EMMA HECKART - IN HER OWN WORDS

It was 160 years ago this month that John and Elizabeth Heckart and their family came to Algona. They had come to join the community founded by their daughter, Sarah Heckart Call, and her husband, Asa. Another daughter, Emma, arrived with them.

First published in the Upper Des Moines Republican on December 13, 1911, the intriguing story below was handwritten by Emma Heckart at the request of Benjamin Reed, then serving as president of the Kossuth County Historical Society.  Portions of the story were used by Mr. Reed in his History of Kossuth County published in 1913, but her memories are worth reading in their entirety. 

REMEMBRANCE OF EARLY ALGONA

By:  Miss Emma Heckart

In my far away home in Florida comes a request from the president of the Kossuth County Historical Society for a paper on the early history of Algona.  The story has often been told by abler pens than mine, but as it is ever a pleasure to recall those days, I will, at the risk of being tiresome, tell again the little that I know.

ARRIVAL

It was on the 10^th of May, 1856, that we pulled into Algona.  We had made a five hundred mile trip from Elkhart, Indiana, with a four-ox team, in just seven weeks’ time.  I was but a child then, eleven years old, and can with certainty recall but little of the order in which the settlers moved in and built their houses, but the first glimpse I had of the place is firmly fixed in my memory.

Blue skies overhead and, if I had ever heard the expression, I think I should have called it a blue sky town for it was very sparsely settled.  One lonesome looking little cabin, off to our left as we came in from the south, was the only human habitation in sight.  But it was not all blue sky—there was the solid ground beneath our feet covered with soft spring grass; timber lands were to the north and the south of us, and with the Des Moines river almost encircling us, it was truly a beautiful place for founding a city.

The log house on our left, which could be plainly seen with the naked eye, was known as the “Joe Moore cabin” and a right hospitable place it must have been, for inside could be seen Jerome Stacy, W. H. Ingham, L. H. Smith, Abe Hill, Jake Cummins, Father Taylor, the Joe Thompson family, and I don’t know how many more.

There were eight of us—my father and mother, Michael Fisher, my mother’s brother, who died the following winter and was the first settler buried in Riverview Cemetery, a teamster, who had come with us from Indiana, a sister, two brothers and myself, and I have no doubt but that we too could have found shelter under the same roof if we had applied for admission, but we were aiming for another point.  Straight to the northwest we steered our craft, over cementless walks and houseless lots and soon came in sight of another cabin—the home of my sister, Mrs. Call, who had preceded us by nearly two years, and whom we were all anxious to see.  Love is stronger than gold or lands and it was more through her letters of entreaty that “we come to Algona and live near her” than the lure of Uncle Sam’s broad prairies that had urged us on through spring rains, mud and slush and treacherous sloughs and was even now bringing us to her cabin door.

The oxen were too slow for me and jumping out while the wagon was visibly moving, I rushed for the cabin door into the middle of the room, but no Sarah could be seen.  Standing there and wondering where she could be I heard a suspicious little sniffle behind the door.  Looking back I found my sister, overcome with joy at meeting all again, she had hidden herself and was crying and laughing simultaneously.

Many and long have the years been, dear sister since we mingled our tears behind your cabin door, but they will be fewer and shorter till we meet again at heaven’s open portal.

I had two other sisters then but neither one quite so dear as Sarah.  She had nursed me in my infancy, played with me in childhood, and taught me to read, knit and sew.  She was at once mother, sister, playmate and friend.  Sacred to me is her memory.

A few rods east of the Call cabin, showing through the trees and hazel thicket, stood the four walls of our own.  Kind neighbors had, before we arrived, raised the building and cut openings for one door and half a window.  We stayed with the Calls one week till our cabin was finished and then took possession.  We had a fine garden that year—everything seemed to thrive on the rich Iowa soil and father and mother and brother Cal raised an abundance of seed-corn, potatoes and watermelons.

