Isaac & the Plutocrats

America has not always been a nation with great disparity between the wealth of its richest and poorest citizens. In his famous book, Democracy in America published in 1835, Alexis de Tocqueville opened with this observation: "Amongst the novel objects that attracted my attention during my stay in the United States, nothing struck me more forcibly than the general equality of conditions," a statement that obviously ignored American slaves who certainly did not share in such "general equality."

As for the rest of the American population, most were farmers. Writing in 1781, Thomas Jefferson said: "While we have land to labor then, let us never wish to see our citizens occupied at a workbench, or twirling a distaff. Carpenters, masons, smiths, are wanting in husbandry: but, for the general operations of manufacture, let our work-shops remain in Europe." To assure that America continued to have land for the agrarian republic he regarded as the ideal, Jefferson acquired the Louisiana Territory in 1803, providing room for further expansion.

By 1850, farmers still represented 64% of the labor force, although Jefferson's idea of leaving "the general operations of manufacture" in Europe had begun to change. At the beginning of the Civil War there were only a few hundred American millionaires.* By 1890 the number had risen to about 4,000, among them such familiar names as J.P. Morgan, Andrew Carnegie, John D. Rockefeller, and Jay Gould. The number of farmers, however, had dropped to 42% of the labor force. During the time these incredibly wealthy men were creating their fortunes in railroads, steel, and oil, farmers were confronting higher interest rates and foreclosures, lower prices for their crops, and drought, blizzards, and other hardships caused by Mother Nature. It is no wonder that the great disparity in wealth between farmers and laborers, in comparison to the wealthy and politically powerful men of the Gilded Age, created resentment and distrust.

As Isaac Werner wrote in his journal in 1889, "...disgraceful low ruling prices ruining near everybody but 'skimmers' with money. Things getting daily into worse shape and more discontent among the producing class causing oceans of thinking among the commonest people." In a speech delivered in 1890 by Mary Elizabeth Lease, a leading Populist speaker, she said, "Wall Street owns the country. It is no longer a government of the people, by the people, and for the people, but a government of Wall Street, by Wall Street, and for Wall Street. The great common people of this country are slaves, and monopoly is the master. The West and South are bound and prostrate before the manufacturing East. Money rules..."

It is startling how the language of the Populist activists of Isaac's time and the Occupy Wall Street protesters of today is so similar, and the political cartoons of the late 1800s are almost capable of appearing today without modification. Compare some of the goals expressed by the 99ers today with the concerns of Isaac's time--jobs, more equal distribution of income, and a reduction of the influence of corporations on politics. Both then and now, activists sought economic justice and directed much of their anger toward corporate abuses. In their 1880s newspaper The Nonconformist, the Vincent brothers of Winfield, Kansas blamed "corporate greed, that breeds anarchism and everything else that is hideous, in the proportion that it deepens its grip upon the industrial masses."

In Isaac's time the wealth of the few soared during and after the Civil War. Recent statistics from the Congressional Budget Office show that between 1979 and 2007, the incomes of the top 1% of Americans grew by an average of 275%. As for the country's total wealth, in 2007 the richest 1% of Americans owned 34.6% and the next 19% of Americans owned 50.5%. By combining these numbers, it can be seen that the top 20% of Americans owned 85% of the country's wealth, leaving 15% of the wealth in the hands of the bottom 80% of the population.

In the 1800s there were no federal social programs like those we have today to help the aged and the poor. Therefore, the economic extremes between the needy laborers and the very rich were especially severe. When the steel workers in the Carnegie Homestead Steel Mill attempted to negotiate a wage increase because the price of steel had increased during the three years since their prior union contract had been negotiated, they were told that management would instead reduce their wages in the new contract by 22%. When farmers were losing their farms to foreclosure and feeding their children a mixture of ground wheat and water to keep them from starving, the wealthy were building mansions fit for royalty.

The agrarian society upon which Thomas Jefferson placed his faith, believing that farmers possessed a "peculiar deposit for substantial and genuine virtue...[which] keeps alive that sacred fire, which otherwise might escape from the face of the earth" is a mere sliver of the American population today. In the century and a quarter since Isaac joined with other farmers and laborers to form the People's Party to confront the political power of Wall Street, corporations, and trusts, the American population has changed. Data from the 2010 census shows the total U.S. population as 308,745,538, with only 613,000 farmers, with those farmers representing about 2.5% of the nation's working force and only about 0.5% of all employed Americans. As for the present workers in manufacturing and industry, many of them have seen their jobs given to foreign laborers. Yes, America's work force has changed; yet, the issues of economic inequality are being debated as vigorously today as they were in Isaac's time.

*A million dollars in 1890 would be equivalent to about $24,400,250 in 2011.
Plutocracy is defined as government by the wealthy; also, a controlling class of rich men.

Isaac's Victorian Court House

The early Stafford County Court House was in a wooden structure, but as the town of St. John grew, some of the town leaders believed a more distinguished building was appropriate. As is often true in political decisions, the location of the court house was a subject of dispute, some believing it should be built in the town square while others preferred to preserve that public space for a park. As is even more often true in political decisions, the expense of building the court house created further arguments.

At last, a group of prominent citizens decided to use private funds to erect a brick building of which the town could be proud, and since they were bearing the expense, they chose the location--the corner just to the southeast of the park. They selected brick rather than wood, not only to make it more elegant but also to reduce the risk of fire destroying the building and all the important records kept inside.

The story is told that one of the County Comissioners refused to accept the gift of the building. Somehow he was tricked into coming to the new structure to sign a document, and this act of business was deemed to show acceptance of the building, waiving his objections.

The citizens of the county decided that it was irresponsible not to reimburse those people who had spent their own money to build such a fine county building, so bonds were voted. Later, someone discovered a state law prohibiting voting bonds to repay private individuals for something already given to the county. The local newspapers followed the dilemma of whether the county had a moral obligation to repay the private donors, regardless of the legal prohibition concerning bonds, with arguments from both sides published.

Despite the controversies of its construction, the Victorian court house was enjoyed by the community from the time of its construction in about 1886 until September of 1925, when a petition signed by more than one-fourth of the taxpayers of the county asked the county commissioners to levy a tax to raise funds for a new court house. Within three years enough money had been raised to begin.

The elegant Victorian court house that Isaac Werner visited for business, lectures, and meetings was not replaced because people had tired of its style. Rather, the Board of County Commissioners' minutes of February 1, 1928, describe the conditions of the forty-year-old structure: "...the walls of which are what is commonly known as soft brick...are now cracked and the key stones in some of the arches of the doors and windows have loosened...and the walls of said building are spreading apart and have spread apart to the extent that the county has found it necessary to support the same by rods and other devises, and the plastering on said Court House is in bad condition and in many places has broken loose and fallen and much of the plastering is now loose and in danger of falling and injuring persons within said building, and the roof...is shingle and old and dilapidated and the said building needs a new roof." The minutes continue to describe a gaping crack running completely from top to bottom and from east to west, as well as fire risks and other dangers.

