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35 chapters
Wetmore
Wetmore
It was not an excess of water, as one might suppose, that gave Wetmore its name. Nor was it, as some have been led to believe, because a certain Captain Wetmore, with a number of soldiers during the Civil War chanced to camp over night at our ever-flowing mineral spring. Art Taylor says his grandmother told him that such was the case. It has been generally understood all along that the town was named after a New York official of the railroad which came through here in 1867. Confirmed, this would
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The Mineral Spring
The Mineral Spring
To enlarge a bit on our ever-flowing mineral spring! It was—and is—near the creek in a natural grove of big trees at the southwest limits of Wetmore. Nathaniel Morris, an early-day merchant, had an analysis of the water made—and talked of developing the spring into a health resort. The water was pronounced medicinally good — mostly iron, I believe. But, beyond attracting large celebration crowds, his dream was never realized. However, Morris induced the railroad to run in an “excursion” train of
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Wetmore in 1869-70
Wetmore in 1869-70
There were only eleven buildings and thirty-four people Wetmore when I came here with my parents from our Wolfley Creek farm home in the fall of 1869. There was one general store owned by Morris Brothers. Uliam Morris, with his wife Eliza and daughter Nannie, and his brother Nathaniel, lived over the store. Kirk Wood had a blacksmith shop, a small home, his wife Euphemia and two children, Riley and Jay. Kirk’s brother Jay lived with the family. M. P. M. Cassity, lawyer, owned his home and rental
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Our New Temporary Home
Our New Temporary Home
Earlier in this writing I mentioned the fact that our family had three years on the Hazeltine farm. My older brother, Charley, contracted “quick consumption.” There was a prevailing notion that the scent of new pine lumber and fresh country air would be helpful in effecting a cure. So my father made a contract with Charley Hazeltine for the erection of a new house under the cottonwoods on the hill near the old log-house which had been the home of father of the Hazeltine brothers—with a three-yea
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Roses The Girls Didn’t Get
Roses The Girls Didn’t Get
Reference has been made to my Rose Garden. I have grown them, you might say, as a hobby—and for the pleasure of giving the flowers to my friends. Bushels of them have gone in the past to the Cemetery on Memorial Day, and not a few to sick rooms, to churches, and to local society functions. The fame of my Rose Garden has traveled far—to California and to Florida. Proof: The two little girls of Shady Mitchell, a Tennessean, who conducted a general store in Wetmore some years back and lived across
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CONSIDERATE KID
CONSIDERATE KID
Having bought little three-year-old Karen McDaniel a 5-cent cone, and also one for her to take home to her little brother Harry, I laid a couple of nickels on the counter at the restaurant; and then put down a dime, and picked up the two nickels—this twenty-cents representing the sum total of my cash as of the moment. Karen said, “What you do that for?” I told her that I was going to purchase a 5-cent lead-pencil from Charley Shaffer at the drug store, and that I wanted to keep the nickels, as i
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CAREFUL PLANNING
CAREFUL PLANNING
When still very young, Donna Cole—in our home—had eaten an apple and was nibbling the core. My wife said to her niece, “Oh, oh—child, you must not eat that core.” Donna smiled, and taking another bite, said, “Ain’t goin’ be no core.” At another time, the wife and I were visiting in the Locknane home in Topeka—and Myrtle had taken Donna along with us, at the suggestion of Coral, who said they would try to get her pictured in the Sunday Daily Capital. Well, they did that easily. Donna was deserved
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A TWOTIMER
A TWOTIMER
We were having company for supper. Little Dorothy Bristow. four year old daughter of my brother Frank and wife Cecile, told August and Hulda Bleisener they need not be afraid of the silver, that she and her aunt Myrtle had cleaned it that afternoon. But—hold your laugh. My wife had put pickled cling peaches on the table. Now, everyone knows how hard it is to get the meat off a pickled cling peach. I shoved one into my mouth and was doing the best I could with it when Myrtle, looking across the t
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WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE
WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE
Little Josephine Cole, not yet three years old, trying to catch an evasive cat in our home, shocked her Aunt Myrtle by saying, “Damn that cat.” My wife was telling Mrs. Morrison, our neighbor, about it, When Dick Morrison, the husband, spoke up saying, “I said those very Words about our damned old cat while the child was over here yesterday.” It has wisely been said: “Out of the mouths of babies come Words we shouldn’t have said in the first place.”...