INDIAN SCARES

One day after we had been living in our new home for about a week, a tent was pitched a few rods east of our cabin.  Like a big mushroom it had sprung up in a few hours.  Men and boys, women and girls, dogs and horses were moving in lively commotion.  Hezekiah Henderson had come to town, and judging by the goods he had brought with him, had come to stay.  I don’t remember the length of time they lived in this tent, but “Ki” was an energetic man and before the terrible winter of “56-7 had set in he had built a commodious hewn log cabin near the present site of the Thorington Hotel and had his numerous family warmly housed.  It was the largest cabin in town and was a much needed place, for here the homeless young men who were seeking their fortunes in primitive Algona, found a good boarding place and travelers were hospitably entertained, and here one winter night the whole town rendezvoused for safety.  It was in the winter of ’57, shortly after the massacre at Spirit Lake, we were aroused from our slumbers by a rap at the door, and someone in a fearfully low and blood-curdling voice told us to “get up quick, the Indians were just on the other side of the river, that they could see their camp fire with figures moving in front of it, that we must all go to Ki Hendersons.”  It is needless to say we hurried.  Excitement and fear prevented us making very great headway, but as fast as we were able sought refuge in the new cabin.  The women and children were hustled off upstairs.  Men with guns filled the room below, and others stood guard outside, with the understanding that if anyone fired off a gun without orders, he would be shot.

Fearfully we waited, expecting any moment to hear the firing of guns and the whoop of Indians, but not a sound was heard, nor a funeral note.  We upstairs people grew tired listening and waiting and one by one lopped over on to beds, chairs or floor and went to sleep.  When morning dawned we woke and quietly went to our homes, thankful and surprised that we were still living.

That camp fire with the figures moving in front of it was a singular vision.  Captain Ingham and a few others with him crossed the river that night to the north of the place where the light seemed to be, but found no fire or Indians.  And I afterwards learned that people living on the West Branch of the Des Moines river, twenty miles away, on the same night, saw the same light still west of them as far as eye could see.

Another comfortable and well built cabin was built in the summer of ’56 by Father Taylor.  Here he lived, and from here, like the Master, who it was his delight to serve, went about doing good.  He gave time, money and comfort for the people among whom he had cast his lot.

Thus the log cabin era of Algona was ended.  It was overlapped and in some instances reached far into the frame house period, but these five cabins were all, I think, that was ever built on the town site.  J. Ellison Blackford had built on the west border of town in the summer of ’55, but it was over the line.  Several young men and few newcomers had put up log residences on their claims, but a steam saw mill, the boiler of which we had passed fast stuck in a slough on our way here from near Independence, soon supplied the people with a more easily manipulated building material, and time has effectually covered the last traces of these early Algona homes.

The summer of ’56 was particularly prosperous and hopeful.  The crops were fine; the seed corn and potatoes yielded abundantly and our garden was a surprise—a source of pleasure and profit.

Everything seemed to thrive and everybody seemed pleased that they had come to Algona.  But if fortune’s pendulum swung high it fell accordingly low during the winter that followed.  Never since have we seen the snow so deep nor the cold so intense.  Thermometers often registered 40 degrees below zero and snow as four feet deep on the level with drifts twenty feet high.  To keep warm and get enough to eat were the mighty problems that faced us.  Like the winter of 1620, when a few brave pilgrims landed on the bleak shores of New England, “It was a time for trying the stoutest hearts.”  But the same over-ruling Providence that preserved their lives was caring for us.  A young man with a load of frozen pork, on his way to Mankato, was stormbound in our town, and the people gladly bought his whole load and considered it a Godsend.  I never heard what the people of Mankato thought about it.

The town would soon have recovered from the gloom which that winter had cast over it, but another blow was in store for it.  The Indian massacre at Spirit Lake effectually retarded all growth, and it was with difficulty the few settlers then living here were induced to stay.  A fortress was commenced but never finished.  After they had done their terrible work at Spirit Lake the Indians left, never to return.  A short time before we came to Algona they had made their last visit to this place.  About one hundred of them had departed for new hunting grounds just before we arrived, so that we have never had even a glimpse of the savages.  Before they left they assembled on the knoll where the D. H. Hutchins house stands, and gathering a number of pebbles, made a circle of them on the ground and marked each pebble with red.  We never could interpret the meaning of the symbol.