For all those reasons it was decided to demolish the grand old structure, to salvage any materials that might be used in the new building and store them on county-owned lots elsewhere in the city until they were reinstalled in the new building, and to rent space in The Delker Building in which to conduct county business while the new court house was being built. During the previous year, three architectural firms had been interviewed--Rutledge & Hurtz, Mann & Co., and Hulse & Co.--with Mann & Co. of Hutchinson chosen to draw the plans and supervise the construction of the new court house. With everything in place, the work proceeded quickly, and the new court house was dedicated in 1929.

Isaac claimed his homestead and timber claim in 1878, before St. John was much more than an idea in the minds of a group of early settlers and four years before St. John was chosen as the county seat in the election of April 14, 1882. In his early years as a homesteader, Isaac lacked a horse, and trips to town were made on foot. The map of Stafford County shows the location of St. John near the middle of the county and Isaac's homestead and timber claim in the southwest part of the county, adjacent to the Stafford-Pratt County line. The dotted line from Isaac's homestead to St. John shows the approximate route Isaac would have walked, sixteen miles according to Isaac's Journal. By the time the Victorian court house was built, Isaac had finally acquired a horse, and he traveled to the court house frequently for personal business. When he became active in the Farmers' Alliance, the Stafford County Agricultural Association, and the People's Party, he made many visits to the brick court house for meetings and conversations with political allies. Like Isaac himself, the existence of the elegant court house has faded from the minds of most Stafford County residents. Isaac, his friends, and the rich history of their times are worthy of being remembered, and I am enjoying making those introductions to those of you reading my blog.

(Remember, you can click on the images to enlarge them.)

...And May I Add?

Spring has arrived in Kansas, and with a couple of days of rain, the wheat is growing, leaves on the trees are opening, and everything seems to be eager to crowd the season a bit. The sand hill plum blossoms opened earlier than usual, and like Isaac and his friends, we all have our fingers crossed that a late frost won't spoil the plum crop again this year. I opened our last jar of sand hill plum jelly a few days ago, and I need to restock the shelves this summer.

I'm not complaining, but the rain knocked some of the petals off before I got outside with my camera to take pictures, but for those of you who read my post of March 1, 2012 titled "Sand Hill Plums" and are interested in seeing what blooming plum bushes look like, I'm posting two pictures taken yesterday as we returned from Stafford. (You can click on the photographs to enlarge them, and if you look closely, you may be able to see the thorns.)

My husband and I were returning from the Stafford County Historical & Genealogical Society where we had hosted friends who spent the afternoon cleaning and cataloguing some of the glass plate negatives from the Gray Studio Collection. You may read my January 6, 2012 post about the "Stafford County Museum" collection by going to the blog archives. I bribed my friends a little by planning a tea party as an excuse for gathering at the museum, but it was really their spirit of volunteerism that caused them to accept my invitation.

The Gray Studio Glass Plate Negative Collection may be seen at http://www.contentcat.fhsu.edu/cdm/landingpage/collection/stafford.

Mining for Gold at the Court House

On the southeast corner of the town square in St. John is the Stafford County Courthouse. It was built in 1929, replacing the one Isaac would have visited. I remember going there as a little girl with my father, and each time I enter the building, I am reminded of the echo of my father's leather soles on the marble floors. Today, as I create my own echoes walking the cool hallways, the building is filled with shadow memories that I experience as emotions. I suspect that the feelings inspired in me when I was a little girl had a great deal to do with my decision to study law. There was something unique about entering that quiet space in which people seemed to speak more softly, as if respectful of the business conducted there. I felt it then and I still feel it today. I suppose my sense of awe in entering what is a sort of people's temple of justice will always be part of me. The court houses I entered when I was actively practicing law were often busy and sometimes noisy, but for me there was always that special feeling about the honorable purpose of the building. My recent visits to the Stafford County Court House while doing research have not diminished those feelings, fueled by my childhood memories, my respect for the law, and my fondness for history.

Court houses are like mining for gold, the records filled with valuable information for a researcher to discover if she is willing to dig for it. Initially my research took me to the Deed Records to find information about Isaac's homestead and timber claim. Now, when I walk into that office, the women working there immediately ask about my progress on the book, research for which they have been so helpful.

Also in the court house is the District Clerk's Office, where one day I went to inquire about birth and death certificates. I was disappointed to learn that those old records are now kept in Topeka, the state capital. I must have mentioned that I was doing research on Isaac B. Werner, and while I visited with one of the women, the other lady seemed busy at her computer. Suddenly she asked, "What did you say the man's first name was?" "Isaac," I replied. "Well, there's no Isaac indexed in the Probate Records, but I have an I.B. Werner." "That's him!" I exclaimed. When she returned from the room where probate records are stored, she carried a thick probate file of Isaac's estate, from which I have learned so much about him.

Seeing my interest in the Probate Records, the women told me that they had recently finished indexing all of the District Court records, going back to the 1800s. Isaac was never a party to litigation, but several legal disputes are mentioned in his journal, so I was obviously thrilled to learn that those records were available. I periodically return to examine files, documenting litigation Isaac has mentioned, and both of those ladies have been terrific. In fact, they have shared suggestions about bits of history preserved in the records of the court house that would make wonderful stories for future writing.

Since Isaac died in 1895, the current court house was not the one he visited. In next week's post I will share a picture of the Victorian court house of Isaac's era, along with stories of how it came to be built, some of Isaac's visits there, and why it was replaced with the current structure.

I have lived most of my life in cities, and there are many things I enjoy about the urban lifestyle that cannot be matched in a small town. However, there is nothing quite like returning to the home of your childhood, where your roots go back a few generations, and experiencing the willingness of people to pause for a moment and invest their time and interest in you, something anonymity and the busy pace of city life rarely offer. Like Isaac, I enjoy doing business--and research--in a court house where people nearly always have a little time to chat.

Planting Osage-Orange Trees

For my birthday one year, I gave myself the gift of wandering the farm with a photographer's eye, pausing to take pictures of scenes I tend to overlook in the ordinary rush of life. One of my stops was the Osage-orange tree grove just north of the house. It was late October, and the nubby, lime-colored fruit was falling from the trees. Being round, the fruit rolled easily into the natural depressions beneath the trees, forming ribbons of green winding through the grove.

The Osage-orange tree has many names--among them hedge-apple, bodark or bois-d'arc, and bowwood, with the Latin name Maclura pomifera. The uses of the tree may be found in the names it has been given. Native Americans, as well as today's serious bow-makers, found the wood especially valuable for making bows. Bois-d'arc comes from Louisiana French and translates literally as "bow wood." For people on the prairie, the primary reason for planting the trees was for fencing. I do not know who planted the hedge-apple grove on our farm. It has been a mature grove of trees since I was a child. What I suspect is that the trees were planted by my grandfather for posts to fence our pastures.

This summer a pasture of unplowed prairie was planted to wheat. The land was owned by my grandfather and tended by my father for his sister, who had inherited the land. During my childhood I had played in the pasture with my cousins, especially in the large sand hill plum thickets with their cattle paths and clearings which our imaginations transformed into castles and forts. Before the fencing was removed, I photographed the ancient posts that had been there all of my life, still as sturdy and free of rot as they had always been, and embellished with the patina of age. I do not know for certain that the wood was Osage-orange, but I know of no other wood that would have endured for so long.