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DONE IN CALIFORNIA
DONE IN CALIFORNIA
Not Hitherto Published—1948. By John T. Bristow As sequel to the foregoing old-time cattle riding story-experienced in my younger days on the gently undulating plains of Northeast Kansas, I here record a contrasting up-to-date cattle riding experience I recently had on a far away mountain range. But in this last ride I did not race my horse and crack my whip for the sheer fun of it—as of yore. Until Sunday, April 18, 1948, I had not been on a horse for fifty-five years—not since the opening of t
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MISS INTERPRETED
MISS INTERPRETED
My mother cautioned my sister Nannie when a very little girl as she was going out to play, to look good for snakes. After she had returned, Nannie told her mother that she had looked everywhere and did not see “ary snake.” Asked what would she have done had she found one, Nannie said, “I would of bringed it to you.” Published in Wetmore Spectator, January 10, 1936. By John T. Bristow Now, I trust “Buddy” will be satisfied with the foregoing narration of events at the old swimming hole. He really
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Honesty — The Better Policy
Honesty — The Better Policy
NOTE—Some seventy-five years ago I accidentally dropped a five-dollar gold piece into one of the big vats at our old tanyard on the creek bank near the town bridge at the foot of Kansas Avenue which gold piece was never recovered. The old bridge has now been removed, and a new one—156-foot span—is being constructed over a newly dug creek channel sixty-five yards south of the old one, on a grade ten feet above the old road. In building up the grade between the old bridge site and the railroad, Al
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INNOCENT FALSEHOOD
INNOCENT FALSEHOOD
About twenty years ago, I was going with “Dutch” Roderick, in his car, to Kansas City, starting at four o’clock in the morning—and Minnie Cawood, with her two and one-half year old Ruthie, were going along as far as Leavenworth. We stopped at the H. P. Cawood home, and “tooted.” Minnie came out, and Harry followed, carrying Ruthie in his arms. She was fussy, and Harry said, “Don’t cry—your partner is out here in the car.” Ruthie said—well, had she not been such a sweet kid as to call me her part
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PLUGGING FOR HER DADDY
PLUGGING FOR HER DADDY
Little Janet, four-year-old daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Leland Latham, was at the home of J. E. (Dutch) Roderick. Thinking to get a reaction from Janet, “Dutch” said in a sort of off-hand way to no one in particular, “Wish I knew where to find a good veterinarian?” The little Latham girl said, “My daddy is a vet’narian. If you want to get spayed, he can do it.”...
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THE STRANGE CASE OF MR. HENRY, et al.
THE STRANGE CASE OF MR. HENRY, et al.
Not Hitherto Published—1947. By John T. Bristow The last three preceding articles were done at the request of one of the old tanyard-swimming hole gang whom I dubbed “Buddy.” It really was a triple order. At the same time I was committed to still another request. Went out to one of Buddy’s buddies to verify data pertaining to Buddy’s written request and ran head-on into another one—the one I’m going to tackle now, together with other incidents. It is a dangerous operation, this thing of running
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CORRECT VISION
CORRECT VISION
Little Donna Cole was whimpering in my wife’s arms as Myrtle was carrying her niece to the child’s home after nightfall, with a half-full moon lighting the way. Myrtle said, “Oh, Donna, you must not cry—don’t you see the pretty moon?” Donna stopped her whimpering and after a moment, said, “I can see half of it, Aunt Myrtle.”...
