THE ENTERPRISING J.O. PAXSON

In a previous post I mentioned the book, “Enterprising Men of Algona” which was published in 1917.  J. O. Paxson is one of the enterprising men featured in the book and today I want to share with you his story. 

THE EARLY YEARS

Joseph Oliver Paxson was born April 13, 1856, in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, the son of Ellwood and Elizabeth (White) Paxson.  In his late teens he traveled west to Minneapolis. It was there that he met the family of Capt. D.D. Dodge.  More specifically, he met the Dodges’ beautiful young daughter, Helen.  When the Dodge family moved to Algona in early 1876, young Paxson soon followed.  Coming by train during a blizzard, he arrived at the Milwaukee depot on St. Patrick’s Day of that same year.  He must have held the key to Helen’s heart as they were married on July 4^th.

The young couple began their life together on a farm located in Section 12 of Riverdale township.  It was there that their two sons, Elwood and Dana, and their daughter, Katherine, were born.  Taking care of a cattle herd and grain farming filled their days.  They occasionally entertained the young people of the area at their residence by hosting dances and other events.

Somehow Joe found time to serve as a member of the Kossuth County Agricultural Association which ran the Kossuth County Fair.  During his service on the board as the director from Riverdale Township, six additional acres were purchased and added to the fairgrounds, many new exhibit classes were added and a poultry exhibit building was constructed.  He served as superintendent of the horse show and on other committees that ran various fair events.  At that time the fair was held in September each year. 

A NEW BEGINNING

The Paxsons retired from farming in March of 1903 and moved to Algona.  Joe was still a relatively young man at the age of 47.  He soon discovered a second career in the insurance business.  In 1906 he began his association with Kossuth County Mutual Fire Association when he became assistant to Secretary Ed Blackford.  Eight years later he became secretary of the firm when Mr. Blackford retired.  As part of his duties, Paxson traveled the county as an adjustor for the Association, settling claims with local policyholders. 

In addition to his involvement with Kossuth Mutual, Joe also ran a private agency to provide a wide range of insurance products.  The Association only wrote insurance against fire and lightening and he wanted to offer life, accident, automobile and other types of coverage to his customers which he was able to do through other companies.  He built a solid reputation as a trustworthy businessman. 

PART OF THE COMMUNITY

The Paxsons became an integral part of the local community.  Joe was elected to City Council and served six years.  During his term he was appointed mayor pro tem to serve in the absence of the mayor.  As a councilman he led the efforts to pave the streets of Algona.  So successful was he at this project that he was sometimes teasingly referred to as “Pavement Paxson.”  

Mr. Paxson was one of the first members and promoters of the Algona Commercial Club which was formed to promote county resources and advance agricultural and manufacturing businesses in the county.  This appears to be the 1910 version of today’s economic development corporations. The intention was to promote businesses already established such as the brick and tile works, the Nicoulin wagons and drays, and the Doering manure spreader company as well as to attract new industry to the area.

Helen was a founding member and first president of the local D.A.R. chapter.  She greatly enjoyed bridge and the couple often entertained in their home, hosting card parties or musical entertainment.  On New Year’s Eve in 1912, they took part in a large gathering in town which started with a reception for area women by the Methodist Ladies’ Aid and concluded with stops at seven area homes by their male counterparts.  The men had formed groups and had designed “calling cards” with their titles such as “Lucky Thirteen,” “Algona Thoroughbreds and High Steppers,” or “Hungry Eight.”  In addition to their names, some of the cards had their photos on them or a cute poem.  The presentation of these cards allowed their admission to each home where they would entertain or be entertained and be rewarded with refreshments. It was the social event of the season and was talked about for weeks afterward.

As shown in the drawing, Paxson had quite a collection of pipes.  Many were gifts from his good friends.  J.T. Chrischilles presented him with a curious one purchased at the Inn of the Good Samaritan between Jerusalem and Jericho.  It was made of clay native to that area, had been well used and appeared to be an antiquity.  Joe’s son Elwood gifted him a genuine Indian peace pipe from Oklahoma. It was about three foot long and very heavy.  Another in his prized collection was a Hungarian Jahlausji pipe from Hungary given to him by Ed Blackford.

Unfortunately in the late 1920’s Joe’s health began to fail.  He remained as secretary of Kossuth Mutual with his son, Dana, as his assistant. The gradual decline continued until his passing on January 12, 1933 at the age of 76.  He had resigned his secretary position just two days before. 

HELEN CARRIES ON

Following Joe’s passing, Helen remained active.  She attended the Congregational Church and volunteered there frequently.  Mrs. Paxson was well respected as a kind and popular woman.  She loved to tell stories of her life.  She particularly enjoyed sharing the memory of the return of her father, Capt. D. D. Dodge, from his service in the Civil War and how handsome he looked in his uniform.