A dead calm was resting on the place; all immigration has ceased; building was suspended; the saw mill was quiet.  The ordinarily routine of living went on.  We raised our crops that we might have something to eat, we ate that we might raise more.  Our churches and schools, lyceum and social functions were faithfully attended.  We gradually grew accustomed to our quiet mode of living, always hoping that the lull would, ere long, be broken.  But in ’61 a cloud came up from the South and for more than three years its black hulk hung over us.  Fort Sumpter had been fired upon and quickly the discharge was felt in Iowa homes.  Civil War was upon us and some of our number must go.  Meetings were held in the Town hall and speeches were made, firing the hearts of our young men with enthusiasm.  About twenty, I think, left their homes and friends for the front—three came back.  A few of them were killed in battle, but the greater number died like rats in the trap.  Under orders of a half-drunken captain they were hurried off, as soon as anyone showed any symptoms of being sick, to a poorly managed hospital, where they promptly died after a few days treatment.

After the war was ended and peace again settled over the land the thoughts of the people once more turned westward and Algona received a fair share of the immigration.  It has since increased steadily but rather slowly in population and wealth till the present year, 1911, which is now witnessing its most rapid growth since the summer of 1856.

I am afraid my story is indeed tiresome, but when those old time memories are called up for recognition they come trooping in such numbers and so rapidly it is difficult to leave any unnoticed.

                                                Emma Heckart

                                                Zephyr Hills, Florida, Nov. 27, 1911

Mary Emmeline Heckart began teaching school at the age of 17 making $20 per month.  She continued to teach for forty years.  Although she never married, she helped to raise two orphaned nieces, Carrie Beall and May C. Walker.  She made her final home in Zephyr Hills, Florida, where she died on August 4, 1937.

Until next time,

Jean, a/k/a KC History Buff

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GRACE BEANE

Grace Beane

While cleaning and straightening the genealogy room at the Algona Public Library last fall, I found several photos of a Mrs. Beane and her home.  I had previously come across the Beane name while researching other topics, so I felt a touch of serendipity when the photos surfaced.  There was also an accompanying letter stating that she kept boarders—mostly young single lady teachers.  I was fairly certain that her husband was a doctor, so the fact that she kept boarders made me curious so I decided to dig a little further.

MEET THE BEANES

Grace Armington was born in 1861 near Chester, Vermont.  She moved to Iowa with her family in 1878.  Five years later at the age of 22 she married Dr. Albert A. Beane.  Albert had gone to medical school at the state university and, after getting his medical license, had begun practicing in Ida Grove.  In 1891 the two moved to Burt where he practiced for thirteen years.  His practice was not restricted to just the Burt area—he traveled the county tending to his patients.

From Burt Monitor 10/28/1897

Albert and Grace were unable to have any children of their own.  While residing in Burt, the wife of a local man, John Grover, passed away and he could not care for all of his children.  The Beanes took in his two youngest daughters, Myrtle and Dicie.  They would go on to adopt the girls and raise them as their own.

In 1903 the family moved to What Cheer, Iowa, where Dr. Beane continued to practice medicine.  Just a few months after the move, the doctor became very ill with peritonitis.  News of his illness spread back to this area and several friends including Dr. M. J. Kenefick rushed to his side, but did not arrive until after Albert had passed away.  Grace was a widow at the age of 42.

 
LIFE WITHOUT ALBERT

Having only been in What Cheer a few months, Grace had not yet established any close relationships.  There were two young daughters to care for, aged 7 and 9.  She decided to move to Algona to be near the friends she had in Burt and the surrounding area.

She purchased the Cooke cottage located at 415 East Call Street.  Before moving in, Grace built a kitchen addition on to the house and installed a hot-water heating plant and connected to city sewer. 

Although the Beanes owned a farm which provided Grace with some income, she had two young daughters to support and so she knew that she had to do something to earn funds to help with expenses.  Once settled into her newly remodeled home, Mrs. Beane began to take in boarders—young single female teachers who taught at the local schools. 

