time as superintendent of schools for 11 years until 1934.

[[file: 1926-harl-aldrich-1915-touring-car-front.jpg| left | 200px| thumb | 1915 touring car on 1926 Aldrich family cross country camping trip at camp site. They usually stopped at schools because they had a place to park, water, and an outhouse.]]

[[file: 1926-harl-aldrich-1915-touring-car-side.jpg | left| 200px| thumb | 1915 Touring car on 1926 Aldrich family cross Country camping trip ready to go.]]

[[file: 1951-harl-aldrich-sr.png | right| 200px | thumb | Yearbook photo from Lewis and Clark high school in Spokane.]]

The family moved to Spokane where he worked for the WERA fo a year and then taught in Spokane grade schools for six years. Between 1942 and 1956, Harl taught math at Lewis and Clark High School. After that he was a bailiff for the Spokane County Superior Court for ten years.

“Memorial services for Harl P. Aldrich, 93, a former Reardan School Supt., take place Monday, July 23 at the Westminster Congregational Church, Spokane. Aldrich died at the Madison South Nursing Home in Spokane after a six month illness. He first came to Reardan in 1914 as a coach and a manual training teacher. He left in 1916 but returned in 1923 to fill the Supt. position. Aldrich organized and coached Reardan’s first girls’ basketball team in 1923, as well as the first football team in 1926. Aldrich left Reardan in 1934 and would have observed his 94th birthday. He and his wife, Lucy, celebrated their 69th wedding anniversary May 29. Survivors include his wife, Lucy, at their Spokane home; one daughter, Elsie Towner of Veradale; two sons, Harl Aldrich, Jr., of Concord, Mass, and Lynn Aldrich of Prescott Valley, AZ; 10 grandchildren and ten great grandchildren.” (Davenport Times: 7-19-1984)

Most of the information and photographs for this article was taken from A branch of the Aldrich family in America: In the footsteps of a line of descent from George Aldrich, from Massachusetts to Rhode Island, New York, the Midwest and Washington State, January 1, 1996, Harl P. Aldrich [Jr.]

Why my fascination with the Aldrich family?
[[file: 1988-harl-adrich-home-reardan-1923-1934-1600.jpg| right | 200px| thumb | Adrich home in Reardan between 1923 and 1934 (taken in 1988) [believe this is 115 W Summit Ave.]]

When I went to MIT, I was told by my Aunt Evelyn Plaster Bafus and Grandmother Plaster to look up Harl Aldrich, Jr., when I was there. I could not really understand their facination with him. They had said that the Ekins had kept up with them, but at least to me in the 1970s, I didn’t understand the Ekins relationship to Reardan. Evelyn graduated in 1936, just two years after Elise, so it is obvious that they knew each other. Lynn should have been in my mother and aunt Doris' class. When I met with Lynn, he could not remember the Plaster twins and I cannot remember my mother ever mentioning Lynn. Part of that is because the Aldrichs left Reardan when they were in the seventh grade, so the not remember part is not too difficult to fathom. But the point was that I should stop by the firm and look up Harl Aldrich. I was having trouble understanding why since he left Reardan 40 years before.

The headquarters for Haley & Aldrich at the time occupied a three story brick building in Kendall Square just off the MIT campus and across the street from the subway stop used by MIT. It was an imposing structure and a bit intimidating to a shy college student. Eventually I worked up enough courage for a visit. The day that I was there I met with Lynn, who was the office manager at the time. Harl was not avaiable. It was suprising to me that he said that he knew that I was at MIT and he had fond memories. My guess is the memories of Reardan run deep.

When the class of 1925 had their 50th reunion, Harl Sr. and Lucy came out to the Community day celebration.

When my father died in 1985, one of the sympathy cards came from Lucy Aldrich and Elise Towner. They knew and remembered my mother.
[[category: Harl Aldrich, Sr.]]
[[category: Aldrich]]
[[category: superintendent]]

Harl Aldrich, Sr.

2023-01-01T20:25:11Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

[[file: 1915-harl-and-lucy-aldrich-wedding-1600.jpg | right| 200px | Lucy and Harl Aldrich wedding in 1915]]
Harl Aldrich, Sr. was born in 1890 in Indiana. He graduated from Purdue University in 1914 with Bachelor of Science in Electrical Engineering. Although he had a job offer to work at Westinghouse, his father persuaded him to go into teaching. He looked to the west and took a job at Reardan as a manual training [wood shop] teacher and athletic coach. A year later he was married to his home town girl. During the summers he worked harvest as a sacker on a horse drawn combined thresher.

[[file: 193x-harl-aldrich-sr-family-1600.jpg | right| 200px | Harl Aldrich family around 1930 as they were at Reardan, Clare Elise, Lynn, Harl, Jr.]]

In 1916 they moved to Pasco where he was a warehouse foreman and electrician at a flour mill. In 1921 he went to the Cheney Normal School to renew his teaching certificate. In 1922 he accepted a job in Davenport as the principal of the school. A year later he was called back to Reardan, this time as superintendent of schools for 11 years until 1934.

[[file: 1926-harl-aldrich-1915-touring-car-front.jpg| right | 200px| 1915 touring car on 1926 Aldrich family cross country camping trip at camp site. They usually stopped at schools because they had a place to park, water, and an outhouse.]]

[[file: 1926-harl-aldrich-1915-touring-car-side.jpg | right| 200px| 1915 Touring car on 1926 Aldrich family cross Country camping trip ready to go.]]

[[file: 1951-harl-aldrich-sr.png | right| 200px | Yearbook photo from Lewis and Clark high school in Spokane.]]

The family moved to Spokane where he worked for the WERA fo a year and then taught in Spokane grade schools for six years. Between 1942 and 1956, Harl taught math at Lewis and Clark High School. After that he was a bailiff for the Spokane County Superior Court for ten years.

“Memorial services for Harl P. Aldrich, 93, a former Reardan School Supt., take place Monday, July 23 at the Westminster Congregational Church, Spokane. Aldrich died at the Madison South Nursing Home in Spokane after a six month illness. He first came to Reardan in 1914 as a coach and a manual training teacher. He left in 1916 but returned in 1923 to fill the Supt. position. Aldrich organized and coached Reardan’s first girls’ basketball team in 1923, as well as the first football team in 1926. Aldrich left Reardan in 1934 and would have observed his 94th birthday. He and his wife, Lucy, celebrated their 69th wedding anniversary May 29. Survivors include his wife, Lucy, at their Spokane home; one daughter, Elsie Towner of Veradale; two sons, Harl Aldrich, Jr., of Concord, Mass, and Lynn Aldrich of Prescott Valley, AZ; 10 grandchildren and ten great grandchildren.” (Davenport Times: 7-19-1984)

Most of the information and photographs for this article was taken from A branch of the Aldrich family in America: In the footsteps of a line of descent from George Aldrich, from Massachusetts to Rhode Island, New York, the Midwest and Washington State, January 1, 1996, Harl P. Aldrich [Jr.]

Why my fascination with the Aldrich family?
[[file: 1988-harl-adrich-home-reardan-1923-1934-1600.jpg| right | 200px| Adrich home in Reardan between 1923 and 1934 (taken in 1988) [believe this is 115 W Summit Ave.]]

When I went to MIT, I was told by my Aunt Evelyn Plaster Bafus and Grandmother Plaster to look up Harl Aldrich, Jr., when I was there. I could not really understand their facination with him. They had said that the Ekins had kept up with them, but at least to me in the 1970s, I didn’t understand the Ekins relationship to Reardan. Evelyn graduated in 1936, just two years after Elise, so it is obvious that they knew each other. Lynn should have been in my mother and aunt Doris' class. When I met with Lynn, he could not remember the Plaster twins and I cannot remember my mother ever mentioning Lynn. Part of that is because the Aldrichs left Reardan when they were in the seventh grade, so the not remember part is not too difficult to fathom. But the point was that I should stop by the firm and look up Harl Aldrich. I was having trouble understanding why since he left Reardan 40 years before.

The headquarters for Haley & Aldrich at the time occupied a three story brick building in Kendall Square just off the MIT campus and across the street from the subway stop used by MIT. It was an imposing structure and a bit intimidating to a shy college student. Eventually I worked up enough courage for a visit. The day that I was there I met with Lynn, who was the office manager at the time. Harl was not avaiable. It was suprising to me that he said that he knew that I was at MIT and he had fond memories. My guess is the memories of Reardan run deep.

When the class of 1925 had their 50th reunion, Harl Sr. and Lucy came out to the Community day celebration.

When my father died in 1985, one of the sympathy cards came from Lucy Aldrich and Elise Towner. They knew and remembered my mother.
[[category: Harl Aldrich, Sr.]]
[[category: Aldrich]]
[[category: superintendent]]

Harl Aldrich, Sr.