Both of Helen’s sons predeceased her which definitely brought shadows to her later life.  However, she managed to keep an optimistic view and often declared that life was good to her.  Every description found of her uses terms such as "cheerful," "well-loved" and "admired."

She eventually moved to an apartment at 404 South Harlan and at the age of 97 still walked to downtown Algona several times a week as well as to services at the Congregational Church of which she was a 50 year member.  Although she enjoyed an occasional television show, she found her eyes easily tired when watching it.  She never had a set of her own but enjoyed keeping up with current events by listening to the radio.  Helen loved to have company, especially those who wanted to play bridge or canasta.    

Kossuth County Advance - April 19, 1954

It was interesting to find an ad placed by her friends at The Chrischilles Store congratulating her on her 97^th birthday.  The ad related that Mrs. Paxson had been a customer of the store for 78 years.  She had bought a set of dishes from Theo Chrischilles at his little wooden store east of the courthouse in 1878 and had been a devoted customer ever since. 

Late in her 97^th year, she moved to the Roberts Nursing Home which was located in the former Ambrose Call home on South Hall Street.  She later died there on December 23, 1958, at the age of 99.  Her services were held at the Congregational Church and then Helen was buried by her beloved Joe in Riverview Cemetery.

J.O. Paxson was truly an enterprising man who worked hard to advance the community and area that he loved. 

Until next time,

KC History Buff

If you enjoyed this post, please don’t forget to “like” and SHARE to Facebook.  Not a Facebook user?  Sign up with your email address in the box on the right to have each post sent directly to you.

Be sure to visit the KCHB Facebook page for more interesting info about the history of Kossuth County, Iowa.

Reminder:  The posts on Kossuth County History Buff are ©2015-16 by Jean Kramer.  Please use the FB “share” feature instead of cutting/pasting.

PRAIRIE FIRE!

One evening this spring my husband asked me to help with a controlled burn of a small field.  (I use the term "help" very loosely here).  As I watched the flames quickly consume the dry grass, it proved to me the danger our pioneer ancestors faced from prairie fires.  It also reminded me of a chapter from "Early Algona" written by Florence Call Cowles, the oldest child of Ambrose and Nancy (Henderson) Call.  It is a tale of a happy family day which ended in a narrow escape from a raging prairie fire.  I am including a slightly shortened version of that chapter here.

A True Pioneer Story for the Children

        Ma already had on her best dress with its long, full hoop skirt and tight waist and sloping shoulders with the little white collar and blue ribbon bow at her neck.  Her hair was parted and combed smoothly back into a net that let it hang in a flat coil at the nape of her neck.  Ma was still a very young woman in spite of a husband and four little daughters, and she was so bubbling over with life and enthusiasm that a picnic outing and ride meant as much to her, in the midst of monotonous days of hard work, as it did to her four little girls.  Her pink cheeks were flushed and tiny little tendrils of wavy brown hair crept out from under the prim black net and she was very good to look at.  Pa’s brown whiskers were nicely combed and his Sunday suit would have told you that this was a special occasion.  Bill and Colonel were hitched to the lumber wagon and tied to the gate post, patiently waiting for the excited family to be ready.  For this was a gala day!  We were going on a great adventure!  Pa was taking us with him while he looked at land in Portland township, nine or ten or maybe even eleven miles from home!  A long distance in those days—in the ‘60’s.

        At last everything was ready for our start.  Pa and Ma and roly-poly Bertie were enthroned on the big spring seat where pa was to drive old Bill and Colonel.  Timid, curly headed Eda and gentle little Etta and I—three happy youngsters—sat with our feet curled under us in the bottom of the wagon behind.  A few pitch forks of straw covered with an ancient quilt made the most luxurious of upholstering, softening the jolts of our primitive roads.  The lunch basket and a little grain for Bill and Colonel were already stowed away and we were off!

        Oh, what joy to be a frontier youngster!  It was a glorious Sunday morning, soft and balmy with just a little cool touch on our cheeks when a playful breeze kissed us.  Birds sang, katydids screeched at us, flowers waved at us and all nature noticed that we were starting and rejoiced with us.

