Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 20: Sisters and snacks

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

In this second-to-the-last installment of Elsie Crocker’s manuscript, she relates a couple stories of two of her younger sisters: my grandma, Aileen, and the youngest girl, Inez. I particularly like to read of my grandma as a child. It is amusing to think of her as a pesky younger sister.

She also tells about some more of the foods of her childhood. I am not surprised that Elsie wrote so many times about different recipes, as Elsie herself—and, indeed, all four of the Underwood sisters—became an excellent cook herself.

Mother would cook for the thrashers when they came to our house. The thrashers would go from one farm to the other until all the thrashing in the community was finished. The men went from one farm to the other to help thrash. The wives would go with them to help the one that was having the thrashers that day. They would help with the cooking. The thrashers were fed well. We liked to watch them thrash. But wern’t aloud to get very close. As the shaff would get in our eyes, or get in the way of the machinery. It was exciting to see all the wheat filling the sacks. They called the stems of the wheat straw, used for bedding doun the horses and to keep other animals clean. When they finished there was a huge pile.

A threshing machine, perhaps similar to the one used by Elsie's "thrashers." 

By ThomasWeise (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons

One day I remember clearly, we had the thrashers that day the straw was piled. As I usually collected the eggs, Mom told me to see how many eggs were at the top of this huge pile of straw. She knew there was some as she had heard the hen cackle, the hen cackles to tell the world she has laid an egg. I started to go, and there was Aileen crying and tugging at my skirt. I had to take her but it was going to be rough. That straw was stickery and light. I’d go about one step and fall back two. Carrying a small child on one hip and a basket for eggs in the other, was tough going. We found the egg, but I was tired, I wondered if it was worth it, going by myself wouldnit have been so bad but the extra weight made me sink deeper in the straw. My legs were scratched, I wasn’t very happy. I asked my mother why Aileen had to follow me everywhere I went. Mom told me I should be glad I had a sister who wanted to follow me. I am sure my mother was right. I never got upset after that, Aileen followed me every where any time

Mother made the best cottage cheese. She would put any sour milk she had, in a pan on the back of the stove top, where it cooked very slowly, until it separated. Rinsed it and washed it real good. She put the cheese part in a bag and let it drip dry. She the mixed the cheese with a lot of thick fresh cream, salt and pepper. Um’um good.

Dad would help us make pop corn balls which he never ate any (no sugar). Our snack food those days were pop corn and apples. No fast foods’.

We were always happy to get home to all the good smells especiallywhen Mom cooked the left over mashed potatoes and left over boiled cabbage, she fried it in bacon grease. This one of the dishes Bill and I would hurry to get to the table for. The smell was so good while we were doing our chores. We always when we were young had dinner at noon, and dinner or spper as we called a night meal.

We had a big irregation ditch next to our house, to one side. The ditch had a lot of rushing water going thru a culvert, the culvert ran under the road.

One night the neighbors were having a kids party. Dad was in Portland working for the war. Mother told us older kids, we could go to the party. She would go and visit a new neighbor and take Inez. Inez was not much over a year old. Mother was quite ready when we left the house, for some reason I had to go back to the house. I didn’t see Inez and asked Mother where she was. She asked Isn’t she there? I told her I couldn’t see her any where. We hyrriedly looked every where. Then I happened to remember her loving that little baby at Roxy’s house. She just wouldn’t go there surely, well, we started up to Roxys house. As we got started over the culvert. I heard a faint “Elsie”. I looked doun into this water and at the entrance of the calvert, her arms out stretched side ways was the only thing saving her from washing doun stream. I jumped into the ditch and grabbed her her out. I don’t know how I had the strength and couage to jump in that fast water. Mother was happy to see she was alive. We were both thankful we were there to save her, what if I hadn’t have gone back for something that night? I am sure the Man Upstairs was there with us that night.

Mom didn’t go to the neighbors that night, the neighbors came to our house. They worked hard and took turns pumping the water out of her. Mother watched over her to see if she was still breathing normal. Mother said to forget it but think of it as a lesson.

I enjoyed reading about fried mashed potatoes, as that is also a favorite of mine. I have never added cabbage to them, though. Perhaps I will try that one of these days.

I love that Elsie was so specific as to the time of the story of Inez’ near drowning. The details she offers would place the incident in probably the spring or summer of 1918.

Elsie told me another story of saving a little girl from drowning. This would have been several years later, when the Underwoods had moved to Portland and Elsie was working for Safeway. I believe that would have been in the late 1940s, 1950s or early 1960s. It was at a company picnic at a park. I’m sure that Elsie told me which park it was, but I didn’t write it down. (Genealogists often lament their slack note-taking in their early days, but I must excuse myself. Rather, I am glad that as a high school student I had the foresight to take notes at all!) There was a pond or a river there, and a little girl fell in. Elsie saw her go down once, twice, and then a third time. She remembered the old saying that a drowning person only goes down three times, and in she jumped.

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here. 

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 17: Food and Animals

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

In this installment, Elsie tells about a couple of foods that her family used to make, a misadventure with her father’s dinner, and a few animal interactions.