In addition to cutting the wood for fence posts, settlers used the trees themselves as hedges. The growth pattern of the limbs is unruly and abundant, and while branches are young and tender they can be woven together to form an impenetrable barrier. Add to that the thorns on the branches, and planting hedge-apple trees along the borders of fields and pastures can create living fences.

In his Journal, Isaac describes helping a neighbor plant these trees: "I all day at putting up my 3 runner marker planter & helped Bob Bland drag their first 5 acres in osage seed (planted 5 acres in 2 hours)." Although Isaac does not describe it, presumably the seedlings that grew from the drag planting were later transplanted into rows or hedges. According to one writer, "No other wood played such an important part in the early movement West by the settlers as the Osage Orange."

Many people, including my mother-in-law, believe that the hedge apples themselves repel insects. Among those proponents, some suggest cutting the fruit into wedges to better release the milky juice. No commercial use of the juice has been discovered, but various compounds have been extracted from the heartwood for use in products such as an antifungal and a food preservative. The tree so valuable to homesteaders like Isaac may yet find modern uses.

Woodmen 's Gravestones

It was late May, and although the nights were chilly, one sunny day three children who lived in West Naron Township in Pratt, County decided to walk to their grandpa Cubbage's house. He lived up in Stafford County, but the two little boys were confident they could find the way, and their little sister Mary, not quite three, was excited to go along. It was hard for her to keep up with her older brothers, but she did her best. Once they got away from their home, the grass on the open prairie was taller than they had expected, and although they were sure they were headed in the right direction, they grew tired and still saw nothing that looked familiar. A passing farmer offered to take them home, and both little boys eagerly crawled up into the wagon beside the man. As he started toward the children's family farm, one of the boys said, "Bring Mary home too when you find her."

With darkness falling, the farmer went directly to the Naron School House where he knew that the newly formed Woodman of the World lodge was meeting. The group immediately adjourned to organize a line of about sixty men carrying lanterns, walking closely so as not to overlook a little girl lost in the dark on the prairie. They searched through the night, and just before daylight they found little Mary in the timber on Jeff Naron's claim. Exhausted, chilled, and sobbing in a broken slumber, she was lying on the ground eight miles from where the children had begun their walk.

Woodmen of the World is one of the first fraternal benefit societies in the United States. It was founded by Joseph Cullen Root in 1890 and remains a privately held insurance company. Its roots go back to a time when the social safety nets for widows and children did not exist. Men formed lodges whose members pledged to take up a collection for each man's widow and children should any one of them die. From this system of helping each other grew the idea of a private insurance fund for members.

Today's members not only carry on the benefit of private insurance but also continue the commitment to serving their communities. The thing for which they may be best known, however, is the tradition that extended into the 1920s of gravestones in the shape of trees. The form varied from tall tree trunks to small stumps, and because they were hand chiseled, the details varied with the artistry of the carver. The symbols of the organization are the maul, wedge and ax, which often appear on the trees. Not every member chose a tree gravestone, instead displaying the symbols on traditional stones. In addition to the symbols, only the carver's imagination limited the flora and fauna that might appear--flowers, mushrooms, vines, scrolls with the deceased's name or message, with ropes holding scrolls. Two country cemeteries in Isaac's community have beautiful examples of these grave stones. In Neelands Cemetery is a beautiful tree trunk adorned with ferns and mushrooms, bark artfully rolled back to reveal the name "Neil." On the reverse side is an inscription: "Remember me as you pass by; As you are now so once was I; As I am now you all shall be; Prepare for death and follow me."

In another part of the cemetery is the Wilson family plot, a stump for Little Fay, as was common for children of Woodmen of the World members, a somewhat taller tree trunk for the father, and a traditional stone for the mother.

In the Prattsburg Cemetery several milles away is another tall tree trunk, this gravestone bearing the three symbols of the organization at the top of the sculpture, with a carved rope holding the scroll with the name of the deceased, David Johnson.

There was also a women's organization, called Woodmen Circle, of which Ella Beaman was apparently a member. Her stone in the Prattsburg Cemetery is a beautiful example of the forked trunk design, with a heart-shaped carving bearing the traditional Woodmen symbols resting in the fork and additional details in the trunk and base.

These Woodmen of the World trees were my favorite grave stones when I was a child, and others have told me they felt the same way, but none of us knew that they were anything more than pretty sculptures. The significance of the stones became lost to our generation.

Isaac was not a Woodman. His ambition was to help farmers through education and cooperation, and so, he joined the Farmers' Alliance, attempted to establish Reform Clubs, and supported the Peoples' Party. While neither the Woodman of the World nor the farmers' groups Isaac supported survive to the present day in his old community, they served the people of Isaac's time who faced great hardships by not having to face them alone.

Sandhill Plums

When Isaac arrived on the Kansas prairie in 1878 the land was waving grass from horizon to horizon, with little else left to accentuate the scene because of the prairie fires that swept the land so often. There were exceptions. In the spring, wild flowers, whose tubers and seeds lay waiting, burst into bloom adding splashes of color amidst the swaying grass. At the same time, thickets of sand hill plum bushes opened their delicate white blossoms, offering hope to the settlers of fresh fruit to come, for somehow, enought of the thickets survived the flames to reproduce.

Today's plains dwellers cannot appreciate what a welcome sight those blooming bushes were to the early settlers, who longed for the taste of fresh fruit. Sand hill plums are hardly bigger than cranberries, and unlike cranberries, the fruit has a central seed nearly half the size of the plum itself, leaving very little edible fruit between the seed and the outer skin. Regardless, the settlers enjoyed the beauty and slight fragrance of the blossoms and crossed their fingers that frost would not return to freeze the blossoms and deprive them of that season's tart little plums.

Isaac had a thicket on his "Timber Hill" but he had also saved seeds from some of the best plums to plant plum bushes near his house, finding that it took the seeds two or three seasons to germinate. They were also difficult to transplant because the bushes colonize from one bush with a deep root to form shallow-rooted bushes around it. These shallow-rooted bushes are unlikely to survive if transplanted, and it is difficult to tell without digging which among the bushes is the one with the deep root. Isaac explained in his Journal: "I took up some select Plum bushes on timber hill and set them in rows N. of house patch, 2 rows E. & W. Transplanting Plums generally failures by many. I determined to experiment at least, then also transplant some in the spring."

Because of the effort he had expended in both planting seeds and transplanting the deep-rooted bushes, he was annoyed when one of his neighbors raided his plums. "Lady Frack yesterday out on a plum raid through my door yard of nicest plums, vengeance mine, by calling nearest neighbors in to strip every bush." Today, with farmers having cleared fields for crops, few plum thickets remain. On Isaac's old homestead only some scraggly bushes have managed to survive in the fence row.

