I
was doing research recently for the WWI project of the Kossuth County Genealogical
Society and I happened to stumble on a letter that was written by
George Blackford in January of 1918. His
letter is filled with memories of places in and around Algona, the names of
some of which I had heard before and others I had not. Do you know of Hodgman Pond, Walnut Slough,
Toboggan Hill, Big Spring, Lilly Hill, Windflower Hill, or Maple Grove? Alas, he only mentioned them in passing and did not specify locations.
George
was a son of John Blackford and Mary (Call) Blackford who came to Kossuth
County in 1855. His oldest sister, Ella
Algona, was the first white child born in the county and was named after the
city of her birth. George was born in
1869 after the area had become just a bit more civilized.
After
finishing his schooling, he had taken up photography. First by taking over the business of J. F.
Nicoulin and then eventually moving from Algona, living in places such as
California and Missouri. When he wrote the letter in January of 1918, he was
residing in San Jose, California. I can almost picture him sitting by the
fire reminiscing and penning his memories.
As I sit here in my room and watch the
firelight in the open grate, my thoughts go back to Algona and the old home.
It does not seem so very long ago since
I was a boy there, but, as Browning says,
“We live in deeds, not years, in
thoughts, not breaths,
In feeling, not in figures on a dial.”
I think of all the old familiar places,
and picture them in my mind. I wonder
how many of the younger generation of Algona boys are familiar with the
localities in and around Algona with which I was so familiar in my boyhood
days. I suppose some could locate
Henderson’s Bluff, Hodgman Pond, Walnut Slough, or Toboggan Hill, but I dare
say none could locate the Big Spring, Lily Hill, Windflower Hill, the Maple
Grove, or the site of the pioneer cabin of the Blottenberg family.
Early Indian Scare
Recalled.
This cabin was the scene of an incident
of early Algona history, the recital of which has often thrilled me.
At the time of the Spirit Lake massacre,
while the nerves of the handful of settlers were keyed to a high pitch of
tension and an attack by the Indians was hourly expected, a meeting for defense
was held, at which it was agreed that two shots, fired in rapid succession, after
dark, should be the signal of the approach of the Indians.
Two men, living at this cabin, were away
from home, to bring in provisions and ammunition, when this signal was agreed
upon, and therefore knew nothing of it.
Crossing the river, they had got their guns wet, and on their arrival at
home, after dark, fired them off, to clean and reload them. My father, hearing the signal, grasped his
gun, and, telling my mother to run with the children into the darkness of the
brush surrounding the cabin, hastened, as did the settlers from the more
distant homes, to the Blottenberg cabin, to resist what all thought was the
expected attack.
Perverse Child Delays
Flight
It so happened that my older brother had
that day been playing in the wet grass, and had got his shoes wet, and, in
childish perversity, he refused to go out of the house unless his shoes were
put on and laced, and, fearing an outcry, my mother had perforce to hold her
nerves in check, and, kneeling on the floor, in the light from the fireplace,
laboriously pick out the knots in the hard leather shoestrings and put on and
lace the little shoes, before hurrying out into the shelter of the brush. Soon after, my father returned, with the
welcome news that it had been a false alarm.
I have often wished I could have a
picture of the Maxwell cabin, as it stood among the sturdy oak trees, on the
site of the old home, now owned by Geo. Platt, on that October day in 1855,
when my father and mother and two elder brothers arrived there, after their
long and perilous journey from the east.
The place has since been named, “The Oaks.” I can recall at least a dozen oak trees near
the house that died. The number of grand
old trees in and near Algona is rapidly diminishing, as are the pioneers they
sheltered.
Scenes Now Gone
Forever
How many Algona boys know that the
courthouse square was once enclosed by a wooden fence, and that what is now
Maple Park was once a yard for the “town herd” of cattle, given to the prairies
west of town to range?
And speaking of the prairies reminds me
that no more do we see the waving grass and beautiful flowers of the virgin
prairie sod. The march of civilization
has obliterated it. As Bryant so beautifully
expresses it,
“The
Hand that built the firmament hath heaved
And
smoothed these verdant swells, sown their slopes with herbiage
And
hedged them around with flowers; fitting floor
For
this magnificent temple of the sky,
With
flowers whose beauty and whose multitude
Rival
the constellations.”
The Age of Black
Walnut
I believe it has been suggested to the
Park Commissioners that suitable marker be erected in Blackford Park to mark
the site of the first sawmill in the county, which was opened by my uncle, Asa
Call. I hope this can be done. This mill and one owned by my father which
cut nearly all the lumber from which the earlier frame buildings in Algona were
constructed.
Black walnut trees were worth no more at
that time than any other kind, and many are the fine walnut boards I have seen
used in the barn and sheds of the old home place, as well as walnut fence posts
and rails. This amount of material would
represent a tidy sum of money at the present time.