        Soon we were across the little ravine, up the slope and beyond the little scattered cluster of houses.  Then past the fringe of oak trees which nature plants along the winding rivers in Iowa.  Now we were out on the prairie—the glorious prairie!  We tossed off our hot shakers and drew a deep, deep breath.  One had to be bare headed and free from everything binding in this great, broad expanse of waving green that spread out as far as one could see.  Our grandparents loved the little pinched-up, stingy, stony towns,—villages—they called them,—strung along the New England rivers—how could they—with hills cramping and squeezing them in until people and villages must have panted for breath!  Aunts talked of going “back east” until we youngsters thought “back east” must be another name for heaven—the heaven Father Taylor talked about at Sunday school.  If that was heaven, what was this—this great, generous, glorious outdoors?  The rich black soil with no rocks but an occasional boulder—teeming with millions and millions of flowers!  Just see the acres of violet and mauve and purple fall asters—the scattered red lilies, the heavenly blue gentians, the black-eyed Susans, the feathery goldenrod and the tall, billowy waving grass reaching on and on until it met the sky with the fleecy clouds.  And then the freshness of the air, the exhilarating air that filled our lungs until we felt we could fly.  No one crowded us—no one stepped on our toes or joggled our elbows.  And we—spindling little youngsters—the first crop of the pioneer life spreading out into this great west, happy as kings—sitting on our cramped feet in the back of the crude wagon on the straw—wondered why we were so happy!  Or we would have wondered, had we thought about it.

        As it was, we sang.  Not the songs Father Taylor taught us at singing school but a song we had composed for just such rides, ourselves.  It was a chant of joy perhaps, a paean of praise, a long drawn out “ah-a-a-ah” sung in concert.  This would be sharply accented by a sudden jolt when the wagon ran onto a rock or over a gopher hill, causing an involuntary and unexpected change of tune as we bounced in the wagon bottom.  Then what joyous shrieks of laughter!  Why was it so funny?  Who can tell?  Was it simply the joy of life and youth bubbling over?  Perhaps.

        On we went along our little double-tracked path of a road, grass and wild flowers covering the ridge in the middle.   Bill and Colonel were not fine carriage horses.  All the week they plodded up and down the furrows or pulled heavy loads of wood for winter or hauled great loads of hay.  They resented just a little being deprived of their Sunday rest.  But who could resist the holiday spirit of this gay little group?  Even plow horses can feel the mood of their masters and a settled, contented jog succeeded old Bill’s and Colonel’s first rather forced start.

        Then we began to beg to get out and gather flowers.  The blue gentians were so alluring!  Soon father discovered a flaming red lily holding its cup up to the sun in the green prairie, and as he climbed back in the wagon, proudly handing it to mother, she exclaimed, perhaps tactfully, for she loved these rides, “I didn’t see that lily.  No one has such sharp eyes as pa!  He always sees the first red lilies on the prairie, and he finds the first yellow lady slippers on Chubb’s hill!”  What a wonderful father we had!  Mother said so and it must be true.  And we hugged ourselves with pride.

        Finally we turned out of our narrow two-pathed road with the flower-bedecked ridge onto the trackless prairie, our horses making their own path thru the tall grass.  Father had talked to mother while we were singing about the value of this land in Portland township for it was to spy out the land that we were on this ride.  He talked about the soil and the slope and the drainage—whatever it was—and wondered if there might not be a spring somewhere.  All the settlers had wells of course, wells with good water; wells, too, where we hung pails down on long ropes which held the butter we churned from old Plomy’s milk, keeping it fresh and hard and cool, but finding a spring, a bubbling spring of cold water seemed to a pioneer for some reason to be almost like finding a gold mine.

        Father talked, too, about “breaking” the land, as they called the first plowing and turning over of the virgin sod.  He said he would get oxen, five or six yokes of oxen to do this heavy work, then the first year he would sow it to flax and later what a valuable farm it would make!

        Then, oh, happy thought—he decided we would all get out and eat our lunch.  Great applause from four hungry youngsters and an appreciative whinny from old Bill as we slowed up.

        The horses were quickly unhitched, tied to the wagon box and given their grain, whence a contented crunching ensued.

        Mother spread a red tablecloth on the grass, opened the lunch basket and all gathered around.  Biscuits and chicken and doughnuts began to disappear.  Excited ants and grasshoppers went scurrying around, running here and there and hopping over the tablecloth, but they were all familiar friends of ours and caused no serious interruption.  A chipmunk sat on his haunches—surveyed the scene, and then ran scampering away.  A flock of prairie chickens went whirring up from the grass nearby, their fat, heavy bodies proclaiming the good eating they would make if pa only had his shotgun.  All was calm and peaceful and serene.  Where on this great, broad earth could be found a more peaceful picture or a more contented or happier group.

        A little breeze started bringing with it a stronger sensation of Indian summer.  What was it?  We all lifted our heads wonderingly, and drew in our breath.  Father look startled a second, then leaped to his feet!  He stood like a statue for an instant, then shouted, “A prairie fire, by thunder!  Hurry up, get in the wagon.   Quick, I tell you, it’s coming this way!”