Sometime when it snowed, we would make ice cream. We started with a ten pound tin can with a clencher lid. We’d put some cream and a little milk, sugar, vanilla and eggs. We’d find a big drift of snow, we put doun in the snow. We took turns twisting and turning this ice cream. Of course we open the can up once in a while to see how it was coming a long. Icicies were used to freeze the cream instead of the snow, of course the icicles had to be gathered and copped up.

Mother made the best beef steak pudding, as she called it, it consisted of beef, a little flour, a little water, pepper and salt with a suet crust. She cooked it on the back of the stove allday long, on a wood stove. It was cooked in a heavy fire proof bowl, covered withe a cloth. Tied with a string. Then the pudding was put in a pan of water. This was a wonderful dinner with good mashed potatoes.

Mother cooked her plum pudding this way also.

One day Dad asked us to go over to the other ranch, across the flied, from us. This farm also belonged to the Dorrs and the Shaws. The tenants had moved and on one was living there. He had seen some scallions (little onions) over there going to waste. So one day Bill and I decided to go over and get some for him. We cleaned them and put them on the table ready for his dinner. That night Dad was happy to see that we had gotten his scallions. He took one bite. (What ever is this, where did you get this?” We told him it was what he wanted. Bill and I never had tasted or smelled garlic before. We thought it didn’t smell like onions. Bill and I got a kick out of this, he wanted us to get them and then they didn’t turn out right.

When the thrashers, came they would lift up the bundles of wheat. The binder had already been there and put the wheat in sort of standing up piles. The thrashers were pick up the piles and feed them into the machine to knock the wheat out of the stacks. Under some of these piles were a few baby mice, all pink and white. We children liked to watch the thrashers but also these litt mice. Bill and Walter being older than I, would encourage me to carry one of these cute little mice into the house and scare my mother. Of course the boys came with me but I carried this little cute mouse, by the tail into the house. I can still see Mother yelling “Get that out of here. One day she even got and stood on top of the table. Holding up her skirts yelled, Don’t let him loose in here

This was funny until one day, there wasn’t any mice. We found a water dog a little one, I was supposed to carry this in to the house. I took hold of his tail as I had did the little mice. He had a different He just curled up and bit me on the hand. That was the last I ever did that. The boys could carry their own animals after that.

I was surprised Mother didn’t like mice, as she had a little poem. I think she made up. The poem went like thi

     I’m only a wee little mouse ma’m

     I live in the crack of your house ma’m

     With a small piece of cheese

     And a very few peas

     Only having a little feast ma’m

     Oh, no need to open the door

     I can slip right thru this crack ma’m

I always enjoyed this little poem. She said there wasn’t anymore to it.

Every spring the sheepherders would bring their flocks of sheep, by our house, on thier way to the foot hills, to feed during the summer months. We lived on a small hill, we could see them coming in the valley below. The sheep would stir up a cloud of dust. Bill and I would run and get on the gate posts, the posts were flat on top, so we could sit on them. We waited for the band of sheep to come by. Then we would ask the sheep herders, if they had left any little lambs along the way that couldn’t make it. They would tell yes and where they had left them, not to far from where we lived. Bill and I would run all the way and fetch this cute new born baby lamb home with us. Sometimes there was only one and another time there would be a pair of twins. No matter we shared our little lambs. We knew how to feed them out of a bottle. Later they could eat grass and wheat like the big ones. We gave them a lot of love and attention.

Out of curiosity about that little verse about the mouse, I did a quick search on the internet. Without looking very hard, I found what is probably the original of that poem. It is entitled “The Mouse” and was written by Laura Elizabeth Richards:

I’m only a poor little mouse, ma’am!

I live in the wall of your house, ma’am!

With a fragment of cheese and a very few peas

I was having a little carouse, ma’am!

No mischief at all I intend, ma’am!

I hope you will act as my friend, ma’am!

If my life you should take, many hearts it would break,

And the trouble would be without end, ma’am!

My wife lives in there, in the crack, ma’am!

She’s waiting for me to come back, ma’am!

She hoped I might find a bit of a rind,

For the children their dinner do lack, ma’am!

’Tis hard living there in the wall, ma’am!

For plaster and mortar will pall, ma’am,

On the minds of the young, and when specially hung—

Ay, upon their poor father they’ll fall. ma’am!

I never was given to strife, ma’am!

(Don't look at that terrible knife, ma’am!)

The noise overhead that disturbs you in bed,

’Tis the rats, I will venture my life, ma’am!

In your eyes I see mercy, I’m sure, ma’am!

Oh, there’s no need to open the door, ma’am!

I’ll slip through the crack, and I’ll never come back,

Oh! I’ll never come back any more, ma’am!

(I found the full poem in Tirra Lirra RhymesOld and New on the Internet Archive and on Free Fiction Books. It also appears, missing the fifth verse, in The Unitarian Register, Volume 91, on Google Books.)

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here. 