2023-01-01T20:24:03Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with " Lucy and Harl Aldrich wedding in 1915 Harl Aldrich, Sr. was born in 1890 in Indiana. He graduated from Purdue University in 1914 with Bachelor of Science in Electrical Engineering. Although he had a job offer to work at Westinghouse, his father persuaded him to go into teaching. He looked to the west and took a job at Reardan as a manual training [wood shop] teacher and athletic coach. A year later he..."

Eagle Scouts

2023-01-01T16:46:58Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Reardan has had an active Boy Scout Troop off and on since the 1940s. As a troop, it has produced [a number of] eagle scouts. This is complicated a bit in that Long Lake and Edwall also had troops and Reardan had an independent Explorer post. This is an attempt to enumerate all of the eagle scouts who attended Reardan High School.

Note that the Edwall troop 209 only had five members in 1964-1965, but produced four eagle scouts.

{| class="wikitable"
|+ Eagle Scouts from Reardan, Edwall and Long Lake Troops
|-
! Year !! Class !! Name !! Photo
|-
| 1962 || 1964 || Howard Thiemens || [[file: 1962-dan-print-00529-scout-eagle-howard-thiemens-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| 1962 || 1964 || Tom Rux (Reardan Explorer Post 82) || [[file: 1962-dan-print-00530-scout-eagle-tom-rux-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1964 || Bob Simpson (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unknown || 1964 || Joe Williams (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unknown || 1964 || Terry Huffman (Long Lake Troop Unknown) || Amis
|-
| Unknown || 1964 || Clay Soliday (Long Lake Troop Unknown) || Amis
|-
| 1965 || 1965 || Jerry Cross (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| 1965 || 1965 || Ron Fritsch (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unknown || 1966 || Dana Bonstrom || [[file: 1964-dan-print-00532-scout-eagle-dana-bonstrom-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1969 || Bruce Johnson || [[file: 1968-dan-print-00534-scout-eagle-bruce-johnson-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1970 || Lee Carstens || [[file: 1969-dan-print-00535-scout-eagle-lee-carstens-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1970 || Jay Johnson || [[file: 1970-dan-print-00536-scout-eagle-jay-johnson-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1970<ref>transferred to Cheney High School</ref> || Dave Gray, Jr. || Amis
|-
| 1982 || Unknown || Dan J. Plaster || [[file: 1982-dan-print-00539-scout-eagle-dan-j-plaster-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1983 || Phillip Lillengreen || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00547-scout-eagle-phillip-lillengreen-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1983 || Joe Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00558-scout-eagle-joe-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| 1984 || 1984 || Pat Beitey || [[file: 1984-dan-print-00559-scout-eagle-pat-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1985 || Tom Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00550-scout-eagle-tom-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1985 || Tom Lane || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00548-scout-eagle-tom-lane-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1986 || Vance Lillengreen || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00555-scout-eagle-vance-lillengreen-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1986 || Dan Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00543-scout-eagle-dan-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1991 || Jeff Pietz || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00544-scout-eagle-jeff-pietz-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Brenden Cesaratto || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00542-scout-eagle-brenden-cesaratto-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Zeke Keeble || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00556-scout-eagle-zeke-keeble-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Unknown 1 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00551-scout-eagle-unknown1-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Unknown 2 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00552-scout-eagle-unknown2-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Unknown 3 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00553-scout-eagle-unknown3-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|}
[[category: Eagle Scouts]]

Category:Reardan Businesses

2023-01-01T16:42:36Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

This page contains links to businesses in and around Reardan over the years.

'''This page needs a lot of work in identify businesses and the years that they operated. Some additional businesses include:

* Dave Gray Union 76 Oil Distributor
* Highway Cafe -->Ranch House
* Red Rooster Restaurant --> Ranch House
* Bonstrom's Tavern
* Tilly's --> Bonstrom's Tavern
* Bubba's Tavern --> Bonstrom's Tavern
* Speed Trap Cafe --> Bonstrom's Tavern
* Edwall Chemical 1953
* Valley Wide Cooperative
* McCall Farm Chemical
* McGregor Farm Chemical (not sure. I thought this succeeded McCall)
* High Line Grain Growers
* Garber Insurance and Real Estate
* Reardan Hotel and Restaurant
* Hanel's Pioneer Drug Store
* McCoy's Drug Drug Store
* Beauty Salon
* Clayton's Barber Shop
* Roy Warren Barber Shop
* Bartholomew Barber Shop
* Bartholomew Blacksmith
* Zunker Blacksmith
* King Blacksmith
* Reardan Farmers State Bank
* Reardan Exchange Bank
* Reardan Branch of Old National Bank
* Reardan Branch of U. S. Bank
* Harness Shop
* Millinery Shop
* Livery Stable on Lake Street
* Livery Stable on Broadway Avenue
* Restaurant on Lake Street
* Schultz's Saloon
* Schultz's Ford Dealership
* Saloon
* Bath and Barbershop
* Hotel on South Lake Street
* General Store on Lake and Broadway
* Thing Hotel
* Belle's Trailer Court
* Piper's Farm Toys
* R Store
* Rejuvenations
* Sewing Shop
* Ed Jones Mobil Service Station
* Kelso Farm Repair Shop
* Northern Pacific Railroad
* Clayton's Barber Shop
* Hard's Funeral Parlor
* Larry's Phillips 66 Service Station
* Hansen Lumber
* Hansen Hardware
* Denson Hardware
* Driscolls General Merchandise
* Raymer's Hardware Store
* Lincoln Mutual #2 (Groceries, Appliances, Gas, Oil Distributor)
* The telephone companies before General Telephone (in the fifties??) that operated the switchboard near the present post office
* Century Link Telephone
* Missing Link Telephone (The telephone company(ies) between General and Century Link)
* Gus Lutzhoft Hardware and Farm Implements
* Reardan Gazette
* various Apartments (Barnard, Rinker, Zier, ??)
* Loyd McLain Excavation
* Carl Rogers Excavation
* Chuck Eastman Sr. Excavation
* Rogers Laundromat
* Colville's Laundromat
* Dottie Lee Eggs
* Lee Hauenstein contracting
* Bakery south of community hall on Lake Street
* Bowling Alley south of railroad tracks on Lake Street
* Washington Grain and Milling company
* Washington Water Power Co. yard operations for Little Falls Dam construction
* Washington Water Power Co/Avista Corporation Long Lake Dam operations
* Washington Water Power Co/Avista Corporation Little Falls Dam operations
* Private power company before WWP (1902? to about 1910)
* Lemleys Saloon (Edwall and Reardan)
* Jewelery store in Bodie Building
* Dentists in Bodie Building and Memorial Clinic
* Doctors
'''

Eagle Scouts

2022-12-29T15:49:31Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Reardan has had an active Boy Scout Troop off and on since the 1940s. As a troop, it has produced [a number of] eagle scouts. This is complicated a bit in that Long Lake and Edwall also had troops and Reardan had an independent Explorer post. This is an attempt to enumerate all of the eagle scouts who attended and graduated from Reardan High School.

Note that the Edwall troop 209 only had five members in 1964-1965, but produced four eagle scouts.

{| class="wikitable"
|+ Eagle Scouts from Reardan, Edwall and Long Lake Troops
|-
! Year !! Class !! Name !! Photo
|-
| 1962 || 1964 || Howard Thiemens || [[file: 1962-dan-print-00529-scout-eagle-howard-thiemens-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| 1962 || 1964 || Tom Rux (Reardan Explorer Post 82) || [[file: 1962-dan-print-00530-scout-eagle-tom-rux-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1964 || Bob Simpson (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unknown || 1964 || Joe Williams (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unknown || 1964 || Terry Huffman (Long Lake Troop Unknown) || Amis
|-
| Unknown || 1964 || Clay Soliday (Long Lake Troop Unknown) || Amis
|-
| 1965 || 1965 || Jerry Cross (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| 1965 || 1965 || Ron Fritsch (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unknown || 1966 || Dana Bonstrom || [[file: 1964-dan-print-00532-scout-eagle-dana-bonstrom-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1969 || Bruce Johnson || [[file: 1968-dan-print-00534-scout-eagle-bruce-johnson-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1970 || Lee Carstens || [[file: 1969-dan-print-00535-scout-eagle-lee-carstens-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1970 || Jay Johnson || [[file: 1970-dan-print-00536-scout-eagle-jay-johnson-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1970<ref>transferred to Cheney High School</ref> || Dave Gray, Jr. || Amis
|-
| 1982 || Unknown || Dan J. Plaster || [[file: 1982-dan-print-00539-scout-eagle-dan-j-plaster-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1983 || Phillip Lillengreen || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00547-scout-eagle-phillip-lillengreen-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1983 || Joe Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00558-scout-eagle-joe-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| 1984 || 1984 || Pat Beitey || [[file: 1984-dan-print-00559-scout-eagle-pat-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1985 || Tom Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00550-scout-eagle-tom-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1985 || Tom Lane || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00548-scout-eagle-tom-lane-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]|-
|-
| Unknown || 1986 || Vance Lillengreen || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00555-scout-eagle-vance-lillengreen-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1986 || Dan Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00543-scout-eagle-dan-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || 1991 || Jeff Pietz || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00544-scout-eagle-jeff-pietz-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Brenden Cesaratto || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00542-scout-eagle-brenden-cesaratto-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Zeke Keeble || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00556-scout-eagle-zeke-keeble-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Unknown 1 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00551-scout-eagle-unknown1-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Unknown 2 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00552-scout-eagle-unknown2-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|-
| Unknown || Unknown || Unknown 3 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00553-scout-eagle-unknown3-1600.jpg|x200px|right]]
|}
[[category: Eagle Scouts]]