As a bachelor, Isaac had learned to cook for himself, but he never mentions attempting to preserve fruit. It would be nice to imagine that one of the neighbors who stripped the plum bushes to spite Mrs. Frack might have made a jar of plum jelly for Isaac, but he only describes the annual pleasure of gorging on whatever fruit was in season.

For my family, enough jars of sand hill plum jelly were canned every summer to last through the year. They were stored with the canned tomatoes, green beans, and two kinds of pickles on rows of shelves in the basement, the walls a kaleidoscope of tomato red, green beans, mossy green dills, noxiously-tinted (with green cake coloring) 3-day lime pickles, and the glow of the scarlet plum jelly. I do not continue the tradition of canning vegetables, except rare years when I can the 3-day lime pickles, but I do make plum jelly. Last year's late frost and summer drought left only a lonesome plum here and there, and we are down to the last jar of the previous year's jelly. One day, I set that jar with one that we received as a wedding favor in the window to admire the beauty of sunlight through the jelly.

Plum jelly is delicious, but it is impossible for me to separate the flavor of childhood memories from the taste of the jelly. Plum bushes have thorns, and picking the plums is a prickly business. They ripen at the hottest time of year, and filling a pail of the small plums is an exercise in endurance of heat, sweat, gnats, and often, mosquitoes. Once in the kitchen, with the jars and the lids sterilized, and the plums rinsed clean with all the stems removed, the process of cooking, mashing the last bit of juice from the pulp and skins, straining through cheese cloth to assure the jewel-like appearance, adding the sugar and a bit of lemon with Sure-gel to give you a little more insurance that the jelly will set, pouring the hot, sticky liquid jelly into the jars, sealing the lids and listening for the "pop" to know the seal is good, and finally cleaning the stickiness off the jars before putting the jelly on the shelves--all of this is the stuff of my memories, and when you add to that the memories of sitting around so many breakfast tables with loved ones it is impossible for any store-bought, expensive gourmet jelly to ever taste as good!

When we finish that last jar of jelly, we, like Isaac, will be forced to await another season's crop from the tough and prickly sand hill plum bushes with their sweet-tart little plums.

Isaac's Childhood Church

Isaac's childhood church is older than this nation. The first steps taken toward the erection of a church were in 1730 on land donated by George Hain. It was customary in those times to call the church by the name of the man donating the land, so Hain's Church it became, although the proper name was St. John's Reformed Church. The site of Hain's Church was a high hill, said to be the highest point in Lebanon Valley.

About thirty years after the first church was erected, a second church built of stone was erected in 1766. The American colonies were still ruled by Great Britain, and a stone plaque over the doorway read (translated from the German to English): "All who here go out and in / Should obey God and the King." The patriotic members of the church obliterated the word "King" when America fought to gain its independence.

In 1844, the year of Isaac and his twin brother Henry's births, the church was remodeled and the stone was plastered, the exterior painted to resemble brick, and in 1851 a belfry was added. In 1878, the year Isaac homesteaded in Kansas, the third church building was erected as a southern extension to the 1766 building. Today's beautiful red brick church with its towering steeple and its history told on the weathered gravestones of the surrounding cemetery still sits proudly on the hill donated by George Hain.

When we timidly entered the church we were welcomed by the staff, willing to help me with my research despite my interrupting their work and my failure to arrange our visit in advance. The 1816 History of St. John's (Hain's) Church they shared with me was a researcher's dream, with an entire chapter on the Werner Family. It also contained the baptismal records of Isaac and his siblings, records of Revolutionary War & Civil War Soldiers Buried at Hain's Church, the death record of Isaac's father William, and many other valuable chapters. As I continued my research, I found something even more amazing. I asked if there were any Werner members of the present church, and they introduced me to James Werner, Isaac's first cousin four times removed.

James came to the church and shared with me family pictures and letters, including several from Isaac's nephew Charles sent to his father Henry B. Werner, Isaac's twin brother. Included among these family treasures was the drawing of William & Rebecca's stone house, which I previously posted on November 4, 2011 in the post "Isaac's Birth & Childhood." Unbelievably, James even had a picture of Isaac's twin brother, Henry. I do not know if they were identical or fraternal twins, but that picture may be as close as I can come to knowing what Isaac looked like! James' generosity in sharing family documents was incredible, as was the kindness of the Hain's Church staff.

Visit to Wernersville

Our spontaneous road trip to the Willa Cather Seminar at Smith College that led to the unplanned side trips to Rossville and Hoopeston (See my January 20 & 27, 2012 posts) resulted in other impromptu visits to authors' homes and historical sites, and when we wandered off the planned route as far as Gettysburg, I just had to go to Wernersville. Having made none of the research preparations I should have, I convinced my husband that it was nevertheless an opportunity we should not miss. As it turned out, we crowded more into our brief visit to Wernersville than I could have imagined if I had planned the visit for weeks.

Initially, I just wanted to see the land, to experience the mountain ranges that embrace the Lebanon Valley--the Blue Mountains to the north, the South Mountains to the South, and Mount Penn and Neversink in the distance to the east. I wanted to see the hillside farms of Isaac's youth, so different from the flat, sandy loam prairie where he did his farming. As I stepped out of the car to take a photograph of one of those Berks County, Pennsylvania farms, I experienced a moment when I almost felt that Isaac was arranging the experience, for the air was filled with more bird songs than I ever remember hearing at once. It was a twirping, twilling, whistling cacophony. Isaac loved birds, noting in his journal when favorite birds arrived back after winter, scattering grain for what he called his "pet flock of quail," posting his farm to protect the prairie chickens and quail from hunters before there were protective laws, pausing to watch the seasonal passage of geese over head. I stood there, listening to the chorus of bird songs and understood how quiet the prairie must have seemed to Isaac in comparison.

We had arrived in Reading, east of Wernersville, in late afternoon, and after checking into the hotel we had driven the few miles to Wernersville. About all we had time to do that evening was make sure we knew the way to Wernersville and how to find the cemetery at Hain's Church. That evening, as the sun went down, we found Isaac's twin brother's family gravesite in the "new" cemetery across the road from the church, with Henry, his wife, Eva, and their son, Charles, buried there, and Eva's parents buried nearby.

The next morning we had breakfast at the Red Plate Diner and met Reading Principal Joe Torchia, who was having breakfast with his daughter in the booth next to ours. When he overheard us discussing whether to order scrapple, he introduced himself and praised the local pork specialty so enthusiastically that we had to try it. I fear scrapple may be an acquired taste, but meeting him and his daughter in the pleasant surroundings of the diner was a great start to our day.

Despite a light rainfall, we wandered the old cemetery, located at St. John's (Hain's) Church, finding William Werner's grave and many other Werner aunts, uncles, and cousins buried there. The history of this church is too rich and wonderful for me to share in this post, but next week I will tell you about our unexpected discoveries when we stepped inside the church.