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 19: Miscellaneous

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

As I mentioned in last week’s blog, this installment begins on a new page and with a title of a sort. Strangely, the title has nothing to do with what follows, and I wonder if it was meant more as a note to herself to later write a Christmas book. (If she ever did, I have never seen it. Update: The Christmas book has been found! Read the transcription here.) This week I am transcribing just a single page of the manuscript, because it is largely a series of miscellanies tied together by a stream of consciousness, and the following page arrives so abruptly that I can’t help but wonder if somewhere along the way I lost a page of the manuscript.

My Christmas book is separate form this one

The Christmas’s on the big farm I remember best

I was the right age to remember Christmas and dear old Santa.

It was such good fun no the farm with my brothers and sisters. Dad was right for wanting and having six children We were close in ages, two to five years apart. We looked after one another, of course we had a few small spats once in a while but what family didn’t. The boys would tease me a lot but Mother said I could take care of myself pretty well. Let anone else pick on us, and they were right there helping us. I think if possible everyone should have a sister and brother. When yoy have others in the family you learn to share That’s very important.

We went with out a lot, not having it we never missed it. We wore each others clothes sometimes especially if someone out grew their clothes., and a another could wear them.

We never went hungry. We never were abused by anyone. We grew most our food such as vegetables, and fruit. Our cow for milk and cream, chickens for eggs and meat. We had our own meat, pigs, calves, and beef. All we needed were the staples for our cooking.

An example of the produce they grew themselves: Aileen and Inez UNDERWOOD sitting atop a pile of pumpkins

 

Growing up with animals of all kinds around us, we learned a lot. We learned how to feed them, how much water they needed and how to bed them doun at night. Keeping the doors and gates closed, to keep our animals home. Learning to listen for the rooster to call us in the morning. His “Cocok-a-doodle, our alarm clock. How to chop the wood, and how to fill the wood box, kindling and how much to keep the stoves going.

We understood baby calves and baby chicks. How to care for them. How they got usued to seeing us and eager for their food.

I never did it all by myself but I helped when I could and I watched and learned how. Some animals were easy to love and some didnit want your love.

We also got acquainted with different insects, butterflies, dragon flies, snakes, mice, grasshoppers, birds and frogs.

We had a bird called a “meadow lark” which would sing, while we would be planting our garden. He would sing “hurry up get your beets in”. We had another one the whipper will, it sounded “like whip poor Will” My brother’s name was William, we called him Will part of the time. I didn’t like this one much, as I loved my brother very much.

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here. 

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 18: Fireworks and Cotton Candy

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

If only I could have divided this manuscript up in a way that this installment would fall near the Fourth of July!  It tells about fireworks and the Fourth of July, circuses, and some other miscellaneous things.

On the Fourth of July, we would have some fireworks. Mostly firecrackers and some sparklers. The boys liked the “Devil on the Walk”. These I hated. They were small and sort of round which you held in your hand. The boys would through them on a hard surface, like a sidewalk, they made a loud noise and spattered pieces all over. They liked to get in back of you and then through one back of you. We would jump a mile. The boys would laugh but it hurt if some of the pieces hit your legs, it would burn.

The boys had some fire crackers that didn’t have any wicks. They put these into the ground, up right then preced to light them. Then they would go off. I had some without wicks, I thought I’d do the same thing, it looked easy enough. Well, I planted it in the ground, lit my match, no responds. I waited a bit and nothing happened, so I ran into the house to get another match. Instead of lighting the match I knealed doun and blew on the firecracker, it went off right in my face and eyes. I ran into the house and my mother said “I never had any use for fire crackers anyway.” I ran into my bed room and had a good cry I new my dad would scold me. I could hear her saying Just wait until your dad gets. I can’t remember what my dad said but I did injure my eye. The doctors tell me I had a injury on that eye and the crying I did was the best thing I could have done. Don’t do what the other fellow does, be careful of the fire works.

Dad used to sole our shoes when we were young. He had a shoe tree and three or four awls to fit all our sizes of shoes. We would leave our shoes in fron of our bedroom door at night when we went to bed, the next morning the shoes were mended, soled and cleaned. Dad was proud of polished shoes, I think by being in the ppolice force made him notce them more.

It was quit a day when the circus came to town, probably once a year. All the neighbors turned out on this day, and of course we also went It was going to be a big day, we’d get up early to get our chores done. We would pack a lunch, cheese and crackers, bread and bologna and fruit. Of course we got dressed in our best, when we were all fixed to go, we left in our wagon, drawn by our horses. We planed on spending the day there, seeing all the people we knew.

The circus was housed in a big round tent. Along with this cicus was a carnival, here we would walk around looking around to see what we could buy with our few pennies. We would save all year to buy one thing. Dad would buy us each a square brick of pink popcorn with a pretty fan on top of the corn. We ate it during the performance. The tent was very hot, we had lemonade to drink, just one for each of us. Money was scarce but we had always had a lot of food and a lot of love and a fine house, we were happy. We really appreciated the little extras.

We also some pink cotton candy which Dad thought a waste of good money. He said “You put it in your mouth then its gone.” What have you got. Dad couldn’t eat sweets so he couldn’t appreciate the sweet taste. Pullin off the cotton candy off was fun. We loved seeing the animals perform. Wishing we could teach our animals to do tricks.