File:1959-beautification-031c-sewer-line-ready-to-cover.JPG

2022-12-29T00:46:33Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Sewer line ready to cover. Photograph scraped from the Beautification Scrapbooks held by Reardan Memorial Library.

[[Category:Sewer]]

File:1961-beautification-080a-prepping-concrete-forms-for-park-sidewalk.JPG

2022-12-29T00:45:58Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Prepping concrete forms for park sidewalk. Photograph scraped from the Beautification Scrapbooks held by Reardan Memorial Library.

[[Category:City Park]]

File:1961-beautification-078b-jail-demolition.JPG

2022-12-29T00:45:36Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Reardan jail demolition. Photograph scraped from the Beautification Scrapbooks held by Reardan Memorial Library.

[[Category:Jail]]
[[Category:Water Tower]]
[[Category:Siren]]

Eagle Scouts

2022-12-28T18:48:15Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Reardan has had an active Boy Scout Troop off and on since the 1940s. As a troop, it has produced [a number of] eagle scouts. This is complicated a bit in that Long Lake and Edwall also had troops and Reardan had an independent Explorer post. This is an attempt to enumerate all of the eagle scouts who attended and graduated from Reardan High School.

Note that the Edwall troop 209 only had five members in 1964-1965, but produced four eagle scouts.

{| class="wikitable"
|+ Eagle Scouts from Reardan, Edwall and Long Lake Troops
|-
! Year !! Class !! Name !! Photo
|-
| 1962 || 1964 || Howard Thiemens || [[file: 1962-dan-print-00529-scout-eagle-howard-thiemens-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| 1962 || 1964 || Tom Rux (Reardan Explorer Post 82) || [[file: 1962-dan-print-00530-scout-eagle-tom-rux-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1964 || Bob Simpson (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unk || 1964 || Joe Williams (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unk || 1964 || Terry Huffman (Long Lake Troop Unk) || Amis
|-
| Unk || 1964 || Clay Soliday (Long Lake Troop Unk) || Amis
|-
| 1965 || 1965 || Jerry Cross (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| 1965 || 1965 || Ron Fritsch (Edwall Troop 209) || Amis
|-
| Unk || 1966 || Dana Bonstrom || [[file: 1964-dan-print-00532-scout-eagle-dana-bonstrom-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1969 || Bruce Johnson || [[file: 1968-dan-print-00534-scout-eagle-bruce-johnson-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1970 || Lee Carstens || [[file: 1969-dan-print-00535-scout-eagle-lee-carstens-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1970 || Jay Johnson || [[file: 1970-dan-print-00536-scout-eagle-jay-johnson-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1970<ref>transferred to Cheney High School</ref> || Dave Gray, Jr. || Amis
|-
| 1982 || Unk || Dan J. Plaster || [[file: 1982-dan-print-00539-scout-eagle-dan-j-plaster-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1983 || Phillip Lillengreen || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00547-scout-eagle-phillip-lillengreen-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1983 || Joe Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00558-scout-eagle-joe-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| 1984 || 1984 || Pat Beitey || [[file: 1984-dan-print-00559-scout-eagle-pat-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1985 || Tom Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00550-scout-eagle-tom-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1985 || Tom Lane || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00548-scout-eagle-tom-lane-1600.jpg|x200px]]|-
|-
| Unk || 1986 || Vance Lillengreen || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00555-scout-eagle-vance-lillengreen-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1986 || Dan Beitey || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00543-scout-eagle-dan-beitey-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || 1991 || Jeff Pietz || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00544-scout-eagle-jeff-pietz-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || Unk || Brenden Cesaratto || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00542-scout-eagle-brenden-cesaratto-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || Unk || Zeke Keeble || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00556-scout-eagle-zeke-keeble-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || Unk || Unknown1 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00551-scout-eagle-unknown1-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || Unk || Unknown2 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00552-scout-eagle-unknown2-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|-
| Unk || Unk || Unknown3 || [[file: 0000-dan-print-00553-scout-eagle-unknown3-1600.jpg|x200px]]
|}
[[category: Eagle Scouts]]

Lapray Bridge

2022-11-30T01:57:34Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "{{Draft}} The Colville Road| was established in 1860 to move goods from Walla Walla to Fort Colville. The road crossed the Spokane River at a spot called the Winding Ford. This was about 3 miles upstream of the site of Long Lake Dam. Fording the river really only works in very low water situations, so James Monaghan established a ferry service there. In 1865, he built a toll bridge. He was one of the earliest white residents of area and lived peacefully among the In..."

{{Draft}}
The [[Colville Road|Colville Road]] was established in 1860 to move goods from Walla Walla to Fort Colville. The road crossed the Spokane River at a spot called the Winding Ford. This was about 3 miles upstream of the site of Long Lake Dam. Fording the river really only works in very low water situations, so James Monaghan established a ferry service there. In 1865, he built a toll bridge.

He was one of the earliest white residents of area and lived peacefully among the Indians. His nearest neighbors were a hundred miles away in the Palouse.

From [https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/85271405/joseph-lapray findagrave.com]:
"Joseph Lapray was born in Montreal, Canada, Jan 3, 1834. At the age of 14 he graduated from Catholic College of Montreal and struck out on his own coming to the United States. Finding a friend in Charles H Montgomery they came to Colville together in 1859. It was to be only a temporary stop, since both were interested in mining on the Frazier River Valley in Canada. It was not to be. Lapray first bought property near Colville, but in 1874 moved to Walker's Prairie west of the present town of Springdale. There he homesteaded 160 acres and then added to that until he owned over a thousand acres. He engaged in the cattle business, having a herd of over 600 head. In 1882 Lapray had a sawmill in Lincoln County He was a friend of James Monaghan, who had built a bridge across the Spokane River, Lapray purchased the bridge and with lumber from his sawmill rebuilt the bridge. He then collected toll for persons using it. The bridge became famous as the Lapray bridge, which was the only crossing point of the Spokane River on the old military road between Walla Walla and Fort Colville. Lapray later sold the bridge to Stevens County. It was used for many years, until a dam built on the Spokane River backed up water that necessitated the demise of the bridge. Meanwhile, Lapray distinguished himself with his business ability, public spirit and force of character. He was a member of the Republican party and served one term as treasurer of Stevens County. He was an active member of the Catholic church. He passed away in 1900. In 1872 Lapray married Roseline Miganault, a native of France. To this union were born six children: Alice, Edward, Joseph, George, Corinne and Florence." (The People... Who Will Live in Colville Area History... 1989 Centennial celebration book. page 97)

Lapray also established a large orchard on a bench of the Spokane River.

In 1894 the commissioners of Spokane and Stevens County decided that a free bridge was more suitable to its citizens. When the Spokane county commissioners had approved the construction, they found that the Stevens county had rejected the proposal. Opposition to the bridge was a group of merchants who wanted to keep the trade locally and not have their neighbors easily accessing Spokane and their merchants. Eventually the bridge was built a short distance upstream of the ferry. In 1908, the bridge had to be replaced.

The construction of Long Lake dam again threatened the LaPray bridge, but this time it was to be more permanent. The bridge was to be about 40 feet under water when Long Lake was filled. Washington Water Power Company purchased the bridge from Spokane and Stevens counties and built a new road and bridge to cross the river below the dam. The bridge was between Lincoln and Stevens counties. This bridge used the structure of the railroad bridge built to supply building materials to the dam from Springdale.