Part of my eagerness to visit Wernersville was to see the town William Werner had founded, although I realized that little would remain from that long ago. The Heidelburg Historical Society is housed in one of the oldest buildings remaining in Wernersville, originally a tavern, but the Society building was closed. We drove the streets that William had named with family names--William, Rebecca, Werner, Beckley and Reber. The old depot is in the process of being restored, but it was built after the original depot upon which the name "Wernersville" first appeared, negotiated by William as part of his consideration for allowing the railroad tracks to cross his farm. (To see pictures of the 1855 survey map and William Werner's grave, click on the 2011 blog archives for my November 4, 2011 post, "Isaac's Birth & Childhood.")

Having seen the popularity of the local Twisty Freeze, crowded with people of all ages enjoying the summer evening as we drove through town the previous night, we were tempted into taking a late afternoon break to sample their ice cream before ending our visit to Wernersville. We sat at one of their outdoor tables and reflected on how much we had learned during the past few hours. As former Michigan governor John Engler said when he entered the 2008 presidential race: "Sometimes it is better to begin the journey, to get underway, than it is to sit back and wait until such time that you're convinced that all conditions are perfect and that there'll be no surprises along the route." Our decision to visit Wernersville seems to have worked out better for me than his presidential race did, but I like his encouragement of daring the impromptu. In next week's post I will tell you just how wonderful the surprises that we found at St. John's (Hain's) Church turned out to be.

A Young Man's Fancy...

Ferreting out something about Isaac B. Werner's private thoughts on love & romance isn't easy. There are, however, clues to his feelings, and with the approach of Valentine's Day it seems like the right time to peek into Isaac's heart.

Isaac's father William did not marry until he was forty years old, and that may have influenced Isaac's view that marriage should not be rushed. As a young druggist in Rossville, he was very ambitious. He wrote: "As each man is the architect of his own fortune, there is a great deal also in what materials we make use of, and what plans we follow out." When his twin brother Henry sent a letter sharing news that several of Isaac's mischief-maker friends had married, Isaac wrote in his Journal: "...the Home boys still continue pretty fast tampering with the cup of Sorrow--till ending in wedlock. Then simmer down--like a final anchor and enjoy the ups and downs of married life and the animated fruits of their toiling; while I a thousand miles away, like a Hermit delighting mostly in my ever so dear and trustful best companions, Books, and intend continuing so at least for coming 5 or 10 years--no telling though how circumstances unexpected might interfere..."

The young ladies of Rossville certainly were among the distracting circumstances that threatened Isaac's literary plans, particularly when fellow merchants hired a new employee. "To-day Miss Wilky commencing as Book-Keeper for Henderson Lee & Co., a little novelty for Rossvillions--Female clerks--not agreeing very best with some of those vulgar minds, resorting to such places to give vent to their vulgar thoughts and general conversations..." Despite Isaac's prediction that customers who gathered to cuss and discuss in that store might resent the presence of a young lady, forcing some moderation in their language, there were at least some customers who found Miss Wilky a new reason to frequent the store. He wrote: "...J.R. Lee called in and we indulged in a leisure conversation concerning their late feminine clerk, he telling me how of late some of the young country Romeos tried to coax his Bookkeeper into their society attending country dances, but he kindly advising the said clerk concerning her best course of associating to retain creditably said clerkship, which she is filling at present." Isaac was not among those young Romeos inviting her to country dances, but he was one of her admirers, writing: "For first time fairly seen--as she called in for trifle--the late arrived feminine Book-keeper of Henderson Lee, appearing in quite fashionable 'Harness' partly approaching the Grecian Trend, eyes pure and bright as crystals, not quite so bad."

Isaac was not one to indulge in insincere flirtations. "Valentine's Day, Birds pairing out. Few calls for Valentine's by city youths but city merchants neglected to supply themselves, consequently not much libeling." Isaac might have been awkward at expressing his feelings, but if he sent a message of love, he believed it should speak the truth.

The young lady who could win Isaac's heart needed to appreciate books, although he was willing to lead her in that direction if she had not acquired the habit of reading by herself. Proof of this is found in a conversation he recorded in his Journal: "In morning dark-eyed 'Belle A' called in and returned loaned book 'Cave on Coloring.' I inquired, 'Why, have you read it through already?'" "Yes." "Well, could you understand it?" "No, not at all." "How do you like it?" "Oh, I don't like such reading." At this point, unwilling to give up on the young lady, Isaac said, "Ah, you must not expect to learn all at once. Here, I have another small book..." The young lady took the book, but that was the last mention of her in the Journal--probably a romance it was better for both of them to have avoided.

No one could assume that Isaac was immune to the charms of a pretty young woman after reading this passage in his Journal: "The figure of a tall woman, black furs and veiled Highness...I glancing and thinking to myself, 'What looking incarnation of the East may you be?' She halted before showcase, throwed back her veil, behold! If it wasn't 'Juliet' in all her beauty and plumpness. She bought her wanted goods, and soon exit[ed] again, the first time she been in store for couple of months, she looking fair and bright enough to tempt one to lean over counter [and] osculate those pretty pouting scarlet lips, and fresh cheeks." Whoever the young lady was to inspire this uncharacteristically flowery passage must have been exactly the sort of "circumstances unexpected" Isaac was thinking of when he confessed that his plan to defer marriage for 5 or 10 years might meet with interference!

So, scattered among the serious passages about his determination to acquire a fine library and study the wisdom of learned men of past and present generations and the responsible descriptions of his commitment to maintaining a reputable business is the voice of a man in his mid-twenties, charmed by pretty women and occasionally making a fool of himself as a result. As Jules Renard, a Frenchman born only a few years after Isaac, wrote, "Love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties."

By the time Isaac left Rossville to homestead in Kansas he was thirty-three, and still a bachelor. In a later post I will share some more clues about Isaac's encounters with cupid on the plains of Kansas. I hope Valentine's Day is happy for everyone, and I'll add this quote by Scottish Evangelist, Henry Drummond (1851-1897): "You will find when you look back upon your life that the moments when you have truly lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love."

Osculate means kiss.

New way to leave comments

So many of you were having trouble leaving comments that I have changed the format for doing that, which should make it easier. At the bottom of each week's post is the word "comments" with a number in front of it. Click on that and a window will open showing the comments others have made. Beside those comments is a space for you to type your comment. You may use your name or you may click "anonymous" if you prefer. Please expect a slight delay before your comment appears, because I am asked to approve comments to avoid vulgar or inappropriate comments being posted. Now that it is easier to post a comment, I look forward to hearing from more of you and seeing conversations develop among those of you following the blog. Many of you have wonderful things to share. Thanks for your support!

The postmark on the "Here's Luck" antique postcard pictured above is August 4, 1908.

Isaac's Library

I immediately formed a kinship with Isaac because of our common love for books. When Isaac's Journal begins in December of 1870, he is a druggist in Rossville, Illinois, in his mid-twenties. He is prospering, with every bit of money he can set aside spent on books, views for his stereoscope, and portrait cards of famous people that he kept in albums. He had a curious mind that he wanted to fill with the writings of great authors, pictures of the world, and images of important people, and he was determined to build his collections, despite being criticized by some of his less literary friends. About the money he spent, he wrote in his Journal: "Some get rid of a good deal [of money] in horses and buggies, great many in whisky, and how many on women? Ike [Isaac] fools good deal away in Books and Views and Pictures." That is not to suggest that Isaac wasn't keeping his eyes open for a well-educated young lady. He tried charming one young miss by loaning her some of his art books, and he paid particular attention to a bright young bookkeeper at Henderson & Lee's store, the first female employed in that position in town. He was also quite interested in a young woman who played chess and appreciated music, but unfortunately for Isaac, none of these relationships matured into a romance.