        Mother seized the four corners of the tablecloth and dishes, chicken bones, scraps, all were dumped together in the wagon box.  Bertie began to cry, Etta to blink tears and Eda and I stood with open eyes and mouths, sniffing the smoky air.  Father had the horses hitched to the wagon before one could say “Jack Robinson” and before they were ready mother had hurried Etta and Bertie in and Eda and I had scrambled over the wheel to our places.

        In three minutes the happy picnic ground was behind us and Bill and Colonel were headed for Plum Creek, going at a greater pace than their old joints ever experienced before.

        Father urged them on faster and faster while behind us on the horizon, began to roll up great volumes of smoke.  The wind was rising and blowing the smoke directly towards us.  Soon we could see sparks in the air and we knew in a short time we could hear the crackle of the flames, devouring the tall autumn grass of the prairie.

        On and on we urged the horses, the wagon swaying and bouncing and the three young pioneers in the wagon box jolting and tumbling from side to side.  No more singing, no more exclamations of delight at the landscape—no gathering of flowers.  Only fear, grim terror at the power and swiftness of the crackling, roaring fiend in the distance who could sweep us out of existence in one moment.  One look at father’s strained face and mother’s pallor as she held little Bertie tight to her and clung to the swaying seat were enough for us.  Our hearts beat like drums!  We knew a great and terrible danger threatened us and we scarcely dared breath!

        On went Bill and Colonel—joints creaking, eyes bloodshot and lungs panting.  On came the smoke and flames in this terrible race—a race of life and death.  When and how would it end?

        We children had sometimes overheard lowered conversation when we were supposed to be sleeping or playing of the terrible suddenness of death and devastation caused by sweeping prairie fires.  We knew the danger was ranked with that of the savage Indians—with serious illness in the pioneer families, when isolated from help, and with starvation when cut off from supplies by the blizzards in mid-winter.  We had heard how men plowed circles around cabins and haystacks, turning the inflammable grass underneath and we had a vague idea of backfiring.  Young as we were we understood if we crossed Plum Creek, the fire could probably not leap across and reach us.

        At last, after what seemed an eternity, father heaved a sigh of relief and his muscles grew less tense.  Mother sat a little less rigid, the horses slowed up a trifle, and peering with frightened faces over the side of the wagon box we saw the tall prairie grass was disappearing from our path.  Instead, were the little shrubs and plum trees, wild grapevines and friendly bushes that flanked the borders of good little Plum Creek.  Soon we were splashing thru the creek itself and were across on the other side in safety.

        “Thank God,” said father as he drew a deep breath, “that was a close call!”  Mother gave one big sob, then hugged baby Bertie to her more tightly and hid her face an instant.  And we children?  We cried and laughed—and rolled over in the wagon box and laughed again to hide our tears.

        Father stopped old Bill and Colonel, got out and stroked their noses and patted their hot steaming necks, while they slowly regained their breath.  Then he said, “A pioneer has no better friend than a good horse!  Good old Bill!  Good old Colonel!  You saved six lives today!”

If you enjoyed this story, I am sure you would love to read the entirety of "Early Algona."  Copies are for sale at the Kossuth County Historical Museum. 

Until next time,

Jean, a/k/a the Kossuth County History Buff

If you enjoyed this post, please don’t forget to “like” and SHARE to Facebook.  Not a Facebook user?  Sign up with your email address in the box on the right to have each post sent directly to you.

Be sure to visit the KCHB Facebook page for more interesting info about the history of Kossuth County, Iowa.

Reminder:  The posts on Kossuth County History Buff are ©2015-16 by Jean Kramer.  Please use the FB “share” feature instead of cutting/pasting.

  

ALGONA'S FIRST SCHOOLHOUSE

Ever since the Town Hall had been finished in 1857, one of its main uses was a schoolhouse.  Seats had been set up around the room and as more students were added, two rows of double seats with desks in front had been added to the space as well as a large stove. 

CONTRACT LET FOR NEW SCHOOL

By 1866 the number of students attending school far exceeded the space available in the hall.  Over 70 scholars attended on a regular basis so some 25 or 30 of the small students were attending classes at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. E. C. Miles.  At the time the school was under the supervision of Mr. Miles.  It was obvious that a new schoolhouse was desperately needed and so in March of that year a contract was entered into with local builder James Henderson to construct a new building. It was to be located on the south end of the block now occupied by the former O.B. Laing Middle School.

The contract itself contained a very specific description of how the new school house was to be constructed and what it would look like.  The building itself was to be 30 by 50 feet and two stories high.  The lower story was to have a 10 foot ceiling with the upper story to be 11 foot “in the clear.”  The foundation was to be of stone and mortar and two foot wide.  Sills and lower joists were to be of burr oak with the balance of the frame work to be sound hard wood timber.