Two of the three spans were salvaged. One of these went into a bridge on the lower river parkway near Natatorium park.
{{Draft}}

Colville Road

2022-11-21T22:24:39Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "===COLVILLE ROAD--oldest of the pioneer highways=== By Dr. C. S. Kingston Professor Emeritus of History, Eastern Washington College. This was in the Spokesman-Review 15 July 1951 THE Colville road is the oldest of the pioneer highways; Indians, explorers and missionaries had made their way from the Snake river north along the old trails west of the Palouse to the Spokane and then on by the way of the Chamokane Creek valley, a natural route to the Colville valley, whic..."

===COLVILLE ROAD--oldest of the pioneer highways===

By Dr. C. S. Kingston Professor Emeritus of History, Eastern Washington College.

This was in the Spokesman-Review 15 July 1951

THE Colville road is the oldest of the pioneer highways; Indians, explorers and missionaries had made their way from the Snake river north along the old trails west of the Palouse to the Spokane and then on by the way of the Chamokane Creek valley, a natural route to the Colville valley, which leads on to the Columbia river at Kettle Falls. Not only did the terrain indicate the route in a general way, but it seemed to fit into the travel needs of both the Indians and the whites. There were some variations; the Spokane House traders followed an Indian trail on the north bank of the Spokane river to reach the Colville trailsa route which David Thompson went over several times.

This old route was first used as a military road in 1259, the same year that Mullan's work was started but the road that he planned in that year was abandoned when it was found that it would be impracticable to go around Lake Coeur d'Alene on the south side and it was not until 1860 that work was undertaken along the route which became the historic Mullan Road.
From the Snake river to Cow creek, a distance of 25 miles, the Colville and the Mullan roads were identical, but here they diverged. The Mullan road turned northeastward to the Spokane river where Antoine Plante's ferry furnished a crossing, while the Colville road went on to the north past Sprague lake, which David Thompson saw in 1811. From here the road passed through southeastern Lincoln and northwestern Spokane counties. After leaving Rock creek and Willow springs, a well-known camping place, it ran about 5 miles west of Deep creek in section 29. Twp. 25 N., R. 40 EWM [just west of the West Deep Creek Grange Hall], - crossed Coulee creek at the forks and on to the "Winding Ford" in the Spokane River.

<nowiki>* * *</nowiki>

The establishment of Fort Colville and the Colville Military road were both developments that grew out of the Indian wars of 1855-58. Although the Indians of north Washington had not taken part before 1858 in the hostilities that began in 1855. their sympathies were on the side of the hostiles, as they keenly realized that the coming of large numbers of settlers endangered the way of life they had followed for uncounted generations.

In the fall of 1857, when the white population of the Colville valley was not more than 250, the increasing unfriendliness of the Indians brought about the organization of a voluntary local government and petitions asking for the location of a company of soldiers for the protection of the people in the valley were sent to the military authorities. In May, 1858, Lt. Col. Steptoe, commandant at Fort Walla Walla, decided to examine the situation in the region north of the Snake: but he was stopped and defeated in an engagement near Rosalia by a combined force of Spokane. Coeur d'Alene and Palouse Indians.

The next clash between Indians and whites occurred in the Okanogan country when a party of 167 miners and packers on their way to the Fraser river gold diggings were stopped at McLoughlin canyon by the Indians, and three white men were killed. The party. however, outflanked the Indian position and went on to the mining country north of the international border. Then in September of the same year, 1858, Colonel Wright, with a large and well-equipped force, invaded the Spokane country, defeated the Indians in open field .engagements, destroyed their herds of horses. took hostages, and hung a number of Indians who were charged with the murders of civilians and other atrocities.

After the suppression of Indian resistance it was decided to establish army posts in strategic locations to maintain peaceful relations between the Indians and the whites. One of these locations was the Colville valley. In the spring of 1859 Maj. Pinkney Lougenbeel, with two companies of infantry, marched from Walla Walla to the Colville valley and constructed the buildings for a four-company army post on Mill creek about three miles from the present city of Colville. This was called Fort Colville, U. S. A., and is not to be confused with Fort Colville of the Hudson's Bay company, which was on the Columbia. river some 15 miles distant. During the winter of 1859- 60 two more companies of soldiers that had been detailed to protect the engineers of the Boundary commission were also quartered at Fort Colville, together with the Boundary commission engineers.

A few hundred yards from Fort Colville there grew up a little satellite town that was known as Pinkney City or Pinkneyville, from the first name of Major Longenbeel. The name was The author, Dr. Kingston. changed to "Fort Colville" in 1868, but there was something in the name "Pinkney City" that has kept it alive to the present day, although there is nothing there today--hardly a wide spot in the road--to remind the passer-by that here was once the county seat of old Spokane county when in the early 1860s it extended from the Columbia river to the Rocky mountains.

A correspondent of the '''Pacific Tribune''' (Olympia) of July 8. 1865, stated that about 60 families were living in the valley at that time. Of the town he wrote: "Pinkney City, the county seat, located on a tributary of the Colville, deserves a passing notice. The town contains 15 or 20 houses. three stores, one saloon, brewery and a blacksmith shop. Churches and schools have not yet come into fashion...

...The present permanent population of the place consists of about 10 whites, 10 Indians, the same number of Chinamen and from 75 to 100 Cayuse horses. During winter, however, it is usu- ally the headquarters of quite a mining population from the Kootenai and Columbia, at which time it is said to be very lively..."
It was the trading center for the northeastern part of the territory and its merchants supplied the needs of both the settlers and the soldiers at the post. Goods sold here were bought from wholesale dealers, brought up the Columbia in river steamboats, unloaded at Wallula, the river port of Walla Walla, and then carried on wagons--sometimes on pack mules--all the way to Colville, a distance of some 250 miles.

A surprising amount of freight was carried to Pinkney City. '''The Statesman''' (September 23. 1864) mentions a wagon train of six-mule teams belonging to Ferguson & Co. bringing in 50,000 pounds of merchandise, and that this was one of six trips during the season. The Colville settlement was far away and isolated; consequently, transportation costs were heavy. W. P. Winans, one of the Colville merchants, records paying $1950 in 1863 on 13,000 pounds of merchandise from Wallula to Colville. This averages 15 cents a pound. In 1856 he states that he paid 124 cents a pound, or $250 a ton from Wallula to Colville and sold coffee at 75 cents a pound, sugar 50 cents, salt 25 cents, nails 40 cents, shot 50 cents, a spool of thread 25 cents and a paper of needles the same.

The long road to Walla Walla and Wallula was now known as the Colville Military road. Where improvements were necessary, soldiers were detailed for the work; but the crossing of the Spokane river was left to private enterprise. When the river was low the old "winding ford" provided a means, of crossing; but now, with the military establishment and the increasing growth of civilian population in the valley, a more dependable link in the line of communications was necessary. This meant, first, a regular ferry and later the building of a bridge.

The first ferry was put in by J. R. Bates in 1859 and ferry service was maintained by a succession of owners until 1867, when a toll bridge was completed. Authorization for this bridge had been granted by the territorial assembly to William Nix and James Monaghan in an act dated January 11, 1866. The property was sold, according to W. P. Winana, about 1875, to Joseph La Pray. who operated the bridge for many years. The site is now covered by the backwater from the Long Lake dam.

In the 1860s and 1870s the Colville military road from Walla Walla and Wallula continued to be the principal means by which the Colville valley and Fort Colville were supplied with merchandise and military requirements from the outside world. Some freight was hauled from White Bluffs, but most of the freight wagons were operated by men who had their homes either in the Colville valley or in the Walla Walla country, and they preferred the older route across the Snake river and thence northward.

The situation altogether changed in the 1880s with the building of the Northern Pacific railroad. The line reached Spokane Falls from the west in 1881, and this point now became the supply center for northeastern Washington. In that same year the old road from Cottonwood Creek south of Chewelah, which had been cut through the woods in 1867 by the inhabitants of the Colville valley to reach Spokane bridge was improved with some changes by detachments of the men from the fort, under the command of Captain Hunter, with John Helstetter as overseer who had laid out the original 14 years before. From Spokane Falls this road was shorter by several miles than the old military road by way of the La Pray bridge and Walker's Prairie.

Consequently, most of the freight and travel now crossed the Little Spokane by a bridge south of Chattaroy and then on past Loon lake on the height of land between the Spokane and Colville river drainage systems. This continued to be the freighting road until D. C. Corbin's Spokane Falls and Northern railroad was completed in 1889.
This was used as a military road in 1859, the year Mullan started his road.

This article is the second in -a series which Dr. Kingston has written for the Inland Empire Magazine. The first, on the 3Iu Ilan road, appeared in the July 1 issue. The next article will be on the Kentuck trail. All of the roads and trails covered in this series were the pioneer routes of this region, the forerunners of today's roads and highways. Readers are advised to save these maps and articles, affording as they do an excellent sidelight on region history. The author, professor emeritus of history at Eastern Washngton college, Cheney, is the dean of region historians.