On the farm the boys found three rims off the wheels. The wooden wheels, were, two rims wide the other rim narrow. They decided to use them to make a make believe car. The boys used a long lath for the handle and a short lath nailed to one end of the long lath. This was used to start the car. You stood this rim right up, then put one end of the small lath insede of the rim, close to the edge, twist it around on the rim. It would start if lucky. You would run behind this rim guiding with the small part of the lath. To stop this car, use the little lath part, one end next to the rim, holding on to the rim. This will stop it.

I made the mistake by leaving my car (which was called a Dodge car) My car was the narrow rim. It was so much harder to keep up. I left his Dodge in front of the pump house, well Dad nearly fell over it: the boys were very quick to tell him it was mine. He grabbed me and started to spank me with the handle of my car. I told him not to break my Dodge car. He stopped and sort of grinned. At this time didn’t realize he didn’t know what my Dodge car was. I think he thought it was my bottom. This is the only spanking I can remember. He usually scolded which was far worse.

I believe that the story about the “Dodge car” must have been one of Elsie’s favorites, for she told it to me several times.

I know that there was something behind the passing comment that “Dad couldn’t eat sweets so he couldn’t appreciate the sweet taste.” I don’t know the full story, but I have heard comments from other family members about his aversion to sweets.

This is clearly the end of one section of the manuscript, as it ends mid-page and the next page begins with a title.

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here. 

Luxembourg Records: A Little Practical Advice

In some ways, bringing the Luxembourgish branch of my family history to life is much more challenging than the American or English. It is much more difficult to find sources relative to remote regions of Luxembourg, and when I do find them, chances are they aren’t in English. On the other hand, the primary research is often much easier. Once I made it over the hurdles of learning to read Gothic script and understand records written in French, German, or Latin (none of which I studied in school), it turned out that the primary sources are very easy to navigate. Although the names are often variously spelled in their French, German, or Latin counterparts, the records leave very little room for doubt about a person’s identity. They consistently refer to women by their maiden names even when married, and often identify age, birthplace, and parents. Sometimes a document will record even more information than that.

Now that so many of Luxembourg’s civil records are available for free online at FamilySearch, the potential for research on your Luxembourg line is immense. However, the task looks daunting at first glance. The records are not only unindexed, but they are in another language—some in French, some in German, some in Latin—and both the handwriting and the typeface is difficult to decipher. All your experience in interpreting nineteenth century American handwriting will help you little, because this is an entirely different kind of script. Known as Gothic script, it can be extremely challenging for the modern genealogist, accustomed to our Roman style, to read.

Fortunately, a period of unemployment a couple years ago furnished me with ample spare time to devote to going through these Luxembourg records and teaching myself to read Gothic script. I found the chart in this piece of immeasurable value in understanding both the script and the typeface. Even the preprinted parts of the records can be difficult to understand without aid.

Practice Gothic Script

I am not going to reiterate all that has already been said on reading Gothic handwriting; it has already been said very well and succinctly at the link I mentioned before. I will, however, share a few of my experiences and some hard-won advice in the civil records from Luxembourg specifically.

I recommend beginning to familiarize yourself with some of the later records first, because it can be easier to translate the printed portions of the records rather than immediately diving in and trying to figure it out in Gothic script. Often what was customary to write in the blank spots in the earlier records became pre-printed in the later records. Therefore once you know what you’re looking for, such as “geboren zu (born in)” or “wohnhaft zu (residing in)” or “sohn der (son of), ” and realize approximately in what order the information is likely to appear, it is much easier to locate the pattern of words in the handwritten portions. The letters that were once indistinguishable as s, f, or h begin to organize themselves into coherent words.

A rather simple example of later typewritten records clarifying earlier handwritten records, but it serves to show the concept.

Often, although the record may be written in Gothic script, the names will pop out easily in Roman script. This can be exceptionally helpful in scanning through the records for your ancestors. In birth records, I usually look for the name following “erschienen,” as that is almost always the name of the father, to see if a record is relevant to my search. The signatures, in the eternal nature of signatures, are often much more difficult to read. They do not follow the pattern of names being in Roman script, as the people sign however they are accustomed to write.

Occasionally, a completely handwritten record will be tucked in the pages. Now that you are used to German, this record is unaccountably in French! Don’t despair. Firstly, it is likely in Roman script, easier to read. Secondly, although the words are different, it tends to follow the same pattern. Usually I scan these for relevant names and, if I find something of interest, I return to them later. It can be difficult to switch back and forth between French and German, Gothic and Roman script, so I look at them when my mind is not so full of the Gothic German.