The building was to have fifteen windows with blinds.  The front door was to be three feet wide and six foot ten inches high with a transom overhead. Siding was to be of seasoned pine and painted with three coats of white paint.    

CONSTRUCTION BEGINS

Although the original contract provided that the school house was to be completed and ready for use by the winter term that began in January of 1867, due to the great difficulty in procuring the necessary lumber, the construction was delayed.  After completing the foundation, Mr. Henderson himself began hauling the pine lumber needed for finishing the structure. 

On June 5, 1867, the frame of the new school house was raised.  Many locals participated in the event, helping to raise the walls and fasten them together.  The fair board even postponed their meeting so that members could assist. 

The floor beams were made from local burr oak trees and were hewn from logs into square beams by the use of several axes.  A felling axe was used to score the log every few inches.  Then a broad axe was used to “slice” behind the scored edge, making a flat surface.  This was repeated around the log eventually creating a four sided beam designed to carry the weight of the building above it.  Looking at the beams today the scoring marks can still be seen.  If a builder wanted a perfectly smooth surface (perhaps for a finished beam that would be exposed), an adze would be used to remove the scorings left by the felling axe and make the surface smooth. 

Local citizens watched with great anticipation as the building began to take shape.  An article published in the Upper Des Moines on June 13, 1887, stated, “In a structure of this kind, the first and all important consideration is a good foundation.  This part of the work is done and well done.  It is of stone, laid in lime mortar, with stone bearings four feet square, ten feet apart, under each of the cross sills.  The frame is of oak and one of the best specimens of carpentry we have seen in Iowa.  When completed it will be the best school house in Northwestern Iowa, and will reflect much credit upon the district which furnishes the funds to build it.”

Staircase

Downstairs looking east toward entrance

Upstairs looking east toward two ante rooms

Construction continued all summer.  The first floor was divided into two rooms with a staircase leading to the second floor.  The upstairs contained one large room with two small ante rooms on one end.  In October the walls were plastered by Capt. S. B. Califf who was well known for his skills as a mason.  Finally in December it was ready for occupancy, complete with a belfry on top, ready for the bell specially ordered from A. T. Bales & Company in Chicago at a cost of $54.  Desks and seats with iron frames were neatly arranged in the classrooms and screwed to the floor on the lower level.  Blackboards lined the walls.  These two rooms were able to accommodate 90 students.  Since E.C. Miles had left teaching and entered the ministry and so the school was now under the supervision of a Miss Leonard as principal, with Miss Lizzie Reed serving as assistant teacher.    

The winter season had already arrived and so in order to be sure their children would be able to attend on a regular basis, many parents began searching for boarding places where the youngsters could stay during the week.  Not all parents were so accommodating.  Children often carried a heavy load at home, helping with farming or other occupations, gathering wood, caring for animals, and other tasks that needed to be performed.  An editorial published in the May 9th, 1867 edition of the Upper Des Moines chastised parents who allowed their children to miss regular attendance.  “No child, after having once entered school, should be permitted either by parent or teacher, to absent him or herself from the school without a valid excuse.  It lays the corner stone of the foundation of unsteady habits—renders the man vacillating and undecided in every thing he undertakes, fits for uselessness and makes him a blank in society.”  And later in the same article, “While you are spending your money with a liberal hand for the support of schools, see to it that your children are benefitted to the full value of the investment.  If they are not thus benefitted, do not let it be said that it was the fault of the parents.” 

COMMUNITY EVENT CENTER

With the school building now completed and in full operation, the upper story began to be used for other activities outside of school hours.  It was furnished with iron frame seats which provided appropriate seating for a variety of events.  The Methodists used it for worship services and other organizations held their meetings in the facility.  Political candidates used it to address their constituents.  Educational and informative lectures were given to an interested public.  A corner became the location of the first public library – complete with the tarpon donated by W.H. Ingham.  The building became an integral part of the growing community.

Alas, even though two wings were eventually added to the structure, the number of scholars soon outgrew the building and by the early 1880s it was decided a much larger facility was needed.  Central School was to be located on the same block where the smaller wooden school building stood and so it became necessary to either tear down or move the wooden structure to make room for the new construction.  It happened that the local G.A.R. post was looking for a meeting space and so the structure was moved several blocks to the west and placed at the corner of Dodge and Nebraska. 

Building as it looked as the GAR Post

STILL IN USE

Undoubtedly one of the oldest buildings in Algona, it has been in continuous use since its opening in December of 1867.  The American Legion took over the building after the G.A.R. disbanded and then it was purchased by the Kossuth County Historical Society to serve as a museum to display their extensive collection of historical memorabilia.  Although its current foundation is in bad shape, the building itself is still very solid – a real tribute to its builder, James Henderson.  