THE SPOKESMAN-REVIEW. July 15, 1951

Early Public Land Survey System (PLSS) Plats

2022-11-21T18:26:57Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

The Public Land Survey System was set up by the Northwest Act of 1799. It provided a uniform method for describing land based on a grid aligned to a baseline. In Washington and Oregon the baseline is the Willamette Meridian which passes through Portland, OR. From there a grid is laid out to define townships, an approximately six mile by six mile square which is further divided into 36 sections, each approximately a mile on each side.

[[c:Systemic numbering in the Public Land Survey System.gif|thumb|400px|Illustration of the system from the National Atlas]]
[//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Systemic_numbering_in_the_Public_Land_Survey_System.gif]
The townships are numbered by their relative position from the William Meridian. Reardan itself is in a Township designated T25N R39E, which means Township 25 North Range 39 East, or the 25th row of townships north and the 39 column east of the Willamette meridian.

Sections are numbered in a special way, starting from the north east corner of the township is section 1. To the west of it are sections 2, 3, 4 ,5 and finally 6 on the western boundary of the township. The next section 7, is immediately south of section 6. The remaining sections are numbered in this serpentine fashion. Every section is physically adjacent to the sections numerically adjacent. This method of number is called [https://:en.wikipedia.org/Boustrophedon Boustrophedon].

The reason that the measurement is approximate if that the earth is round so that "parallel" north-south lines get closer together as you get closer to the poles. Typically the southeast corner of the township is laid out first and from there, the outline of the township is established and then the sections within the township. This is done astrologically or by determining position from the stars. The sections on the western and northern edges of the township are adjusted to fit the astrological boundaries of the township, so these sections may not be one mile by one mile.

Around Reardan this is quite apparent in the boundary between townships in Range 24 N and Range 25N. There is an "adjustment" of the north-south section lines at this interface of about 100 feet. Also the northern sections of Range 24N are substantially larger than other sections making them approximately 1-5/8 mile by 1 mile. This happens again just south of Sprague between Range 20N and 21N. Here the shift is much greater and the size of the sections is reduced to a little over a half mile by a mile.

Reardan grid:
{| class="wikitable" styl="text-align:center;"
|+ Caption text
|-
! Township !! '''R37E''' !! '''R38E''' !! '''R39E''' !! '''R40E''' !! '''R41E''' !! '''R42E'''
|-
| '''T27N''' || || [[PLSS T27N R38E|T27N R38E]] || [[PLSS T27N R39E|T27N R39E]] || [[PLSS T27N R40E|T27N R40E]] || [[PLSS T27N R41E|T27N R41E]] ||
|-
| '''T26N''' || || [[PLSS T26N R38E|T26N R38E]] || [[PLSS T26N R39E|T26N R39E]] || [[PLSS T26N R40E|T26N R40E]] || [[PLSS T26N R41E|T26N R41E]] || [[PLSS T26N R42E|T26N R42E]]
|-
| '''T25N''' || || [[PLSS T25N R38E|T25N R38E]] || [[PLSS T25N R39E|T25N R39E]] || [[PLSS T25N R40E|T25N R40E]] || [[PLSS T25N R41E|T25N R41E]] ||
|-
| '''T24N''' || || [[PLSS T24N R38E|T24N R38E]] || [[PLSS T24N R39E|T24N R39E]] || [[PLSS T24N R40E|T24N R40E]] || ||
|-
| '''T23N''' || [[PLSS T23N R37E|T23N R37E]] || [[PLSS T23N R38E|T23N R38E]] || [[PLSS T23N R39E|T23N R39E]] || || ||
|-
| '''T22N''' || [[PLSS T22N R37E|T22N R37E]] || [[PLSS T22N R38E|T22N R38E]] || [[PLSS T22N R39E|T22N R39E]] || || ||
|}

WWII Casualties

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=== Casualties by Last Name ===

The following Reardan area service men lost their lives during World War II (Clicking on their name will bring up more information about the individual):
* [[ Francis Cottrell | Cottrell, Marion Francis]]
* [[ John "Jack" Finrow | Finrow, John H. "Jack"]]
* [[ Wayne Garber | Garber, Wayne]]
* [[ Frank Harder | Harder, Frank]]
* [[ Waldon Lathrom | Lathrom, Waldon]]
* [[ Gus Magnuson | Magnuson, Gus]]
* [[ Roger Mahrt | Mahrt, John Roger]]
* [[ Joe E. Mann | Mann, Joe E.]]
* [[ Phillip Plotts | Plotts, Phillip Edward]]
* [[ Robert Protherough | Protherough, Robert]]
* [[ Louis Schadegg | Schadegg, Louis George]]
* [[ Arthur Seeger | Seeger, Arthur]]
* [[ Albert Sikkenga | Sikkenga, Albert]]
* [[ Lewis Supinger | Supinger, Lewis]]
* [[ Kenneth Tyler | Tyler, Kenneth]]
* [[ Frederick Wollenberg | Wollenberg, Fred]]
* [[ Jack Zeimantz | Zeimantz, Jack]]
* [[ Philmer Zier | Zier, Philmer]]
* [[ Marvin Zwainz | Zwainz, Marvin]]

The Davenport Times-Tribune reported on the death of others that have more tenuous connection to the community.
* [[Robert Poole]]
* [[Walt Hopkins]]

=== Prisoners of War Held by Japanese ===

While not casualties, there were four men from the community that were held as Prisoners of War (POWs) by the Japanese. There was much written about the POWs generally, both at the time of their release and later follow ups. A story about [[Samuel Grashio Story Of Japanese POW Life |Major Samuel Grashio]] was published in the Davenport Times-Tribune after his escape from a prisoner of war camp and resumption of his duties at Gieger Field. The Spokesman-Review published a series of articles about a POW camp from the perspective of [[Achille Tisdelle Story Of Japanese POW Life | Major Achille C. Tisdelle]] which memtions [[Harold Proff| Dr. Harold Proff]].

The following community members were Prisoners of War held by the Japanese:
* [[ Cecil Cunningham | Cunningham, Cecil]]
* [[ Bill Darnold | Darnold, Bill]]
* [[ John Hickenbottom | Hickenbottom, John]]
* [[ Harold Proff | Proff, Dr. Harold]]

=== Timeline of Casualities ===
==== 1941 ====
* '''December 7''': Japan attacks Pearl Harbor.
* '''December 8''': [[John Hickenbottom | John Hickenbottom]], a civilian contractor, captured by Japanese as they capture Midway Island.
==== 1942 ====
* [[wikipedia:Japanese_invasion_of_Batan_Island| '''December 8, 1941''' Japanese Invasion of Batan]] – [[wikipedia:Battle_of_Corregidor| '''May 8, 1942''' Battle of Corregidor]]: [[Cecil Cunningham | Cecil Cunningham]], [[ Harold Proff | 1Lt. Dr. Harold Proff ]], and [[Bill Darnold | Bill Darnold]] captured by the Japanese in the Fall of the Philippines. Individual capture dates are not known. [Some 23,000 US and 100,000 Filipino soldiers were captured or killed during the invasion.]
* '''April 18''': Doolittle Raid on Tokyo.
* '''August 5''': [[Frederick Wollenberg | Lt. (J.G.) Fred Wollenberg]] is missing in action during the [[wikipedia:quadalcanal_campaign| Battle of Guadalcanal]] in the British Solomon Islands. This was the first major land battle in WWII for the US.