Grace must have been a marvelous landlord for the young ladies.  An article published in the December 21, 1905 edition of the Advance states, “Mrs. A.A. Beane treated her lady boarders to a fine carriage ride Saturday afternoon.  She drove them out to the poor farm and then back and out to the A.D. Clarke farm east of town, besides making sight-seeing journies in various other directions.  When the young fellows on the curb stones caught a glimpse of the school ma’ams in the load they began singing that old Sunday school song ‘I want to go, I want to go’ etc.”  I can only imagine the merriment that was experienced during that carriage ride.

A BUSY LIFE

The girls enrolled in the local schools and thrived here.  Their birth father, John Grover, continued to visit them on occasion and they also kept in touch with two older sisters, one of whom lived in Titonka and the other in South Dakota. Myrtle was a naturally talented musician and became well-known for her abilities at the piano.  Dicie delighted in participating in declamatory events, debating and reader’s theatre and won many awards.  She was much in demand at area programs reading classical or humorous prose, often participating in the annual Memorial Day program with a patriotic reading.  During World War I, the sisters teamed up together to present programs as a way to raise much needed funds for the Red Cross.

Grace, too, was busy in the community.  She was a member of P.E.O., the Library Aid Society, and the Home Economics Club.  A devoted member of the Presbyterian Church, she often hosted meetings of the Ladies Aid Society in her home and had several fundraisers there as well.  She managed the farm land in Portland Township, occasionally visiting the tenants and making necessary improvements including the building of a new barn in 1907.

415 East Call Street, Algona

The Beane home was often the site of many happy celebrations.  Both Myrtle and Dicie were encouraged to bring their friends over for impromptu gatherings.  Even the teachers who boarded there would host dinner parties, inviting all of the teachers from the school to join the festivities. 

As the girls got older, they began to use their skills to help support themselves.  Myrtle gave piano lessons at her home and at various places in the county.  At one time she had 32 students in Titonka alone.  Dicie also gave lessons in dramatic art and public speaking.  Eventually both girls went to Coe College at Cedar Rapids.  Myrtle obtained her teaching degree and Dicie studied elocution. 

A particularly joyous occasion took place on August 20, 1918, when Dicie was married to Theo Ewart, who was head of the Quinby & Krause shoe department.  The ceremony took place at the family home which was beautifully decorated in yellow and white for the summer ceremony.  A delicious wedding dinner was served at 5 p.m. for the bridal party and their guests. 

The following year the Ewarts had a daughter of their own.  Grace enjoyed her role as grandmother and began making regular trips to Hampton where the couple now lived. 

Myrtle began teaching at Ames, moved to South Dakota, and eventually ended up in Duluth, Minnesota where she became a social worker. 

LATER YEARS

With the girls both grown and on their own, Grace did some traveling.  She would occasionally rent her home out for several months while she was gone.  She spent one winter at the home of her sister in Minnesota and on another occasion she went to Winnipeg to keep house for her nephew who lost his wife in the influenza epidemic in 1919.

415 East Call, Algona in 2016

Grace remained active in the community until her sudden passing from a heart attack on January 21, 1928.  Her obituary stated that she “was held in the highest esteem by her many friends because of her splendid qualities as a true Christian woman and friend.”  Her funeral was conducted by Rev. A. English at the Presbyterian Church with her burial at Riverview Cemetery here in Algona.

Myrtle and Dicie continued to visit Algona off and on over the years, keeping in contact with their many friends here.  I am sure that their visits always included a drive past their childhood home where so many happy memories were made.

I think it is quite touching that one of her boarders cared so much for Grace that she saved these photos throughout her life.  It is delightful to share them--and Grace's story--with you.  

Until next time,

Kossuth County History Buff

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FIRE IN WESLEY

Fire at any time can be very destructive, but in the early days of Kossuth County it was particularly dangerous.  Most buildings at that time were constructed of wood and heated with wood stoves, making them especially vulnerable to this danger.  Business structures normally did not have fire walls between the neighboring stores which often led to infernos which would destroy a large portion of a downtown district.  Such was the case for the town of Wesley on June 14, 1907. 