From his successful business he had assets he could have invested or loaned at profitable rates of interest, but instead he continued to buy books, explaining in his Journal: "How interesting and delightful such reading is and the daily increase in familiarity with such noble literary monuments. When I think back over all my best investments yet made, what I done [sic] in good Books I must consider the Master stroke of all. What a permanent and ever increasing value does such an investment bring..."

These words were written when he was young, but even during the hard times as a homesteader on the Kansas prairie, he treasured his books and added to his library occasionally. Most of the later additions were of a practical nature and often pamphlets rather than beautifully bound volumes, but he never doubted the value of books. Isaac would have agreed completely with Barbara Tuchman, who wrote, "Books are the carriers of civilization. Without books, history is silent, literature dumb, science crippled, thought and speculation at a standstill."

Many of the books in Isaac's library are still read today--Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad, Gibbon's History of the Roman Empire, Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations, Edward Bellamy's Looking Backward, Cervantes's Don Quixote, monthly issues of "Scientific American" which he had bound. He also collected books of art, philosophy, engineering, law, economics, political theory, logic, travel, and languages. He had reference books about Shakespeare, the Bible, and Dictionaries of words, authors, and artists. Among them all, he seemed to love Shakespeare best. I can picture Isaac sitting in his early dugout, before he had built his house and still lacking a horse to ride to the nearest town, reading Shakespeare by lamplight.

I was so curious about the books Isaac read that I went to some of my favorite used book websites and ordered the oldest editions I could find of titles he had mentioned. I guess you might say that Isaac and I formed a book club! Pictured are the following: Progress & Poverty by Henry George, Twain's Innocents Abroad, A Comprehensive Dictionary of Organ Stops, Classical Antiquities, Cuba with Pen & Pencil, Theory of Spencerian Penmanship, Bain's Logic: Deductive & Inductive, Cooper's Justinian, and The Culture Demanded by Modern Life. The books on art and travel that I would have particularly enjoyed could not be found, but the sampling I read impressed me with Isaac's thirst for knowledge. Surely you can understand why I must tell the story of this remarkable man!

[The stereoscope and views in the photograph belonged to my ancestors. I do know from Isaac's Journal, however, that he visited my great grandparents, Aaron & Susan Beck, and shared his stereoscope views with them.

Isaac Visits the future Hoopeston

When we left Rossville, Illinois, there was another place I wanted to see. I remembered that in the spring of 1871, Isaac, his friends John and Frederick, and this cousins Ezra and Henry, had borrowed a buggy to take a Sunday drive north of Rossville to the farm of a man named Hoopes. It was a time of rapid expansion of rail lines, and promoters would arrive with promises of new rail lines to serve rural communities and small towns, predicting that at every point where two rail lines intersected, a prosperous town was certain to grow. One such crossing was planned on Hoopes Farm, and the young men wanted to see if any evidence of actual construction to back up all the promises could be seen.

Having found the town of Rossville in the atlas, I also noticed a town with the name of Hoopeston, and although Isaac had called the prospective railroad town "Hoopstown" and had expressed his doubts that the promoters' predictions would occur, the location in the atlas and the farm described in Isaac's Journal seemed about the same. I wanted to see the countryside along the route the five men took to reach Hoopes Farm, which Isaac had described: "Some considerable tracts of prairie land lying open yet...noticed few wild geese and ducks on west side of road on few ponds...Passed by old Hoop's [sic] residence--on a very beautiful mount, commanding the landscape on every side, presenting beautiful prairie views." Our drive north of Rossville, nearly a century and a half later, passed through interesting country, but my imagination could not impose on the landscape the open prairie Isaac had described in his journal.

The five young men continued on their journey, and Isaac wrote: "...reaching the famous prairie site where the great future Hoopstown is to rear its wealths. ...Hearing so much about Hoopstown and R.R. crossing from the lips of Rail Road Maniacs, one gets to feel as I did--craving to gaze personally on the covetous spot then make up mind accordingly." Despite his skepticism, Isaac admitted in his journal: "What musing and dreaming takes possession of any one, contemplating the scene and project. Could we easily raise the means? Could we possibly buy these covetous acres at reasonable prices? Could we get all the Western R.R. to intersect this charming spot? ...But sighing Ah! It is all desert prairie yet. Not a habitation within three miles!"

Although Hoopstown was only a railroad promoter's description, with the prairie grass having been mowed to mark the future placement of the tracks at the time of Isaac's visit, the work on the railroad lines soon commenced and a town grew around the crossing. When we reached Hoopeston, we drove around to explore a little. By chance, we discovered the library. It was still open, so we went inside and met Linda Mitchell, Director of the Hoopeston Public Library. With limited time to spend and no research preparation or notes, I was ill prepared, but she graciously spent time with us, checking to see if any of their collection of local newspapers might have been published as early as 1871. They had not. It was an impressively busy library, which is always wonderful to see. We looked at what limited information she had to share from that era, and my husband took a photograph of the framed Hoopeston town map from 1893 (apologies for the glare from the glass).

As Isaac had stood on the spot where Hoopstown was predicted to bloom, he had imagined the potential an investor might gain if the town were to succeed: "...what a wealth and prospect would we enjoy." Instead, he dismissed the prospects for the future of the town on Hoopes Farm and returned to Rossville to form a milling partnership with his cousin Henry Werner and Mr. Ross, which lasted only a few years before Isaac moved on to stake his claim in Kansas. As Robert Frost wrote of roads not taken: "...I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the under growth; then took the other...And that has made all the difference."

Isaac's Years in Rossville, Illinois

On the spur of the moment, my husband and I decided to drive to Northampton, Massachusetts, for a Willa Cather Seminar at Smith College. With no idea what a great adventure we would make of our impromptu road trip, I left all of my research about Isaac behind, except for what was on my laptop. Only when we stopped for the first night did we look at the atlas and realize how close to Rossville, Illinois, we would travel. Of course, we had to make the detour to see the town where Isaac had lived in the 1870s.

During 1870 & 1871, Isaac had been the proprietor of a drug store, but he had chosen to sell that business when the railroad came to Rossville. Druggists in those days sold liquor "for medicinal purposes," and Isaac was concerned that an unsavory crowd would arrive in town along with the railroad and cause trouble for him as a respectable businessman, demanding liquor for reasons other than their health.

Deciding whether to bring the railroad to Rossville was a tumultuous time for the community. Isaac sided with those who opposed it, and for a time he was among the majority. Isaac wrote: "Voted about 5 to 1 against issuing Bonds and about same ratio repealing former obligations. It was rather interesting and ridiculous during all day, to notice all round humanity how much Rail Roads on their brains, Bulls and Bears out in Rossville Wall Street crowds on store porches, freely and liberally discussing...and cussing."