==== 1943 ====
* '''March 8''': [[Philmer Zier]], a navy radioman on a bomber out of Seattle, was lost at sea.
* '''July 30''': [[Arthur Seeger | SSgt Arthur Seeger]], in army signal corps, died.
* '''August 17''': [[Robert Protherough | Lt. Robert Protherough]], a marine pilot, was killed in a training accident.
* '''October 6''': [[Lewis Supinger | Gunner's Mate Second Class Lewis Supinger]] was killed in action off the Solomon Islands.
* '''October 26''': [[Phillip Plotts]], navy mechanic, killed in aircraft crash.
* '''October 30''': [[Francis Cottrell | 2Lt. Francis Marion Cottrell]], son of a former Edwall Methodist minister, drowned in a training accident off Santa Barbara.
* '''October 30''': [[Gus Magnuson | Lt. Gus Magnuson]], valedictorian of Reardan high school class of 1939, died from poliomylitis in the hospital in Santa Barbara.
==== 1944 ====
* '''January''': [[ Frank Harder | 1Lt. Frank Harder]], Army Air Corps pilot, killed in action over Italy.
* '''June 6''': [[wikipedia:Normandy_landings D-Day| Allied invasion of Europe]].
* '''July 22''' [[ Kenneth Tyler | Cpl. Kenneth Tyler]], a marine, was killed in action during the [[wikipedia:Battle_of_Guam_(1944)|invasion of Guam (Second battle of Guam)]] on July 22.
* '''July 24''' [[Jack Zeimantz |Pvt. Jack II. Zeimantz]], 26, was killed in New Guinea.
* '''September''': [[wikipedia:Operation Market Garden|Operation Market Garden]]
* '''September 18''': [[ Joe E. Mann | Pfc. Joe Mann]], a paratrooper with the 101st Airbourne division, was killed in action in the Netherlands during [[wikipedia:Operation Market Garden|Operation Market Garden]].
* '''September 28''': [[ Albert Sikkenga | 1Lt. Albert L. Sikkenga]], an army air corps pilot, was killed over Germany.
* '''October 6''': [[Marvin Zwainz | Lt. Marvin Zwainz]], former resident, killed in France.
* '''October 24''': [[ John "Jack" Finrow | Lt. (J.G.) John "Jack" Finrow]], a navy bomber pilot, reportedly was killed in the [[wikipedia:Battle of the Philippine Sea|Battle of the Philippine Sea]]. Based on date, it is more likely he died in the [[wikipedia:Battle of Leyte Gulf Battle|Battle of Leyte Gulf Battle]].

* '''October 29''': [[Louis Schadegg |1Lt. Louis Schadegg]], son of a former school teacher and a medical paratrooper with the 101st Airborne Division, was killed in action in the Netherlands.
* '''December''': [[wikipedia:Battle of the Bulge|Battle of the Bulge]].

==== 1945 ====
* '''January 3''': [[Wayne Garber | Ensign Wayne Garber]], nephew of Charles Garber and a Navy bomber pilot, was killed while stationed in England, probably on flight mission to support [[wikipedia:Battle of the Bulge|Battle of the Bulge]].
* '''March 22''': Allied Invasion of Germany.
* '''March 28''': [[ Waldon Lathrom | Pvt. Waldon Lathrom]], field artillery, was killed in Luzon, Philippines.
* '''May 8''': Victory in Europe (V-E Day).
* '''May 27''': [[ Roger Mahrt | Lt. Roger Mahrt]], Reardan high school valedictorian and army air corps navigator, listed as missing in action after his plane crashed into the sea on return from a mission over Indo China [now Vietnam].
* '''August 6''': [[wikipedia:Atomic bombings of_Hiroshima and Nagasaki| US atomic bombing of Hirosima]].
* '''August 9''': [[wikipedia:Atomic bombings of_Hiroshima and Nagasaki| US atomic bombing of Nagasaki]].
* '''August 15''': Victory in Japan (V-J Day).
* '''September''': Japanese POWs [[ John Hickenbottom ]], [[ Cecil Cunningham ]], [[ Harold Proff | Dr. Harold Proff]], and [[Bill Darnold ]] were liberated.
==== 1946 ====
* '''April 18''': [[ Roger Mahrt | Lt. Roger Mahrt]], an army air corps navigator, was declared dead.

Things To Do

2022-11-20T22:40:51Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: /* Work Items to prepare wiki to bring it up[edit | edit source] */

=== Work Items to prepare wiki to bring it up ===

* convert all pages of the current Hugo project
** [ ] World War II
** [ ] Effect of WWII
** [ ] Cold War
** [ ] Time-line (and add links where possible
** [ ] Miscellaneous
** [ ] White Bluff Trail
** [ ] Colville Military Trail
** [ ] Early PLSS maps for Reardan.. [ ] make a list [ ] download them
** [ ] Reardan Memorial Library
** [ ] Reardan Beautification
** [ ] Photographs
** [ ] Photo Stories
** [ ] The School ... maybe a timeline
** [ ] Reardan Royalty
** [ ] Pioneer Stories
** [ ] Mule Days
** [ ] Otto's Photos
** [ ] Aldrich family, Harl [ ] Sr, [ ] Jr. [ ] Lynn, [ ] Elise
** [ ] Father Breznick
** [ ] Class of 1909
** [ ] 1918 Car Show
** [ ] Dan Plaster Home Movies
** [ ] School District maps
* build tool chain to load documents and photos to wiki
** NO convert md to wikitext... maybe use paradocs (paradocs isn't working, so use sed)
** [x] learn to use a wikibot to do some of this work, although mainly to add the initial pages, upload picts, etc.
** [ ] enhance the wikitext to include categories for wwii vets, vets, first-last, last-first, service branch, etc
** [ ] add links back to the main topic somehow
** [ ] add links to all referenced service people
** [ ] fix the picture links
* [ ] port the photos to the wiki
* [ ] purchase more room on the server
* [ ] move the wiki to the real server

=== Other work items[edit | edit source] ===

* [ ] convert Some south Reardan homesteads to the wiki format
* [ ] post all early Reardan township ownership info
* [ ] post Dan's 1960 photographs
* [ ] add categories to each photo to make them more searchable
* [ ] fix [[:Category:Pages with broken file links]]
* [ ] fix [[:Special:BrokenLinks]]

Reardan History Wiki:Privacy policy

2022-11-20T22:18:20Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "This site does not use cookies that track you. There is a cookie for a session token so you stayed logged in during a session. Any information posted to this site, including your identity, is available to anyone on the Internet, so be careful in what you post. If you post something without being logged in, your IP address is used instead of your login identity."

This site does not use cookies that track you. There is a cookie for a session token so you stayed logged in during a session.

Any information posted to this site, including your identity, is available to anyone on the Internet, so be careful in what you post. If you post something without being logged in, your IP address is used instead of your login identity.

User talk:Kirk

2022-11-20T16:47:26Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Modify this page to send messages or comments to Kirk Carlson. Remember that anyone can see what is posted to this page. Add your comments directly after this header so that the most recent changes are toward the top to the page. If you can find it, please include a Signature with timestamp from the source editing menu or by typing <nowiki>"--~~~"</nowiki>.

Needs

2022-11-20T16:38:01Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

With any website like this there are needs to make it better.
==== Missing and Incorrect Information ====
If you see something that you know is wrong or could be better, do something or say something. This feedback is necessary to make improvements. In many cases you can make the correction or add a perspective yourself. You may
contact [mailto:Kirk.Carlson@att.net?subject=Incorrect%20ReardanHistory.net%20Information kirk.carlson@att.net] or modify the page at [[User_talk:Kirk]].
==== Missing Photographs ====
In researching the history, there are facts that don't seem to add up. Sometimes a picture would help clarify the history. I assume that because I have access to lots of old photographs, you do too.

* Photographs of the first gym (directly south of Smith gym).
* Photographs of the back side of the first grade school and first high school.
* Photographs of the consolidated school houses, especially the Gravelle school.
* Photographs of girls basketball between 1923 and 1971.
* Photographs of football teams between 1926 and 1950.
* Any photograph of a historic place or event.
* Any photograph that tells a story.

User talk:Kirk

2022-11-20T16:36:50Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

Modify this page to send messages or comments to Kirk Carlson. Remember that anyone can see what is posted to this page.

Reardan History Wiki:About

2022-11-20T16:36:25Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

You can contact me at [mailto:kirk.carlson@att.net?subject=ReardanHistory.net kirk.carlson@att.net] or change the page [[User_talk:Kirk]] with questions or comments.

More information about this website can be found at [https://www.kirk.fun/about https://www.kirk.fun/about]

Wayne McLain

2022-11-11T15:19:50Z

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'''May 4, 1944 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Private Wayne McLain''', son of Mr. and Mrs. Tom McLain, is now stationed at Camp Barkley, Texas, where he is with a medical division of the army. He formerly was stationed at Fort Douglas. He has been in the service since February.
</blockquote>

'''June 22, 1944 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Pvt. Wayne McLain''', son of Mr. and Mrs. Tom McLain, writes his parents that he has been transferred for Camp Barkley, Texas to the Fitzsimons general hospital at Denver, Colo., He is with the medical corps and just finished a technical school course at the Texas base. He has been in the army since February.
</blockquote>

'''January 11, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Private Wayne McLain''' writes his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tom McLain, that he is now in France. He is with a medical corps unit and stationed in a hospital. He entered the service last February. He attended Reardan high school for a while, but completed his high school education at Edwall.
</blockquote>

'''September 13, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Private Wayne McLain''' arrived home Friday evening for a 30-day furlough with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tom McLain. He entered the service in February of last year and spent 10 months in France with the medical corps. At the end of his furlough, he reports to Fort Lewis and from there goes to a camp in Alabama.
</blockquote>