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GRAPES — RIPENED ON FRIENDSHIP’S VINE
GRAPES — RIPENED ON FRIENDSHIP’S VINE
Not Hitherto Published—1947. By John T. Bristow In the preceding article I mentioned an illegal contract literally shoved down my throat. The purpose of this article is to shed further light on that incident—and to show how it got me pulled into court, as star witness. And then too, as a whole, the article gives a “bird’s eye” view of a small town pulling for the good of the town—according to selfish individual tastes. There is no malice in this writing, no sore spots. But there are some blunt f
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LOCAL “BOARD OF TRADE”
LOCAL “BOARD OF TRADE”
Not Hitherto Published—1947. By John T. Bristow This, a continuation of the preceding article, brings us up to the second phase of my grain dealing experience. The businessmen, and some who were not so businesslike, organized what they called a Board of Trade, purportedly for the enhancement of the town’s interest—but, in reality, as events proved, to locate an outside man in the grain business here. Goff had two merchants advertising in my newspaper — one a particularly live businessman—quoting
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FAMILY AFFAIR
FAMILY AFFAIR
Not Hitherto Published—1947. By John T. Bristow In the foregoing article I made reference to Theodore Wolfley’s poor marksmanship, with a revolver. When possible, I like to back up my assertions with proof. I now quote from a letter dated at St. Louis, April 5, 1941, written by T. J. Wolfley to his sister May Purcell, commenting on my writings in The Spectator, in which I likened a Belgrade story to a hot Wolfley editorial. It was at a time when a Hitler delegation was in Belgrade endeavoring to
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ANOTHER BRIGHT LITTLE STAR
ANOTHER BRIGHT LITTLE STAR
The little Fresno, California miss was ushered into my presence. My sister then went back outside to continue with the watering of her flowers. Standing off at a reasonable distance, Connie Jean Moser, from across the street at 1010 Ferger, said, “Aunt Nannie told me to come in and get acquainted with Uncle John.” Attracted at once by the little visitor’s proud carriage, pleasant expression of face, and trim little body not burdened with too many clothes, I told her that for me this should be a
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LLEWELLYN CASTLE
LLEWELLYN CASTLE
Published in Wetmore Spectator—Seneca Courier- Tribune—Goff Advance—Topeka Daily Capital—October, 1931 By John T. Bristow A half century ago England got rid of some of her surplus inhabitants by sending them over to this country to “root hog, or die” as the old saying is. They drifted in here “like lost leaves from the annals of men.” Colonies were planted in numerous sections of Kansas. Nemaha County, with her great sweep of vacant rolling prairies, inviting, snared one of those colonies. The s
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MORE ABOUT THE COLONY FOLK
MORE ABOUT THE COLONY FOLK
Not Hitherto Published—1947. By John T. Bristow The Colony folk, men and women, came to Wetmore to do their trading—and to sip ‘alf-an-’alf, beer and whisky. At that time there was quite a lot of immigration from England, and Britons were scattered about over the prairies in all directions—and in general they were all regarded as Colonists. William Cawood, with his two sons, Walter and Prince, came direct to Wetmore from Scarborough, England, in the spring of 1870. Other members of the family—Ge
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HAPPY DAZE
HAPPY DAZE
Published in Wetmore Spectator and Seneca Courier-Tribune — October 11, 1935 By John T. Bristow In glancing over the current issue of The Courier-Tribune I notice that the good citizens of Seneca are putting on a Biblical show this week. That’s fine. Whenever I hear of home talent aspiring to portray those ancient characters on the stage I become interested right away. It recalls to mind the time when I myself was, briefly, in the cast of a local entertainment of that sort held in the old school
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ODD CHARACTERS — COLORFUL, PICTURESQUE
ODD CHARACTERS — COLORFUL, PICTURESQUE
Not Hitherto Published—1947. By John T. Bristow The discussion of odd characters was going strong when I entered the corner grocery store one evening. I did not join in the discussion for the simple reason that the range of observations did not go far enough back to take in the really odd ones—as I knew them. Had I told what I’m going to tell now, without supporting evidence it would, perhaps, have branded me as a prevaricator, and I wouldn’t have liked that. But I’m taking no chances now. Suppo
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MY BEST INVESTMENT
MY BEST INVESTMENT
Not Hitherto Published — 1947 By John T. Bristow Girls — Girls — Girls After mulling the old thing over, I know now that the boy who sat with me in the reserved section at Evangelist George Graham’s meetings, as intimated in the foregoing article, was not Peter Cassity. It was his brother Bill. Pete tells me that he was farming at the time over on Wolfley creek and did not attend the meetings regular—but don’t ever think Pete did not remember his raising, when he did get in. Bill Cassity had the
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THE VIGILANTES
THE VIGILANTES