The building as it looks in 2016.  Note the boarded over
areas where windows were originally placed.

Oh, the stories this building could tell!  I can imagine the excitement felt by the scholars who entered the school the first day of class; the sacred hymns offered at worship services held within its walls; the fiery speeches delivered by politicians; or the stories of the veterans of the Civil War or those from the two world wars or other conflicts.  So much history occurred within its four walls that it seems only fitting that it should now serve as the repository for the artifacts of our county history. 

Until next time,

Jean (a/k/a KC History Buff)

If you enjoyed this post, please don’t forget to “like” and SHARE to Facebook.  Not a Facebook user?  Sign up with your email address in the box on the right to have each post sent directly to you.

Be sure to visit the KCHB Facebook page for more interesting info about the history of Kossuth County, Iowa.

Reminder:  The posts on Kossuth County History Buff are ©2015-16 by Jean Kramer.  Please use the FB “share” feature instead of cutting/pasting.

MEMORIES OF BERTHA CAREY GILBERT

Bertha Carey was the youngest daughter of William B. and Rhoda (Jennings) Carey, some of the earliest settlers in Kossuth County.  I recently came across an article written by her in 1948 in which she shares her memories as one of the first children born in the county after settlement.  Her descriptions of the countryside and daily life are delightful and even bring back a few memories of my own childhood. 

OLDTIMER TELLS OF 1856

92 Year-Old Woman, Born Near Algona, Writes of Past

By Bertha Carey Gilbert

El Reno, Okla. – I was born in a “log cabin” right on the banks of the Des Moines River, about three miles northeast of Algona, Dec. 8, 1856, and was named Bertha Carey.  A 3-day storm leaving snow eight feet deep on the level greeted my coming.

The road from Algona ran past the Zahlten farm, then past the Roan house, and through the timber (later owned by the Dickensons), and on through part of our farm, crossing, or “fording” the river at our house, and running northwest to Wm. Moore’s and the Riebhoff place, with a branch turning off for Fletcher Hofius, Blanchard,and Schenck farms, now the Frank Thompson farms, and ours was the half-way stopping place.

Portion of Union Township
where Carey farm was located
from 1896 Kossuth Co. Plat Book

I grew up there, with 460 acres to ramble over.  What wonderful place in which to bring up a family of children!

A Wonderful Fireplace.

We had a very large fireplace, its jambs and walls built of “niggerheads” taken from the fields.  From above the mantel the chimney was all on the outside, built of split sticks imbedded in clay mud by Clara Zahlten’s father, who had just built one for himself; and that chimney stood for years, long after the house ceased to be occupied, in fact.

Such wonderful fires as we made in that fireplace; the blaze lighted the whole room.  Think of the nightly family gatherings around that hearth, often with some neighbor, or a stranger who had “stopped by” to discuss national problems while we popped corn over the blaze or roasted something in the ashes.

There were hills for hand-sledding and there was ice-skating, and when spring came there was the long, hollow boom of the ice cracking and breaking up, later to form an ice jam at the bend.  High water, and another great cake of ice would come peacefully down the river, strike the jam with a crash, one end shoot under, the other rise high in the air—20 feet or more.  I’d love to be there to see the ice go out this spring.

Summer’s Pleasures.

In summer we could wade and swim and fish.  We could watch the fish spawn on the sand through the clear, shallow water, and watching the polliwogs or tadpoles when they were just ready to turn into frogs was interesting.

We caught turtles, and some time mother would make turtle soup for us.  We gathered snail shells and glued them on pasteboard for picture frames.  Probably no one in this cultured age would think them beautiful, but we did.  We gathered clamshells of all sizes, cleaned and scraped and polished them thoroughly, and used them for dishes in the playhouse we built ourselves.  Their beautiful opalescent colors outshone anything you put on your tables today.  The caps from red-oak acorns served for cups and saucers.

We had an Indian canoe, round and thin and light, and my sister Allie and I would sit flat on the bottom, one at each end, each with an old broom for a paddle, and how we could make that canoe “swish” through the water!  And we trapped muskrats, otter, mink, and beaver, occasionally a big horned owl.

Justice for an Owl.

One night, around 9 p.m., we brought in an owl and sat him down on the hearth by the fire.  He looked at the fire, his big eyes stared round the room, and at us, as much as to say “Now you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”  He didn’t try to get away.  Mother answered his question.  He had been killing her turkeys and she thought he deserved a like fate.

One year my brother sold $300 worth of furs.

We hunted birds nests to see the size and color of the eggs layed by each kind of bird, and we were always pleased to find an oriole’s hanging nest, so different from the nests of other birds.