'''November 1, 1945 Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Private Wayne McLain''' left last week for Ft. Lewis and from there reported to Camp Sibert, Alabama, a redistribution center. He entered the service in Feb. 1944 and in May was sent to Europe. He served in France and Germany and wears three battle stars. Private McLain is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Tom McLain.
</blockquote>

'''November 22, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
His brother '''Wayne McLain''' writes he has been transferred from Camp Sibert, Alabama, to Camp Atterbury, Indiana. He has served since February, 1943, ten months of which was in Europe with the infantry. He wears three battle stars and a rifleman's combat badge. They are the sons of Mr. and Mrs. Tom McLain.
</blockquote>

'''February 28, 1946 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
[partial '''T/5 Wayne McLain''' writes his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tom McLain that he is stationed at Camp Atterbury, Indiana. He has served since February, 1943, ten months of which was in Europe with the infantry. He wears three battle stars and a rifleman's combat badge.]
</blockquote>

'''May 23, 1946 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Sergeant Wayne McLain''' arrived home Monday night after receiving his discharge. He was with the medical department of ...Indiana. Sgt. McLain served 27 months. He is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Tom McLain.
</blockquote>
{{DEFAULTSORT: Lastname, Firstname}}
[[category: WWII Veteran]]

Carter Amundson

2022-11-11T15:17:51Z

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'''December 3, 1942 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Carter B. [Amundson]''' of McDill Field, Florida, has been promoted to the rank of technical sergeant. He is with the ground grew of the air corps and is the son of Mrs. [Lara Amundson] and a grandson of Mrs. E. F. Carter.
</blockquote>

'''March 11, 1943 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Technical Sergeant Carter B. Amundson''', who is stationed at Lake Charles, La., is spending a five day furlough with his mother, Mrs. L. Amundson and grandparents. Mr. and Mrs. E. F. Carter.
</blockquote>

'''March 18, 1943 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Mr. and Mrs. E. F. Carter, Mrs. Lura Amundson and '''Technical Sergeant Carter Amundson''' spent Sunday with relatives in Spokane. Sergeant Amundson left Tuesday of this week for Lake Charles, La., after spending a week with his mother and grandparents.
</blockquote>

'''August 16, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Technical Sergeant Carter B. Amundson''' arrived from Europe last Saturday for a 30-day visit with his mother, Mrs. Lura C. Amundson, and his grandfather, E. F. Carter. Carter has been overseas for twenty-six months and in the service for seven and a half years. He was awarded the Bronze [Star] medal and the Presidential citation and has six battle stars.
</blockquote>

'''November 14, 1991 Davenport Times'''
<blockquote>
'''Carter Bernard “Bud” Amundson'''

Funeral service for Carter B. Amundson, known as Bud by his friends, was held Saturday at Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Reardan with Pastor Gerhard Reitz officiating. Burial followed at the Reardan cemetery. The longtime Reardan resident passed away November 6 at Lincoln Hospital.

Born September 10, 1917 at Lead, SD, to Arthur and Lura Amundson, his early years were spent in Rapid City, SD. The family moved to Spokane in the late 1920s and he graduated from North Central High School there in 1936. He spent his summers at his grandfather's logging camp near Naples, Idaho.

Mr. Amundson enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1939 at Fort Bliss, Texas. Originally in a cavalry unit, he transferred to the Air Corps Unit and saw active duty in World War II in both the European and Japanese theaters. He was discharged in 1945 at Fort Lewis, Wash., and went on to operate a gas station in Reardan.

On August 22, 1946, he married Alvina Hansen at the Hansen family home in Reardan. Mr. Amundson rejoined the U.S. Air Force in 1949 at the Spokane Air Base. He saw active duty during the Korean War. During his military career, he was stationed at Travis Air Force Base, Vallejo, Calif.; Mountain Home AFB, Mountain Home, Idaho; Goose Bay, Labrador Canada; and Larson AFB, Moses Lake, Wash. Retiring from the Air Force in December 1963, Mr. Amundson was a recipient of the Bronze Star medal.

Mr. Amundson and his family moved to Reardan in January 1964. He was employed by the Lincoln County Sheriff's Office in Davenport as deputy until his retirement in June 1985. He was a longtime of the Reardan Volunteer Fire Department and the Reardan American Legion post.

He is survived by his son and daughter-in-law, John and Velma Amundson of Bowbells, ND; his daughter and son-in-law, Jean Marie and Reynold Schwabe of Kansas City, MO; and three grandchildren, Andra and Joshua Amundson of Bowbells, and Nathan Schwabe of Kansas City. He was preceded in death by his wife. Strate Funeral Home in Davenport handled the arrangements.
</blockquote>
{{DEFAULTSORT: Lastname, Firstname}}
[[category: WWII Veteran]]

Bill Anderson

2022-11-11T00:30:46Z

0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1:

'''September 22, 1938 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
C. E. Perryman, Smith-Hughes instructor for boys, took his livestock judging team to Davenport for the county judging contest held at the Lincoln County and 4-H Club fair. They placed first with only three schools competing. On Saturday they went to Pullman where the competed with twenty-five other teams, placing eighth. Those on the team are: [[Alfred Lukaszeski]], [[Marvin Evers]], and [[Melvin Bilyeu]] with [[Ellwood Landt]] and '''Bill Anderson''', alternates.
</blockquote>

'''December 15, 1938 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
The Reardan high school basketball team accompanied by their coach George Anderson, and Hugo E. Schulz, attended the Eastern College of Education-Washington state college basketball game at Cheney Tuesday night. Boys that went were Quentin Landreth, [[Carl Koeller]], [[Clarence Frounfelter]], [[Ross Edwards]], '''Bill Anderson''', [[Billy Colville]], [[Marvin Evers]], [[Keith Denson]], [[Pat Owens]], [[Marvin Zwainz]] and [[Joe Mann]].
</blockquote>

'''January 26, 1939 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Miss Dorothy Ekins honored Miss Lorraine Brooks and Miss Nadine Gehrke's birthdays Sunday with a skating party and at the same time celebrated her own birthday. Following the skating, refreshments were served at Miss Ekins home. Guests were [[Zelda Sprinkle]], Doris and Phyllis Plaster, Lorraine Brommer, Bertha Schwartz, Agnes Weyen, Marjorie and Lorraine Brooks, Nadine Gehrke, Dorthy Wegner, Ruth Ann Olson, Elaine Rowland, [[Marvin Evers]], [[Gus Magnuson]], [[Gordon Thomas]], [[Billy Colville]], '''Bill Anderson''', [[Clarence Frounfelter]], [[Roger Mahrt]], [[Jack Fleming]], [[Marvin Zwainz]] and Ed Eckert.
</blockquote>

'''April 13, 1939 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
==== Reardan Juniors Will Present Play ====
Cast members are: Dorothy Ekins, Agnes Weyen, Marijean Hopkins, Eilene Carstens, Hazel Krupke, [[Marvin Evers]], Vernon Carstens, [[Bill Colville]], [[Bill Paul]], '''Bill Anderson''', [[Ernest Weyen]].
</blockquote>

'''May 23, 1940 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Reardan Commencement Program'''

Commencement exercises for the Reardan high school class of 33 members will be held next Wednesday, May 29, in the Reardan school auditorium. Members of the class are: Phyllis Ahern, Alice Aman, '''Bill Anderson''', Helen Anyan, [[Melvin Bilyeu]], Lorraine Brommer, Eilene Carstens, Vernon Carstens, Marie Christensen, [[Bill Colville]], Georginia Daughty, Ardth Edwards, Dorothy Ekins, Phyllis Emley, [[Marvin Evers]], [[Clarence Frounfelter]], Agnes Hiss, Mary Jean Hopkins, Hazel Krupke, [[Ellwood Landt]], Eileen Lucht, Dorothy Meyer, Gladys Nunn, Margaret Olson, [[Bill Paul]], Dorothy Remmers, Samuel Remmers, Bertha Schwartz, [[Gordon Thomas]], [[Grace Travis]], Agnes Weyan, Carl Weyen, [[Ernest Weyen]].
* Trumpet quintet--'''Bill Anderson''', Eilene Carstens, [[Marvin Evers]], Mary Jean Hopkins, Lorraine Brommer
* Presentation of Gift--Vernon Carstens
* Trio--Agnes Weyen, Hazel Krupke, Dorothy Ekins
* Panel Discussion--Democracy--Dorothy Ekins, [[Marvin Evers]], Marie Christensen, Vernon Carstens, [[Gordon Thomas]], [[Bill Colville]], Agnes Weyen
* God Bless America--Senior Class
</blockquote>

'''April 10, 1941 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Vernon Carstens, [[Marvin Evers]], [[Bill Colville]], '''Bill Anderson''', [[Gordon Thomas]], [[Gus Magnuson]] and [[Victor Hyslop]] came home Friday from WSC for their spring vacation.
</blockquote>