Published in Wetmore Spectator, August 28, 1931 By John T. Bristow There was, assuredly, need for the vigilantes at one time in the Far West, where the idea originated and here there were no laws and no courts other than “miner’s courts”—impromptu courts set up by the people on the spot. But, with all the machinery of organized government functioning normally and in most instances efficiently there in Nemaha County, there was, seemingly, no call here for the vigilantes when they hanged Charley M
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MOUNT ERICKSON
MOUNT ERICKSON
Published in Wetmore Spectator— March 27, 1936 By John T. Bristow It was sixty-two years ago. Our quiet little village, surrounded by almost continuous open country, with grazing herds all bedded down for the night, slumbered. A gentle rain was falling. The night train brought to Wetmore a man bent upon a desperate undertaking. Jim Erickson was a resident of these parts, but had been absent for some time. He did not seek lodgings in town. Under cover of the night he walked west on the railroad t
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WANTS INFORMATION
WANTS INFORMATION
W. F. Turrentine, in Spectator A few days ago J. T. Bristow received a letter from Albert T. Reid, national vice-chairman of The American Artists Professional League, Incorporated, complimenting him on his article, “The Overland Trail,” and asking for information regarding “Old Bob Ridley,” a famous frontiersman well known to what few of the old settlers are left in this vicinity. “Old Bob Ridley” was Robert Sewell who lived in this part of Kansas in an early day and had a lot of vivid experienc
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MEMORY’S STOREHOUSE UNLOCKED
MEMORY’S STOREHOUSE UNLOCKED
Published in Wetmore Spectator, Holton Recorder, Seneca Courier-Tribune, Atchison Daily Globe— December, 1938. By John T. Bristow Green Campbell’s Colorful Mining Career The train wound its way by easy stages down from the mountain heights into the desert valley. The railroad split the great basin in halves. On either side treeless mountains rose in endless succession. It was mid-summer in the great inter-mountain region—and the sage-fringed valley, broad and almost level, stretching ahead for m
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DESERT CHIVALRY
DESERT CHIVALRY
Published in Wetmore Spectator, March 13, 1931. By John T. Bristow There were not conveyances enough to handle the influx of gold-seekers when I got off the train at Nipton, California, and a long walk across a dry sun baked waste lay ahead of me. I was on my way to the new mining camp of Crescent, just over the line in Nevada, and on my way to a fortune—maybe. Rainbow visions began to rise before me, and hot though it was I did not mind that six-mile walk one bit. I was not alone. She was young
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THE WIFE—AT GOODSPRINGS
THE WIFE—AT GOODSPRINGS
Not Hitherto Published — 1947 By John T. Bristow To round out the foregoing story, I might say here that my wife was a guest for the week during my absence in Crescent, at Mrs. Yount’s hotel in Goodsprings. Sam Yount, the landlady’s husband, was leading merchant, postmaster, private banker—and miner. And he backed the hotel proposition too. The sleeping quarters of the hotel were a detached row of ground-floor rooms close by the main structure. It was before the building in Goodsprings of the So
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MONEY MUSK
MONEY MUSK
Published in Wetmore Spectator— January 24, 1936. By John T. Bristow The deep snows of the past month recall the winters back a half century, and more. It seems there was always snow on the ground in the winter months then. In the early days, besides making boots and shoes, my father, William Bristow, hunted and trapped a good deal, whenever he could spare the time from his business. Always one or more of his boys would go with him on those outings. We all loved the outdoors—and with my father w
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GONE WITH THE WIND
GONE WITH THE WIND
Published in Wetmore Spectator, January—1943. By John T. Bristow I have been asked to “write up” the Kickapoo Indians. This I cannot do satisfactorily without more data. I do not know the history of the tribe and, at this late date, I do not choose to waste time in acquainting myself with the particulars. It takes a lot of research to do a story of that nature. And, historically written, it would be rather drab. Anyway, this is a hurry-up assignment I am writing now to help out Carl, The Spectat
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WHITE CHRISTMAS
WHITE CHRISTMAS
Published in Wetmore Spectator, and Seneca Courier-Tribune, January—1943 By John T. Bristow COURIER-TRIBUNE Editor’s Note:—History can be dry or it can be interesting. When it is colorful, filled with the lives of people, it will be remembered far longer than if but dry facts are presented. We think that this true story by John Bristow of Wetmore is one that will make the English Colony of old Nemaha County days long remembered. Although at the outset you will likely be thinking of a current and
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UNCLE NICK’S BOOMERANG
UNCLE NICK’S BOOMERANG
Published in Wetmore Spectator March 5, 1943 By John T. Bristow The hunt was staged in Uncle Nick Bristow’s timber — way back in the 70’s. It was on the home place over on the Rose branch, the farm now owned by Bill Mast. The trail of the hunters would range down stream, overlapping into the Jim Hyde and Bill Rose woods, and on down to the junction with Wolfley creek. Ostensibly, it was to have been a coon-hunt, but it soon developed into something bigger and better. ‘ There was a good moon—but
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