We climbed trees and looked in the hollows for little squirrels.  We gathered nuts, and stored them to crack by the fireside on long winter evenings.  We had an old grey horse in the pasture which we rode standing up on his back like circus girls.  We went Maying with the Zahlten girls.  Mary and Theresa (we called her Tracy), and in early seasons on May-day we would find windflowers open, wood violets (Johnny Jump-Ups), the delicate hepaticas, the white bloodroots, Dutchmans breeches, and jack-in-the-pulpit.

Iowa’s State Flower.

Later there would be the Sweet Williams, the red honeysuckles, the Maiden-Hair ferns, and the June roses—timber roses different from prairie roses.  Every Saturday in June we’d go into the timbered bottom and cut rose bushes—armfulls of them—take them home, set stone jars filled with water in the fireplace, and stand our rose bushes in them.  You’d think the lovely odor would scent the whole house, but the draft carried all the odor up the chimney, and we had to be content with just looking at their beauty.

Flocks of mallard ducks would light on the river, and the boys would shoot half a dozen for mother to cook.  Great flocks of wild cranes and geese went flying over, honking their calls, often alighting to feed.  Then we had roast goose to eat.

Quotation From Bryant.

William Cullen Bryant must have seen many flocks like these, for he wrote “Lines to a Waterfowl,” the last verse of which I quote:

He, who, from zone to zone

Guides through the boundless sky they certain flight,

In the long, long way that I

Will guide my steps aright.

When I see the children of this town (El Reno) idling in the street, crippling birds, and breaking windowlights with slingshots, building fires under sidewalks, and picking up everything they find lying loose, I can not blame them too severely.

I pity them, because they have no substitute but a movie show, nothing else to do, no place to play.  The same old street must get very monotonous.  We in pioneer times found something new and interesting almost every day.  We didn’t have much ready cash, those days, but we certainly had a rich living.

If I should live another century I would choose to spend it there in a log house.

Bertha served as county school superintendent in 1889 and went on to marry E.L. Gilbert who grew up in Plum Creek township.  Eventually Mrs. Gilbert moved to El Reno, Oklahoma, where she lived out her final days, passing away December 25, 1951.

Until next time,

Kossuth County History Buff

If you enjoyed this post, please don’t forget to “like” and SHARE to Facebook.  Not a Facebook user?  Sign up with your email address in the box on the right to have each post sent directly to you.

Be sure to visit the KCHB Facebook page for more interesting info about the history of Kossuth County, Iowa.

Reminder:  The posts on Kossuth County History Buff are ©2015-16 by Jean Kramer.  Please use the FB “share” feature instead of cutting/pasting.

THE PICTURESQUE FRANK NICOULIN HOUSE

The home built by Frank and Olivia Nicoulin is located at 114 East North Street in Algona.  I have to admit that it is a house I have never really taken notice of before.  The structure has a unique design and roof line which makes it quite distinctive, especially compared to the houses which surround it.  My only excuse for not noticing it before is that my attention is usually drawn to Bryant School just across the street. 

MEET THE NICOULINS

Frank Nicoulin was born in Massachusetts and moved as a very young child to Mayville, Wisconsin.  He was a member of the 3^rd Wisconsin Volunteers during the Civil War, enlisting in 1861 and serving for the duration of the war.  He came to Algona in 1866 and opened a blacksmith and wagon shop.  On July 1, 1867, he married Olivia Pinkerton here in Algona.

Olivia had been born in Aledo, Illinois on June 21, 1845.  She was the daughter of William and Nancy Pinkerton and the cousin of Allen Pinkerton who founded the famous detective agency.  Her mother died when she was just six years old and her father placed her with the Cowden family.  When the war broke out, her father and all three of her brothers enlisted and her father enrolled her in a school in Rock Island.  When the war ended she traveled by covered wagon with her father and two of her brothers to Algona.  She kept house for them until her marriage to Frank.

A talented blacksmith, Frank’s skills were very useful to the young community.  The wagon shop was also a good addition to the town.  Nicoulin was a good businessman and the wagon shop gradually developed into a dray manufacturing enterprise.  A dray is a sturdy wagon without sides used for hauling heavy loads.  At the height of its production the company produced 200 plus units per year.

THE HOUSE

By 1892, the couple had been married for 25 years.  Although several of their six children were already grown, they desired a larger space for their family and for entertaining.  It was decided that a new home was in order.  The Nicoulin Wagon Works was already located in the northwest corner of the intersection of Call and Moore Streets with his current house located directly west of the shop.  Frank Nicoulin owned that whole block with the exception of the southwest corner, so it seemed wise to utilize the north side of the block for the location of the new residence. 