THE FIRE BEGINS

In the wee hours of that Friday morning – between 3 and 4 a.m. – Mrs. Walter Cowan discovered the Reliance elevator to be on fire.  According to Mrs. Cowan, the flames seemed to be under the office floor of the elevator.  Although the workers had been shelling corn the day before and had worked late into the evening to finish, that didn’t appear to have been the source of the fire. 

Coincidentally the Reliance elevator had recently been purchased by a group of area farmers who had formed the “Wesley Cooperative Farmer’s Society.”  News stories of the time differ as to exactly when the society was to take possession—some said it was that Friday, the day of the fire, while others said it was to happen the following Monday.  A meeting had been held between the previous owners and staff and the incoming employees at the facility on Thursday evening which was followed by a social hour which ended late in the night.  Evidently there was some unhappiness in the community concerning the sale and suspicion regarding the incendiary origin was expressed.  There was some discussion that arson was involved, but it was never proven. 

THE FIGHT IS ON

The alarm was sounded at the central telephone exchange and soon most of the town people were at the scene.  One of the biggest hindrances in fighting the fire was the non-existence of a water works system in Wesley.  Very few small towns at that time had a municipal water works of any kind.  Most citizens had their own wells which they relied on for their needs.  That day force pumps were used at private wells and cisterns to pump water on the fire, but the fire spread so fast that it was impossible to gain control.

A valiant effort was made to contain the flames to the elevator site, but it soon became apparent that they were fighting a losing battle.  The gathered crowd started taking out and saving goods from the stores and businesses in jeopardy as well as trying to stop the flames from spreading beyond the block in question.  Despite the southeast wind driving flames and sparks toward it, the block containing the opera house was saved from destruction due to the hard work of the fire fighters and other locals.

Algona Advance
June 20,1907

Although the firemen attempted to contact surrounding communities including Algona for help, the fire had impaired some of the telephone wires.  The mayor telegraphed Algona asking for help.  Seven members of the Algona crew would come over much later on the noon freight bringing fire hoses, but it was too little too late.  Besides they found the hoses to be useless as there was not a pump sufficient for their needs.

The heavy smoke rapidly ended the attempts of the volunteers to save merchandise and other materials from the threatened structures.  The large crowd was forced to stand back and watch almost the entire block go up in flames.  When the smoke cleared, only several yard buildings located on the Moore Lumber location were left standing. 

Businesses consumed included the Reliance elevator, the Hunting Elevator Company, Cowan’s Restaurant, Oscar Nelson’s general store, the Kunz & Isaacson clothing store, George Klinck’s barbershop (with his living quarters upstairs), A. M. Lease photograph gallery, and the coal sheds of Moore Lumber Co. 

The coal sheds had made the blaze particularly difficult to fight.  The heat and flames coming off the large compilation of coal made a tremendous fire threatening other downtown buildings for hours.  It would go on to smolder for several days.

Grateful for the help from Algona, Mayor Oscar Nelson furnished supper that evening for the men to thank them for their service.  The Milwaukee Railroad Co. also transported the group free of charge.

The amount of damages that occurred that day was estimated at $45,000 to $50,000.  Most of the businesses only had partial insurance coverage and some had none at all.

Photo from History of Kossuth County
published in 1913 - several years after the fire

WORKING TOWARD A SAFER FUTURE

The fire once again validated the need for a waterworks system for the city.  Many speculated that had a waterworks been in place, the flames could have been confined to the elevators alone.  An article published in the Titonka Topic a few days after the fire on June 27, 1907, stated, “The Whittemore Champion is right when it says that Wesley, Whittemore, Titonka and other towns believe in the theory that it is a good thing to lock the barn door after the horse is stolen; meaning that the citizens are in favor of a waterworks system after the town is burned.  This same theory is good anywhere.  It was a good thing when Titonka burned, yet we failed to get any kind of waterworks.  The proper and right thing to do is to get the waterworks before a fire and save the property.  But then our citizens cannot see it in that way and they never realize what a town needs until after the fire destroys thousands of dollars’ worth of property.”