'''May 8, 1941 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Mr. and Mrs. Robert '''Anderson''' and Mr. and Mrs. J. E. Bauman drove to Pullman Sunday where the Andersons visited their son, '''Bill''', a freshman at the college and who recently had an operation of appendicitis. He has made rapid recovery and was able to attend classes Monday. The Baumans visited their son-in-law and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Bell.
</blockquote>

'''November 27, 1941 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Many Reardan young people were home for the Thanksgiving vacation. Included were Lloyd Carstens and Lorraine Brooks from Kinman Business university, [[Gordon Thomas]], Mary Hanning, Doris and Phyllis Plaster, Quintin Landreth, [[Marvin Evers]], [[Billy Colville]], '''Bill Anderson''', [[Gus Magnuson]], [[Jack Fleming]], Vernon Carstens, Agnes Weyen, [[Zelda Sprinkle]] and [[Martha Joslin]] from Washington state college; Bertha and Lorraine Schwartz from the University at Seattle; Dorothy Ekins, Patricia Mahoney, Ruth Ann Olson and Harriet Mahrt from Spokane; Irene and Freda Wegner, Viola Walsh, Marcine Erdman, Helen Mahrt, and Elaine Rowland from Cheney.
</blockquote>

'''January 8, 1942 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Students returning to the various schools to resume their studies following the holiday vacation are: [[Billy Colville]], '''Billy Anderson''', [[Marvin Evers]], [[Gordon Thomas]], [[Victor Hyslop]], [[Gus Magnuson]], Quintin Landreth, [[Martha Joslin]], [[Zelda Sprinkle]], Mary Hanning, Doris Plaster, Phyllis Plaster and Agnes Weyan to Washington State College; Evelyn Schultz, the University of Idaho at Moscow; Helen Mahrt, Marcine Erdman, Freda Wegner, Irene Wegner and Elaine Rowland, Eastern Washington College of education at Cheney; Lorraine Brooks and Lloyd Carstens Kinman Business University; Nadine Gehrke, Kelsey Baird Secretarial school in Spokane and Harriet Mahrt, Spokane Telegraph school.
</blockquote>

'''June 11, 1942 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Students home from college are [[Victor Hyslop]], Vernon Carstens, [[Gus Magnuson]], [[Marvin Evers]], Agnes Weyen, [[Zelda Sprinkle]], Quintin Landreth, '''Bill Anderson''', Mary Hanning and [[Martha Joslin]].
</blockquote>

'''October 1, 1942 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Mr. and Mrs. William J. Colville entertained at dinner Wednesday night in honor of their son, [[Billy [Colville]]], who enlisted in the air corps. Guests invited were boys that had gone through high school together. The included [[Carl Koeller]], [[Clarence Frounfelter]], [[Jack Fleming]], [[Marvin Evers]], '''Bill Anderson''', and Vernon Carstens.
</blockquote>

'''November 26, 1942 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''William Anderson''' of Espanola, a graduate of Reardan high school and Joseph Rock of Wilbur, have been pledged to the Washington State college chapter of Alpha Zeta, national agricultural scholastic honorary. Outstanding juniors and seniors from the department of agriculture at the college are eligible for selection as members of this group.
</blockquote>

'''December 24, 1942 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Students home for the holiday vacation from WSC are Mary Hanning, [[Zelda Sprinkle]], Doris Plaster, Phyllis Plaster, [[Victor Hyslop]], Vernon Carstens, '''Bill Anderson''', [[Marvin Evers]], [[Jack Delamater]], [[Gus Magnuson]], and [[Glen Anderson]].
</blockquote>

'''April 22, 1943 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''William Anderson''' [pledged to Scabbard and Blade, ] a military honorary. Anderson is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson, and a graduate of the Reardan high school and a junior at the college.
</blockquote>

'''May 13, 1943 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Bill Anderson''', son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson, was awarded the Commandary Loyal Legion medal for outstanding first year advance student in the infantry unit at WSC.
</blockquote>

'''June 17, 1943 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Bill Anderson''', son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson, left Wednesday for Fort Douglas, Utah, from where he will be sent to Camp Hood, Texas, to attend officer's candidate school. He is with a tank destroyer division and had just finished his junior year at WSC where he was a cadet Lieutenant with the ROTC.
</blockquote>

'''August 5, 1943 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Private William Anderson''', who is with a tank destroyer division, has been transferred from Camp Hood, Texas to Camp McClellan, Ala. He is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson and is a graduate of the local high school
</blockquote>

'''November 4, 1943 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Private Billy Anderson''', who is with a tank destroyer unit of the army, has been transferred from Fort McClellan, Ala., to Pullman. Private Anderson is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson and finished his junior year at Washington State college when he entered the service. He spent Friday night with his parents here and had as his guests, Woody Shemwell of Walla Walla, who was a schoolmate with Private Anderson and also have been transferred from Fort McClellan, Ala., to Pullman
</blockquote>

'''February 24, 1944 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Pvt. Bill Anderson''' is still stationed with the army at Pullman.
</blockquote>

'''March 9, 1944 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Corporal William M. Anderson''' spent Tuesday until Friday with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson. He has been stationed at Pullman the past few months and has now been transferred to Fort Benning, Ga., for officers candidate training. He entered the service in June and was a junior at Washington state college.
</blockquote>

'''July 20, 1944 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Lt. Bill Anderson''' left Monday with his bride for Camp Livingston, La., where he will be stationed for further training. He received his commission from Fort Benning, Ga., last week and spent a few days visiting here with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson.
</blockquote>

'''September 21, 1944 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Lt. Bill Anderson''', son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson, has been transferred from Camp Livingston, La., to Camp Cooke [now Vandenberg AFB], Calif. Lt. Anderson received his commission in the infantry a few months ago and visited his parents at that time. He is a graduate of the local high school and at the time he entered into the service, he was a student at WSC.
</blockquote>

'''December 21, 1944 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Lt. and Mrs. Bill Anderson''' of San Luis, Obispo, Calif., are visiting his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson. Lt. Anderson received his commission as an infantryman at Fort Benning, Ga., in July. He is a graduate of the local high school and was attending WSC at the time of his entering the service. They left Wednesday.
</blockquote>

'''February 15, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson had word from their son, '''William Anderson''', was promoted to first lieutenant and was sent to New York for overseas assignment. He received his commission with the infantry at Fort Benning, Ga., last July. He has been at San Luis Obispo, Calif. His wife will return to her folks at Sunnyside.
</blockquote>

'''May 31, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''Lt. Bill Anderson''', who is with the infantry in the First army writes his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson, he was in the middle of Austria on V-E day. Prior to entering the army he was a student at Washington state college. His brother, Foster, is an aviation cadet in the V-12 [program] at St. Marys, Calif.
</blockquote>

'''June 21, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''First Lieutenant Bill Anderson''' was among the group of service men that arrived at Camp Kilmer, N. J. Sunday from Europe for their furloughs. Lt. Anderson is with the infantry.
</blockquote>

'''June 28, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
'''First Lieutenant Bill Anderson''' returned from the European area and arrived home Saturday. He was with the Black Hawk infantry division. Lt. Anderson will visit his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson, and his wife, who has been with her people at Sunnyside. Following his 30-day furlough he will report to a camp in Oklahoma for further schooling.
</blockquote>

'''July 26, 1945 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
[partial...'''First Lieutenant and Mrs. Bill Anderson''' at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson. Lt. Anderson will report to Fort Lewis Wednesday of this week and from there he will go to a camp in Oklahoma.]
</blockquote>

'''May 23, 1946 Davenport Times-Tribune'''
<blockquote>
Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson went to Sunnyside Saturday to ... daughter-in-law Mrs. William Anderson. They returned Sunday accompanied by Mrs. Anderson, who will remain until her husband, '''Second Lieutenant William Anderson''' returns from the Philippine Islands, where he is serving with the infantry.
</blockquote>
[[category: WWII veteran]]

Category:Veteran

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[[category: civil war union veteran]]
[[category: civil war confederate veteran]]
[[category: WWI veteran]]
[[category: WWII veteran]]
[[category: Korean police action veteran]]
[[category: Vietnam conflict veteran]]
[[category: non-combatant veteran]]

Category:Veteran

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0:0:0:0:0:0:0:1: Created page with "category: civil war union veteran category: civil war confederate veteran category: wwi veteran category: wwii veteran category: korean police action veteran category: vietnam conflict veteran category: non-combatant veteran"

[[category: civil war union veteran]]
[[category: civil war confederate veteran]]
[[category: wwi veteran]]
[[category: wwii veteran]]
[[category: korean police action veteran]]
[[category: vietnam conflict veteran]]
[[category: non-combatant veteran]]