Eventually the idea of a railroad began to gain favor, and the Bonds passed. The dispute shifted to where the depot should be built. Isaac described the conflict: "Somehow no public certainty yet where Rossville is to have its Depot for R.R., on Gilbert's, Livingyard's or Henderson's. Some tugging by each, but I guess old Gilbert will about win the stakes...Seem being conducted rather quiet & reserved." Isaac sided with Henderson, but Gilbert had been an early supporter of bringing the railroad to town, and Isaac suspected that the railroad would reward him by giving him the site.

After Isaac had left Rossville, a friend had written him a long letter, describing how the village had changed, specifically because of two events in the 1880s--a tornado that had destroyed many buildings and a fire that had burned the wooden businesses. From my research I had learned that Rossville had become known as a charming tourist destination, with many antique shops, some of which had been destroyed by a fire in 2004 which burned the west side of Main Street. Therefore, I knew that the town Isaac had known was essentially gone.

We arrived in Rossville a few minutes after four o'clock, and because we had a schedule to keep in order to reach our destination in time for the seminar, we could not linger. Consequently, we only peeked through the windows of the closed Historical Society Museum and Railroad Station Museum, both of which looked very interesting. We also enjoyed driving some of the streets, although we found nothing that appeared to date back as far as Isaac's time.

What we were able to see, however, was the river at the edge of town. Isaac worked in his drug store six days a week. Naturally, he looked forward to the one day a week when the store was closed and he could be out of doors, often joined by a dog named Coally. "...took exercise stroll down the woods...[with] Coally to chase rabbits--started few out but Coally too fat to run, lost distance all time till rabbit out of his sight, but he yelped after them." Even during the cold winter months the river was a gathering spot: "Fine calm clear moonlight eve, boys again down on the creek ice skating and hollering about, enjoying themselves." Isaac's cousin Ezra played the accordion and Isaac described one late afternoon stroll: "...down the lovely woody acres to West bluff, there perched on an old stout log, struck up the music...never before heard in the woods--the eve with west landscape and water scape over the bottoms right before us, such lovely sunshine of declining Sol... lightly roaring on rushing stream, and few little snow birds, chirping lively about the brush. Who could avoid imagining more or less Venice and Italy surrounding us?"

The opportunity to lock his shop and relax with friends in the countryside was something to look forward to, but most of his time Isaac was a businessman, at work from early morning into the evening. He was in his mid-twenties and was proud of his friendships with older, experienced businessmen in town. He wrote of one of the early Rossville businessmen: "[You] do not find every day such enterprising men as W.J. Henderson, with corresponding capital in an inland town like Rossville. ...Others, of course, since his adventuring tried to follow him, but if he had not been here as a leader, who else would have dared to lead? And what would they have accomplished. No Sir, J.W.[sic] Henderson was so far the business pillar of the community."

Isaac's years in Rossville were good ones for him. After selling his drug store business, he was tempted by the possibilities of participating in the town being built near Hoopes Farm, prospering as the town grew. Instead, he stayed in Rossville to form a milling business with his cousin Henry and a man named Mr. Ross. He also bought two lots in the "New Town" development of Rossville, planning to build a home with a separate library for all of his books. Although like many others he was eventually drawn further West where he claimed a homestead on the Kansas prairie, for more than a decade and even during hard financial times when his need for money was desperate, he kept the lots he owned in Rossville, perhaps imagining he might someday return, or perhaps only unwilling to sell because of the memories of old friends and good times there.

Rossville is still a charming town, and the arrival of the railroad did not ruin it after all, despite the concerns shared by Isaac and many of the established merchants. Next week I will share our journey as we replicated Isaac's trip with friends in a borrowed buggy to see the location of the proposed intersection of two rail lines where "Hoopestown" was supposed to be built.

Finding Isaac's Grave

In early days, when bodies were not embalmed, funerals were held within a day or two of death. Town cemeteries were too far away to travel by wagon or buggy, so communities created country cemeteries. The land was often donated, sometimes by the family who first needed to bury one of their own. These country cemeteries dot the Kansas landscape, some containing only a few old graves, others still in active use.

About four miles north of Isaac's timber claim was Neeland's Cemetery. It had originally been named the Livingston Cemetery for the fledgling town of Livingston, but many people referred to it by the name of the family who had donated the land for the cemetery, and today, that is the name by which it is known. Neeland's Cemetery began when a workman for Neeland's Ranch died and was buried in their pasture. Following that burial, the family donated three acres for a neighborhood cemetery. I had visited Neeland's with my parents when I was a child, and I remembered the interesting old gravestones I had seen there, many of them dating back to the 1800s.

Gravestones are genealogy records chiseled in stone. One particular stone in Neeland's tells the tragic story of the collapse of a sod dugout's roof during heavy rains. Nick Davison and his wife Mary were early settlers in the community, and soon after they arrived a daughter they named Beuna Vista was born. Less than five years later, another daughter was born, and she was named Bessie. Eighteen days after her birth, the weight of the rain soaked sod roof caused the ridge pole to snap, and the collapsed mud smothered the baby and her four-year-old sister. Memorialized on the beautiful stone are these two sisters and a third daughter whose life was also brief. Eight sons were born to Nick and Mary, but no other daughters.

Neeland's continues to be the final resting place for departed loved ones today. A symbolic modern stone tells its own tragic story of a young father who died in an accident, leaving behind his widow and three young children, the tragedy depicted with a pair of hands tenderly holding three little birds.

When I began searching for Isaac's grave, I considered several possibilities. The closest cemetery to Isaac's homestead was Naron cemetery in Pratt County, only about two miles from his home and the burial place of several of his neighbors. St. John was a possibility, because it was the county seat, where Isaac shopped, banked, marketed his crops, and attended farmers' meetings. With no family living close to him, it seemed reasonable that he might have chosen the county seat. Farmington Cemetery in Macksville is where my ancestors are buried, and Isaac was friendly with all of them, along with some other neighbors buried there, so that was also a possibility. And, there was Neeland's.

Isaac mentioned several funerals in his journal, with most of the burials in either Naron or Neeland's. His Probate Records include early claims submitted by the mortician and the casket maker, but only in the final accounting when his estate closed did the three dollar expense of his burial plot finally appear, with no indication of the specific cemetery. Because there was no claim for a gravestone, I assumed that Isaac was probably buried in an unmarked grave. The necessity of holding funerals soon after death meant that bodies were rarely transported any great distance, so I decided to begin my search at Naron and Neeland's, which were the two closest cemeteries.

The names of those buried in Naron are available online, but I found no listing for Isaac. There was no complete listing online for the Neeland's Cemetery, so I began inquiring who the members of the cemetery board were. With just a few phone calls, I reached one of the board members to ask if there was a record of Isaac being buried there. He was. Both she and I assumed his was one of several old graves in that cemetery that are unmarked, but she described the location of his grave, according to their records, and my husband and I went to see what we could find.