The Nicoulin Wagon Works - Frank Nicoulin far right

Ground was broken in May of that year.  According to an article published in the May 4^th edition of the Upper Des Moines, “The building will be in all 60 feet long by 41 wide, being built in late style with angles and numerous projections, and will be a handsome addition to Algona’s fine residences.”  The frame of the house was up in August with the roof going on in September of that year.  Many different woods were used in the house—the parlor in birch, the back parlor and hall in oak, and the dining room in birdseye maple, all with hardwood floors.  A beautiful home for a successful businessman.  This lovely home was pictured in “Picturesque Algona” when it was published in 1900. 

FIRE!

Around 9:30 on the morning of Monday, February 13, 1905, fire was discovered in the attic of the south wing of the Nicoulin house.  First smoke was sighted coming through the shingles, but soon flames shot forth.  The fire spread to the back stairs of the attic, shutting off access.  The roof was soon in flames and began to give away.

The fire company responded very quickly and despite it being the coldest day of the year with the thermometer at -20 degrees, bravely fought to contain the fire to the second floor.  High school students from Bryant came across the street and began helping to remove household goods from the rooms on the first floor.  Their courageous actions averted the destruction of many of the Nicoulin family’s most precious possessions. 

It took several attempts by the firemen to successfully extinguish the blaze and by the time they finished, much damage had been done.  The Algona Advance reported:  “The roof and attics are practically destroyed and the plastering all over the house is almost ruined on account of the water that flooded the upper floors and that ran through the ceilings below.  Much of the fine oak casings is ruined.  Doors were wrenched from their places and mantels demolished and many portions of the lower rooms needlessly ruined in the bewildering excitement.”  In addition, most of the household goods which were not removed were ruined beyond repair.

The Nicoulins moved back into their old home on Call Street to decide what their next action should be.  Underinsured, they received a total of $1,000 in insurance proceeds for the damages. It had been a costly day, but no one had been injured.  Thankful for all the help he had received, Frank treated all of the firemen and their wives to a fine dinner at the Dutton & Waterhouse restaurant the day after the fire.

THE HOUSE REBORN

The Nicoulins soon decided to repair and restore the home they loved.  They hired local builder A.M. Coan and by early March he began the work of rebuilding the roof.  The entire upstairs of the structure had to be replastered and all hardwood flooring replaced.  Several months later, the family returned home. 

The house was filled with activity again.  They continued to entertain both family and friends and often hosted various groups.  At a Christmas gathering of her “500” club in December of 1906, Olivia had the house beautifully decorated, complete with a miniature Christmas tree adorning the dining table filled with gifts for each of the ladies present.  A bountiful buffet was enjoyed by all.

Frank Nicoulin continued to travel a lot for business purposes.  Buying supplies and attending implement shows to promote his drays kept him busy.  For relaxation he loved to hunt—especially for ducks and he was a crack shot.  His good friend John G. Smith recalled one of their hunting trips.  “I recollect once when we were at Elbow Lake, south of Ruthven, on the great duck pass.  There was a light rain and the canvas backs and red-head ducks were flying thick and fast, when Frank got a shell stuck in the chamber of his gun.  It would not open or shut.  I can see the look on his face as the great flocks of ducks were passing.  He had to leave the pass and go up town to extract the shell. Frank kept good natured and laughed over his trouble.  Most men would have been so provoked that they would have broken the gun.”

THE PASSING OF AN ERA

Frank took an active part in the Call Opera House.  He often lined up entertainment to appear there.  In fact, he was at home getting ready to go to a production at the theatre on April 4, 1911 when he suddenly became violently ill.  Shortly thereafter he passed away from cardiac arrest.  He had been taking treatments for a stomach ailment for several years and was to leave the next day for Eureka Springs, Arkansas, for additional therapies. His funeral was held at the house with many mourners in attendance.

The house in 2016

Olivia survived Frank by almost eight years, passing from this life on Thursday, February 6, 1919.  She, too, suffered from heart disease which had weakened her during the last several years of her life.  Many floral tributes were delivered to the house in her honor.  The fragrance from the bouquets must have filled the space during her funeral which was held there the following Saturday.  She was buried in Riverview cemetery next to her husband.

Despite a massive fire in its early days, this house remains as a lasting reminder of an early pioneer family.

Until next time,

Jean

If you enjoyed this post, please don’t forget to “like” and SHARE to Facebook.  Not a Facebook user?  Sign up with your email address in the box on the right to have each post sent directly to you.

Be sure to visit the KCHB Facebook page for more interesting info about the history of Kossuth County, Iowa.

Reminder:  The posts on Kossuth County History Buff are ©2015-16 by Jean Kramer.  Please use the FB “share” feature instead of cutting/pasting.