If you do not speak French or German or Latin, don’t give up! You may have gleaned from the preceding paragraphs that I am not fluent in any of those languages. As a matter of fact, prior to this experience I had no training in any of those languages. I did, however, take several years of Spanish, and my passing familiarity with that grammar served me in the challenge of comprehending another grammar. As long as you have tenacity, a modicum of language ability, and access to Google translate, you will be able to figure out the records more or less successfully. I used a combination of Google translate and a physical printed German-English dictionary in my translation. This was partly because of the well-publicized deficiencies of computerized translators. (Just translate a sentence from English into German and then back again and see what you get!) You have to use your brain in combination with the help from the translator. Sometimes it will get hung up on word combinations that are probably legalistic and don’t make sense to it. I had to often frequently cut down the sentences and translate a phrase rather than the entire sentence in order to get to the meaning of the sentence. The physical dictionary also helps in occasions where a word is spelled phonetically or dialectally. The online translators cannot help you there, but a physical dictionary provides a word list from which you can often pick out what was meant.

Helpful Lists

Make a list of the months of the year, the numbers from 1-10 and the tens from there, days of the week, and the ordinal numbers—first, second, third, etc.

English	German	French
one	eins	une
two	zwei	deux
three	drei	trois
four	vier	quatre
five	fünf	cinq
six	sechs	six
seven	sieben	sept
eight	acht	huit
nine	neun	neuf
ten	zehn	dix

I also keep a list of Luxembourg place names in their French, German, and Luxembourgish stylings. Every once in a while if you cannot identify a town, you will find it is written in its Luxembourgish designation. This list is comprehensive; I prefer to make a smaller list of my own, including only the towns that I have found relevant to my search and referring to the larger list only when stumped. Also helpful to refer to a list of German occupations such as the one found here.

French Republican Calendar

Once you get back to a certain period before 1804, you might come across another surprise: suddenly the records you were expecting to see in German are written in French. Or, perhaps more surprising, the records written while under French rule are written in German. I found one such marriage record for Henri Mertz (AKA Heinrich, etc) and Catharina Audrimont. The date was puzzling to me because no matter how I looked at it, all I could get for the year was “11” and for the month “Nivos,” which means nothing in either French or German. Finally I discovered that during this period of time Luxembourg was under French Republican rule and was compelled to use the French Republican calendar, which, believe it or not, is a metric calendar. Ten days in a week, and months that one British wit once translated to “Wheezy, Sneezy and Freezy; Slippy, Drippy and Nippy; Showery, Flowery and Bowery; Wheaty, Heaty and Sweety.” The years are dated from proclamation of the French Republic. Therefore, the year I was reading was correct—it was the year 11, which roughly translates to 1803. (However, due to the non-coincidence of new year’s days, part of FR 11 was in 1802.) The month was a misspelling of the month Nivôse.

Dates found in the French Republican calendar (and a number of other calendars, for that matter) can be looked up on this calendar converter. However, before you use the converter, make sure you read a little about the French Republican calendar so that you understand how it works (i.e. what the décades are) or you will end up with the wrong date.

Don’t Give Up!

Although looking at the original Luxembourg records can be challenging at first, it is well worth the effort. Each record is likely to contain a wealth of information. That same marriage record of Henri Mertz and Catharina Audrimont which I mentioned above yielded results I hadn’t dared dream to anticipate:

Henri Mertz	Catharina Audrimont
b. 28 Jan 1780 in Keispelt	b. 19 Nov 1774 in Medernach
Occupation: nurse
Parents: Theodor Mertz and Susana Trauscht of Keispelt	Parents: Peter Audrimont and Margreta Arens of Medernach

This was in addition to the expected information about the wedding itself: the date, place, and witnesses, and it was all new information to me.

Amanuensis Monday--Elsie Crocker’s Manuscript, Part 16: School Days

To read this project from the beginning, click here.

This installment of Elsie’s manuscript is rather a long one, but a common thread runs throughout. It discusses the Underwood kids’ school days, telling a little about the school itself, but mostly focusing on the human element: what they would do at different points in the day, and incidents that happened either on the way to or from school.

We went to Ten Mile School. It was at least one and a half miles around the road. Walking the canal bank was a little shorter. We were never tardy, we got a certificate. I wonder how many children would like to walk that far to school. now a days. Rain, frost, snow or sun shine?

This was a one room school with eight grades and just one teacher.

The canal ran part way thru our place and came out close to the school house. There was a bridge over the creek, this bridge we had to cross in order to reach the school. Sometime we walked the canal bank.

The owner that the canal ran thru his fields, warned us he had a ram goat that was real mean. He gave us permission to go thru his fields but be very careful of this ram. He said if we saw the ram not to go in that field.

One morning my friend Margaret Church and I was alone going to school, this morning we couldn’t see the ram anywhere, so we decided we would take our chances. We decided to go thru this field. We didn’t see the ram until we were almost out of the field.

Our hearts nearly stopped There he was on the canal bank right in from of us. No way to avoid him, water in the canal and a small creek on the other side. My girl friend jumed toward the stream. I was so scared I stood, afraid to move, by this time I was face to face with him. He such big horns, the kind that circles around, I had never seen such horns. I don’t know how but I put my hand out to pet him. He seemed as surprised as I was. His big horns were so rough and hard. I was so scared, I tried to move away. He then tossed his head, I stepped backwards and as I did I slipped and fell on the ground. I think I slipped on a small rock. The goat didn’t hurt me. I got up and looked at him and he at me. Then somehow I got out of there. The goat just stood and looked at me, I guess he was wondering how I got there.