It was a cold December day, and I had been told that Isaac was buried in the fourth row, the second lot to the south of the driveway. We counted the rows, but in an old cemetery it is often difficult to determine exactly what placement of stones represents a row. We settled on what we thought was the correct row and I began pacing off fifteen feet from the edge of the tire ruts that serve as a driveway, since she had said that the lots were fifteen feet square. After fifteen steps I stopped, disappointed to see an empty space in front of me. "It should be about here," I told my husband. "I guess Isaac is buried somewhere in this empty area."

"Look beside you," he told me. To my left and about a half a pace behind me, there was Isaac's stone--a simple square column with engraving on the top to resemble a fringed cloth spread over the column. The carved letters were worn by age, but they clearly read, "I.B. Werner, Died March 21, 1895, Aged 51." The next day we returned with a spray of holly to decorate Isaac's grave, and each Memorial when we remember family with flowers, we stop by Neeland's Cemetery to place an arrangement on Isaac's grave. Perhaps his neighbors brought flowers to Isaac's grave for a while after his death, but for decades he had been a forgotten man. At last, Isaac is remembered.

Small town museums--Stafford County Historical Society

The Stafford County Historical & Genealogical Society is building poor. So many landmark buildings along the Main Street of Stafford have been gifted to the Society, that much of their budget is spent maintaining what they have received. It is another case of generous donors, unpaid volunteers, and a hard working Executive Secretary rescuing and preserving the history of the community for future generations. During the past two years, I have spent many days doing research at this museum.

The Stafford County Historical Society acquired a real treasure several years ago. For two generations, the Gray family operated a photography studio at 116 N. Main in St. John. Begun by W.R. Gray in 1905, the studio building also contained the family home. A son, Royal, followed his father's profession, operating a studio in Ulysses, Kansas, and another son, Dr. Arzy Gray, worked as a chemist for Eastman Kodak. After attending what is now UCLA, daughter Jessie became her father's business partner in 1940, assuming the business seven years later when her father died. When Jessie retired in 1981 she donated an estimated 29,000 glass plate negatives to the Stafford County Museum. The museum curator believes it is the largest glass negative collection in the country specific to one location. Imagine standing at a window and watching a parade of people representing nearly eight decades of one community's citizens, together with a backdrop of businesses, farms, sporting events, festivals, and other moments captured by the photographers. The people you observe are mute, frozen in their own times, and you cannot call out to them the questions you would like to ask, but they tell a story of their particular period in their clothing, hairstyles, and poses. Volunteers continue to labor cleaning the negatives and documenting the subjects portrayed, a time-consuming task.

In an arrangement with Fort Hays Kansas State University, the photographs are available for viewing online at http://contentcat.fhsu.edu/cdm/landingpage/collection/stafford where you can see hundreds of turn-of-the-century images, with more appearing periodically as the glass plates are cleaned. Unfortunately for me, Gray's Studio did not exist until after Isaac's death, and although I know he sat for studio portraits in both St. John and Pratt, I have not been able to locate those pictures.

Most of my time at the museum has been spent looking at old newspapers, so much better than doing that research with microfilm. It is quite incredible to handle the actual old newspapers, yellowed and brittle with age, but filled with news of the times--local, national and international, as well as gossipy community reports about new babies, neighborhood illnesses, crops, community feuds, and all sorts of things. After many days of standing at a raised table, carefully turning the fragile pages, and reading about what was happening in the world in which Isaac lived, I sometimes felt I had been there.

An amazing discovery for me was finding how often Isaac's own writing was published in the County Capital. He authored articles about his experiments with different varieties of potatoes, as well as his carefully documented experiments with corn, planting different varieties and recording dates of planting, as well as depths of sowing the seeds and distances for spacing the rows. I also found Isaac's name listed as an officer of several farmers' organizations, and articles authored by him related to his participation in those groups.

Michael Hathaway, the Stafford Historical Society's Curator and Executive Secretary, was a great help to me as I spent many days of research at the museum. Returning to read newspapers over a century old, I became a sporadic "regular" at the morning coffee sessions, joining a dependable crew of volunteers who donate their time to keep the museum going for little compensation other than a few cups of coffee.

(For some reason the link to the Gray Studio site is not working, but the address is correct, if you will enter it yourself. It is worth the visit!)

I Love History

I am republishing the first post for those of you who have joined the blog recently. Together, this post and the Year's End post share my purpose for beginning the blog, as well as suggesting some archived posts you may want to read. I have progressed well on the book manuscript and will continue to keep you advised. Thank you for your support, and please continue providing your input with checks in the boxes at the end of each post, clicks on +1, and comments. If you would like to receive an e-mail advising you of each new post, it is easy. Scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and you will find a window asking if you would like to follow the blog by e-mail. Type your e-mail address in the window and click on "submit." You will be sent an e-mail at the address you typed asking you to confirm that you sent the request. Follow the instructions in that e-mail to confirm, and you will begin receiving the new posts. I appreciate very much all of you who continue to share the blog site with others who might enjoy it! Happy New Year!!

I love history!  It gives us such a road map of achievements to emulate and mistakes to avoid.  When I am discouraged by things happening in the world in which I live, I am heartened by reading history.  If they made such a mess of things--and they often did--and their world survived, then perhaps our own mixed-up world can survive the problems we have created.  It would be better, of course, if we learned the lessons of history and avoided those mistakes, but that happens too rarely to count on it.

History need not always be learned from books.  My brother was much more clever about this than I was.  He would sit quietly in the corner of a room filled with adult conversations, pretending to read or play some game but all the time listening to what was being said.  He learned many adult things this way when he was still a little boy.  I, on the other hand, could only sit quietly for so long before something was said that roused my curiosity and I asked a question.  Immediately, I was told to go outside to play.  I should have learned to stay quiet, but I was then and remain a person who asks questions.

Part of the great joy in discovering something new is sharing what you've learned.  For the past two years I have been immersed in research, initially begun with the idea of writing about three sets of great grandparents who homesteaded within a few miles of each other in south-central Kansas.  I was raised in the house in which my father was born, built by my grandfather and great-grandmother, so family history, as well as community history during four generations, gives me a strong sense of place and a foundation of knowledge about the neighborhood.  As I did my research I wanted to ask questions, but most of the people with the answers were no longer alive.  Since I could not listen for answers from the older generations, it reminded me of my childhood when I had to figure things out for myself.  I had no idea how much fun I would have doing that.

I am beginning this blog to share the adventure of my research and writing with you.  All three sets of my great grandparents will be mentioned in the book, but an unexpected surprise during the research took me on a different path.  Some of you know about my encounter with a bachelor homesteader named Isaac.  One of you observed how much time I have spent with Isaac and told my husband, "Your wife is the only woman I know who is having an affair with a dead man!"  All I can say to that is, it has been quite an adventure that has become my passion.  George Macaulay Trevalyan said it beautifully:  "If one could make alive again for other people some cobwebbed skein of old dead intrigues and breathe breath and character into dead names and stiff portraits--That is history to me!"

I hope that in coming months people will enjoy reading my book, but in the meantime, I'll share with you the adventure of researching and writing it.