Although Whittemore and Titonka had endured massive fires and had not proceeded with the establishment of a waterworks system, the citizens of Wesley were not about to let this happen again.  A proposal for the installation of an $8,000 system was brought to a vote at a special election held in August of that year.  It passed by a wide majority—thanks to 60 women of the community who cast their votes in favor of the project.

Bonds were sold to pay for the system later that year and in the fall of 1908 the waterworks in Wesley was complete and operational.  It was called the finest system in the county.  Out of the flames rose a stronger and safer community.

Until next time,

Kossuth County History Buff

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HOW WE GOT DANDELIONS

Perhaps over the years you have enjoyed dandelion greens as a delicacy or you may have held the yellow blossom under your chin to see if you like butter, but other than that, I have never found much use for dandelions.  For anyone who has ever gardened or maintained a lawn, they can be a real annoyance and much time, effort and chemicals have been spent to rid ourselves of them. 

Have you ever wondered how the lowly dandelion got to Kossuth County?  Well, according to the following article written by Emma Heckart and published in The Upper Des Moines on July 20, 1900, it was brought here by Elizabeth (Mrs. John) Heckart, the mother of Sarah Heckart Call. I think you will enjoy the story.

HOW WE GOT DANDELIONS

It is hard to believe now that the dandelion has not always been common in Kossuth.  But it has not.  It is not a native plant.  “Grandma” Heckart brought the first dandelion ever seen in Kossuth, and from it all the dandelions have come.  Miss Emma Heckart has written a little story, which The Upper Des Moines has persuaded her to allow it to publish.  It is as follows:

Once upon a time, nearly 50 years ago, when Kossuth county was but a wild tract of country with Indians roaming over its prairies; when there were but a few white people who had settled and made homes here and there were no dandelions to be seen, a dear old father and mother living in Indiana thought it best for themselves and their five children to move to this new country.

The father, accordingly, sold the old homestead and everything else that was too big or heavy to take along.  The mother made new clothes for the family and mended the old ones.  She gathered garden and flower seeds for their new home, and when the winter snows were gone, and the days began to grow warm, they started with a four ox-team on the long 500 mile journey.  It took seven weeks to make the trip, for the roads were bad and oxen are not very swift travelers, and it was near the middle of May when they reached their journey’s end.  But they went right to work planting corn and making garden, and everything grew as fast as it knew how.

But a funny thing happened that shall keep the mother’s memory fresh as long as a dandelion shall rise up in Kossuth county to bless her name.  Among the garden seeds she had sown a green little plant appeared.  She did not at first recognize it, but decided to let it grow, and perhaps it would prove to be something valuable.

What do you suppose it was?  Just a little baby dandelion.

It brought a tear to the mother’s eye for it reminded her of the old home she had perhaps, left forever.  She could not destroy the little waif but allowed it to grow on through the summer and the next winter it slept securely under the deepest snow the family had ever seen.

Another spring came.  The snows went off again and little dandy peeped up and smiled at the mother.  Again she spared his life, and in a few weeks, as if to reward her, held up a pretty yellow flower, which we children called a twenty dollar gold piece.

But the mother would not touch the pretty thing.  “I will let it be,” she said, “and raise just a few dandelions.  They are good for medicine and make such nice greens.”

So the yellow blossom changed into a gray-headed dandy, and one day the wind blew him quite bald, and his gray hair went flying all over the garden.  Before the snows came again every hair had started to grow, for they were not hairs after all, but real dandelion seed.  They all grew for they were hardy little fellows, and the next spring instead of a “few dandelions,” they were found scattered far and wide over the village, and the twenty dollar gold piece which the mother had so tenderly preserved had increased a million fold.

And this is the true story of the Kossuth county dandelion.  The Indian has gone but the prairies are dotted with the white men’s homes, and the dandelion is here to stay.

                                                        Emma Heckart

Until next time,

Kossuth County History Buff

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