In the mean time, my friend had ran to the school house and told everyone the goat had knocked me doun. But it didn’t. I had slipped by myself and fell. I wasn’t afraid anymore but I didn’t go thru that field again unless my brothers were there to see if the gaot was anywhere to be seen. Why press your luck.

The school had a big bell, I was located in a belfry. On top of the school. The bell was rung by pulling a long rope. You could hear this bell when it was rung, for a long ways. The bell was rung in the morning and again at our lunch time and at our recesses. The bell was rung more times in the morning, just once the other times. The teacher let me ring it once, it took me off my feet. My brother used to ring it often, he was taller. (Walter)

The teacher would line us up in a row to march us in to the school house. In the morning, lunch time and the recesses. The small children in the front and the tall ones in the back.

We had a out house, just one. The grounds was partialy fenced in. on one side it was as nature left it. Sagebrush and big boulders. In the spring there were a lot of wild flowers and a lot of bright colored moss. I loved that moss it had such a pretty color and velvet like feeling. There was a real flat big rock we called Table Rock. This is where, some of us would sit and eat our lunches every day.

Margaret and I would exchange sandwiches. She was fond of cheese We always had cheese at our house. She would have peanut butter and I was fond of that. So we got along fine.

The school, we had a pot belly stove that heated the whole school room. We had a huge blackboard right back of where the teacher sat. The desks and seats were connected. The seats would push back when we got off of them. They stayed until we pushed them doun, when we sat doun. The teacher had a regular chair and a fat cushion to sit on.

I wonder what occasion this photograph commemorates. The streamers imply some sort of celebration. (Elsie is the second girl from the right in the front row.)

The books, pencils and tablets were pushed into the front of the desk. The to of the desk didn’t lift up.

We chalk and erasers, to use on the blackboard. The teach ever so often would have a couple of the kids stay after school to clean the erasers. You had to be careful the chalk dust would fly all over. The boys (mostly) were the ones asked to do this, they would hit two erasers together to knock the dust out.

We carried our lunches in a lunch pail, we had no cafeterias those days. The lunch pails were put on a shelf in the cloak room. No lockers. Our hats, coats and goullashes, hung up in this small room.

Our lunch pail was probably a five pound lard pail. Our tablets were called “penny tablets” a very cheap grade of paper. The older children used pens. The pens then was a holder which held pen points. The pen points came in differend size points of course you used one point at a time. There was a small hole in the desk at the top and to one side, that held a ink well, which had a top, with a small hole in it. So the pen could enter. You’d have to dip the pen often to have enough ink to write much. They finally invented fountain pens.

The first fountain pen I had I lost in the snow and never found it untill the snow melted in the spring then it was too late. It had frozen with the ink in it and burst.

The boys used to like to put the tip of the braid of the girl that sat in front of him. They did’t dare do mine as I had two brothers big.

Inez was born, she was named after, the Shaw’s daughter. Inez Shaw. She was a surprise to me I didn’t know I was going to have a baby sister.

Coming from school one day. I had walked around the road. I was close to our house, I had to still go across the bridge of the canal.

A short ways from the road I was on was a big puddle of water. See there stood a big coyote with his teeth showing, and lookin straight at me. I was scared to pass in front of him I turned around and ran all the way back to our neighbors, about one half mile away. Never being late home from school, my mother got worried, she called the neighbors, to see if I was there. The neighbors told her I was there and afraid to go home. Mother sent some one to take me home. Mother was sure the coyote had stopped for a drink as he probably had been running. Said coyotes won’t attack you unless their hungry. I don’t know I didn’ stop to ask him if he was hungry. After Mother’s experiences with couotes I wasn’t taking any chances.

In the winter time the distance was a long way. There a lot of cold days in Idaho. We were lucky we had friends to walk with. The wind would blow a gale and seemed to go right thru you.

We wore scarves around our necks, up around our mouths Our hot breathe going thru the scarf entering the cold air would form icicles. We would blow our breathes to see the white steam come out. It looked like white smoke. Our noses were like a big red cherry. Our hands were so cold we couldn’t feel them at all, and we had on warm gloves.

When the snow came Mother didn’t want us to eat the first snow that fell She said it had germs in it. The snow cleaned the air. We children would make snowmen, angels by laying with our arms out straight and moving up and doun. Which made the wings. We would lay on our backs in the snow. Having brothers we made forts. We had a lot of snowballing. I didn’t mind the soft ones but the boys learned to soak the in water and they would hurt.

When it was really snowing, we would have two layers of clothes on. Lon johns, and long black stockings. Over our shoes we wore galoshes, which were called “over shoes”. They came all most up to our knees. Dad would wrap gunny sacks over our galoshes up to our knees. My brothers would have to remove these gunny sacks before we got to school. They would hide these sacks under the bridge of the canal. We would have to put them on the way back home after school. We took off our “over shoes” after we got to school. The teacher was good to help the little ones. These mornings the heat from the pot belly stove felt good

Our “over shoes”, buckled up in front of the foot with six or more buckles. There were hard to pull on over our regular shoes. Some of the other children got frost bitten because they weren’t dressed warm enough.