The Old White
Schoolhouse
It was not my fortune to attend school
in the old “town hall,” which was surrounded by a stockade, as did my brothers
and sisters, but well I remember the rambling white schoolhouse that stood just
south of the Central building, shaded by a number of fine soft maple
trees. The school grounds at that time
occupied only the south half of the block, and the Congregational church, a
plain frame building about as large as a country schoolhouse, was on the west
side of the same block.
 |
| Algona's First Schoolhouse (now the Kossuth County Historical Museum) |
The water for the school was supplied by
a well in the yard with a wooden pump and three or four tin cups. These cups, when not in use, were supposed to
be hung on nails driven into the side of the pump, but far more often they were
down on the platform, or even on the ground.
On hot summer days it was a much-sought privilege to “pass the water”; a
pail of water, with one cup, being carried around the room, all the pupils
drinking from the same cup. The
exponents of modern sanitation would have held up their hands in horror at such
practices, and if microbes and bacilli were one-half as deadly in those days as
we have been led to believe they are now we ought to have contracted all the
diseases in the calendar; but as I remember, we were as healthy and husky a
bunch of youngsters as you could find anywhere.
I am not writing of conditions in the
pioneer schools. This was in the late
70’s and early 80’s.
Memories of Old
Schooldays
Not long ago, in looking over some old
papers, I came across a subscription paper headed “Grammar School Organ Fund”;
a paper started by pupils of the “Grammar grade” to raise money for the
purchase of an organ. I was elected
secretary, and Robert Chrischilles, a brother of Julius Chrischilles,
treasurer.
It was interesting to read over again
the names of my former schoolmates, and recall their faces to memory. As the poet says, “I came to the place of my
youth, and cried aloud, ‘The friends of my youth, where are they?’ And echo answered, ‘Where are they?’”
In this list were the names of many who
are now successful business men and women.
Others have passed into the Beyond, to stand before the Great
Teacher. Of the greater number I know
absolutely nothing.
“Dudes” wore Paper
Collars!
Simplicity in dress was the order of the
day in those times. If a boy wore white
paper collars, which cost, if I remember rightly, fifteen cents a dozen, he was
considered very dressy, and calico dresses were thought plenty good enough for
the girls to wear.
While I had the Nicoulin studio in
Algona, I found several negatives of my schoolmates of that period, and very
odd and quaint they looked in their old-fashioned clothing.
At this time we had no school yell, no
school colors, and took part in no inter-scholastic debates or
field-meets. On Friday afternoons we
sang songs, gave recitations (or “spoke pieces,” as it was called; they were
not then dignified by the name of “readings”), or, as a special treat, chose
sides and spelled down. We had excellent
teachers, and they made sure that none of our time was wasted. For such of us as lived on farms there was
always plenty of work to do, and we were always glad when Sunday came as a day
of rest.
School Courses Now
Overloaded!
I think I am old-fashioned, but I
believe the high school course now is greatly at fault in including too many
studies, and I should favor eliminating some of them to allow a more thorough
study of others. It is very much better
for a pupil to have a complete understanding of the “fundamentals” than a
superficial knowledge of a greater number of studies. A certain time only is now allowed for the
study of any one branch, and when that time has elapsed it is dropped, and
another taken up, leaving the rest a veritable “book of mystery.”
I know, when I was in high school, I had
to take several studies that have never since been of the slightest practical
use to me, and I feel the time spent in their study would have been much more
profitably spent in the study of something useful; and I believe the high
school course is even more extensive now than it was at that time.
I am glad the Alumni Association has
been reorganized, and I hope now it will be a permanent institution. I noticed, at the last few meetings of the
association which it was my pleasure to attend, a seeming indifference and lack
of interest on the part of the later classes graduated.
Plea for Alumni
Association
Fellow alumni, let me urge on you to
stand by the association. Its influence
and existence do not rest with its officers, but with you, its members. You may not realize it at the present time,
but you will find the recollection of your school days dear to you and you will
cherish the memory of the friendships you made so long ago more and more as the
years go by. Attend the annual reunions
of the association whenever possible, and if not possible to be present
personally, at least send a letter or telegram, showing you are there in
thought. Algona is bound to grow and
prosper, and its schools will enjoy a still more enviable reputation. I predict the time is not far distant when
the association will adopt a distinctive device, to be worn as a button or pin,
and every alumnus will be proud to wear it, showing himself a loyal member of
the “A. A. A.”
I do not suppose I shall ever live in
Algona again, but there will always be a warm spot in my heart for the old
town. Even yet, when I register at a
hotel I find myself unconsciously writing as my residence “Algona, Iowa.” I shall always want to keep in touch with the
news from Algona, and shall always be glad to hear of the continued and
increasing prosperity of the town which has been the home of the Blackford
family for so many years.
Although George predicted that he would never live in Algona again, he did find his final resting place here. Following his death on April 14, 1946, his body was brought back to Riverview Cemetery where it was interred near his parents. He will forevermore rest beneath the soil of his beloved hometown.
Until next time,
Jean
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