This little story reminds me of our family. A teacher was helping to put on a little boys over shoes. She tugged and pulled, finally succeeded in getting them on. The little boy piped up Those aren’t my over shoes. Reluctantly she took them off. Then the little boy exclaimed Those used to belong to my sister. So the teacher had to tug and pull them back on the little fellow. She wasn’t very happy about it.

At our house we only had a heater and the kitchen range for heat. We had a lot of fun popping corn and eating apples Some times we could make candy, I remember once, we were making some fudge, it was boiling real good and I stuck one of my fingers into it. I was burned real good. I learnt a lesson I never did that again.

In the winter we wore fannel gowns to sleep in. The gowns were long, we would wrap them around our legs when we got into bed. I bedrooms were always cold.

We wore long johns until Easter Sunday, off they came the long johns, on with the light weight clothes. It felt as tho we had lost ten pounds. We could wear white stockings.

Sometimes Dad would make a sliegh out of his wagon. If it snowed while we were in school and not clothe for the weather, he would pick us up, not only us but all the other kids. He would sing “It’s a long way to Tipperary” but my hearts right there.” We all got a kick out of it. I always thought he meant getting home.

To continue with the next installment of Elsie's manuscript, click here.

A Murder in the Family

I have known for most of my life that my great-great-grandfather’s death was an unsolved murder, and since adulthood have heard it said among the family that his son probably did it. Naturally, such rumors are calculated to intrigue. I have long entertained a certain morbid curiosity on the subject, but found little information on my own. The information I did have consisted in his name: John Stephen CRAIG; his estimated birth information: Apr 1859 in Scotland; his family unit: wife Martha Mulvena RUBENALL (whom he married on 26 May 1886 in Denison, Crawford, Iowa), sons Matthew, Harry, and Dewey, and daughter Mary Josephine; and the following death information: died 21 Feb 1917 on 16^th St in Omaha, Nebraska, and buried 26 Feb 1917 in the Holy Sepulchre Cemetery of the same city. Now, as for names and dates that appears fairly complete. However, I knew there was a story for this man, and one that might prove quite interesting.

Finally I gave in and sent away to the Omaha Public Library for some research on my behalf. Although the internet has been a godsend to genealogists, there are still some things that must be done offline, and this, it seemed, was one of them.

Yesterday I received the lovely, creased envelope bearing my address in my own handwriting. This was it! I was finally going to read about my ancestor’s murder in the words of the local reporter. I slit open the envelope and pulled out four sheets of paper. The first was a cover letter; the other three were articles from the Omaha World Herald in 1917.

It is an odd sensation to find oneself delighted while reading about the violent death of one’s own great-great-grandfather, but delighted I was. At last I was reading first-hand information, not family rumors that might have been exaggerated through the years. For the first time I learned which son was suspected of his death. I learned that he died near 10^th St, not on 16^th St. Perhaps most remarkable, because it was the first time I heard of it, I learned that his wife had left him and possibly remarried.

But let’s back up just a bit, and I’ll share the articles themselves with you.

The first appeared on the front page of the Evening World-Herald on the day following his death.

  

Craig is Found Dead; How Killed Mystery.

Murder or Accidentally Killed by Train, Ask Police; Investigating.

Body Found Frozen Beside Little Used Track; Well Known Expressman.

  

Mystery surrounds the death of John Craig, aged 62, an express driver, whose body was found early this morning within a short distance of his home at Tenth and Paul streets, with mortal wounds about the head.

  

“I’ll die by violence some day,” was the fatalistic remark of Craig a short time ago, and his prediction was fulfilled. He had lived in Omaha nearly forty years, and for a long time past, had led the life of a hermit in a one-room wing of the 3-room shack he called hime [sic]. There are rumors that he had considerable money. He had an express stand at Fifteenth and Harney streets, and ran a little store at Eleventh and Paul streets.

  

For about two years he had been separated from his wife, who is now said to be remarried and living in California. Two sons, Matt and Harry, live in Omaha, as well as a married daughter, Mrs. Henry Stroesser. Matt and the daughter say they have not seen their father for some time past, and have had nothing to do with him on account of family troubles. Harry, the second son, could not be found.

  

Neighbors say that Craig came home as usual about 5:30 last evening, and put away his horse. He was not seen again until his body was discovered by Ole Jackson, colored, living at 2528 Patrick avenue, and Lewis Lesslow, Tenth and Seward streets. The body lay beside a commercial spur track leading from the Union Pacific yards across Eleventh street to the rear of the T. G. Northwall company building.

  

Half a dozen large boards which Craig had evidently been carrying when he was killed lay beside the body.

  

Murder or accidental death are the two theories on which the police are working. The fact that the dead man’s clothes were not disturbed, and that about $7, his watch and some personaly [sic] papers were not taken from the pockets, would indicate that he was not killed by robbers, say the police.

  

The position of the body beside the railroad tracks leave it possible, it is added, that the man was struck by a freight car being switched in or drawn from the spur track during the night. The body was frozen stiff when found.

  

The body is at Taggart’s undertaking rooms. An inquest is considered likely.

It certainly creates an image to read that John CRAIG “had led the life of a hermit in a one-room wing of the 3-room shack he called hime [sic],” that “for about two years he had been separated from his wife,” and that his children “have had nothing to do with him on account of family troubles.” And when he is quoted as predicting “I’ll die by violence some day,” I can’t help but wish that the reporter had elaborated, if only to tell how he learned of the prediction. He couldn’t have learned it from John himself!

Also, it is somewhat chilling to read such a dispassionate account of the condition of the body, when the body belongs to one’s relative. I have always found such descriptions much more unsettling than the gaudiest thing that gothic literature could invent, because there seems to be such a disconnect between “the body” and the person it once was. Gothic literature, at least, preserves the horror of the viewer.

The second article appeared the following day, but by now the story has been relegated to the second page of the newspaper.

Son Held as Police Probe Craig’s Death

Official Suspicion Aroused by His Story of Whereabouts Wednesday Night.

Sees All Three Newspapers, but Ignorant of Father’s Death, He Says.

  

Harry Craig, son of John Craig, 62, recluse, who was found dead with his head mutilated in a field near his hut at Tenth and Paul streets yesterday morning, was arrested by Police Detectives Dunn and Gaughan late yesterday, and is held without bond while the police investigate further his father’s mysterious death.

  

The police declare that they have nothing tangible to connect the younger Craig with his father’s death, but his story of his whereabouts the night before aroused their suspicions.

  

Harry Craig told the detectives that he saw three newspapers yesterday, but knew nothing of his father’s death, which was prominent on the first page of all the papers.

  

He said that he left the Millard hotel, where he washes dishes, at 6:15 Wednesday evening, wandered about town, and returned at 10:30, going to bed. Craig’s roommate told the police that he did not notice Craig until a few minutes before 6 o’clock in the morning. According to the police, young Craig was at a loss to tell exactly where he had “wandered about” earlier in the evening.

  

The police are now convinced that Craig was murdered. No cars are switched at night on the tracks near which the body was found, so he could not have been killed by a passing train. The blow on his head crushed his skull badly. Money and jewelry on his person were not touched and the padlock on his shack was not broken, so robbery could not have been the motive.

  

The police learned that Harry Craig had quarreled with his father recently and that they had been seen frequently together. According to the meager information they gathered of the family, Harry Craig blamed his father for trouble between himself and his wife.

So it was Harry who was suspected of his father’s murder. I have very little information on Harry CRAIG: only that he was born in February 1893 in Omaha. I do not even have the name of his wife. These CRAIGs have been difficult to research because it is a rather common surname—and paired with common Christian names—in a densely populated area. The problem is not that I cannot find a record for Harry CRAIG, it is that I find too many records and am unable to differentiate between them.

It seems that the trouble between Harry and his wife must have been serious, since they don’t appear to be living together. The article speaks of Harry’s roommate at his home. The idea of a parent causing trouble between a child and his spouse reminds me of the family rumor regarding John’s wife, Martha. It has been said that she had more than motherly feelings toward her son-in-law, Harry STROESSER. Whether that caused problems in her daughter’s marriage, I don’t know, but I can easily see how it could. These CRAIGs are definitely turning out to be an interesting bunch.

The third, and most enigmatic, story appeared in the morning edition of the newspaper on 24 Feb 1917. It is no more than a blurb way back on page 15, and a confusing one at that:

Deny Story of Arrest.

Denial of the statement that Harry Craig, son of John Craig, the expressman whose body was found along railroad tracks near his home Thursday morning, was arrested at the Millard hotel Thursday evening, was made last night by Harry Stroesser, carpenter employed by the city, and by Matt Craig, son of the dead man and brother of the man in jail. Stroesser is a brother-in-law of the Craig boys.

What does that mean? It says that Harry STROESSER and Matt CRAIG denied the statement of Harry CRAIG’s arrest. But what are they denying about it? They can’t deny that he was arrested; he is identified as “the man in jail.” If he weren’t arrested, how would he end up in jail? Are they denying that the arrest took place at the Millard hotel or that it took place Thursday evening? The most probable assumption would be that they are disputing his identification as a suspect, but if that is the case, the reporter has expressed it dismally.

Although I have long known that it was an unsolved murder, I find it frustrating to end on a mystery. Somehow I expected at least some closure. And I can’t help but wonder if my great-great-uncle got away with murder—and even more, if his brother and my own great-grandfather were accessories after the fact.

Citations

“Craig is Found Dead; How Killed Mystery.” Evening World-Herald [Omaha] 22 Feb 1917: 1.

“Son Held as Police Probe Craig’s Death.” Evening World-Herald [Omaha] 23 Feb 1917: 2.

“Deny Story of Arrest.” Morning World-Herald [Omaha] 24 Feb 1917: 15.