Part 1

My mom’s father, Elmer Cashes Blue, was born on December 28, 1886 in Tekamah, Nebraska. Sometime in the 1970s, he put down on paper many of the stories he had told us while we were young. His tales of growing up tell us just how different life was then:

“Just for the novelty of it, I am writing down some of the unusual experiences of my life. It seems that I have always been accident prone. For some reason I have always escaped without serious injury. I cannot account for the repeated times that I have been in danger of getting badly hurt, sometimes not so serious as others. I think that I am rather of the cautious calculating kind. But it seems to continue to happen. My mother always took comfort in her philosophy of my escapades. She would always say that the Lord had some important work that he wanted me to do.

“I, of course, have no recollection of my first accident, but can only repeat it as my mother told me. She had me tied in the highchair. She went into the pantry to get some flour for a neighbor. I evidently rocked the highchair and tipped it over onto the cook stove. Mother heard me scream, but thought that I was hollering because I was left alone. When she came, I was lying with my head on the stove. The knob of the stove was the place where I lighted. It burned a hole in my head clear to the skull, but did not break through. It was many, many years before it finally healed. As late as 20 years ago the scar has cracked open and bled. Of late years I have had no difficulty, except the hair has receded so I cannot keep the scar covered.

“My second episode, I think I can remember, but my parents say that I was too young to remember it. They say I was only about two years old. Father was putting straw on the strawberry plants to protect them for the winter. He had a wagon load of straw. I was pulling strings out of the straw from under the hayrack. He started the team and heard me squawk. He ran around the wagon, and I was lying on my back immediately behind the hind wheel. He knew the wheel had passed over me. He carried me to the house and told mother. She would not believe it could be possible until two years later.

“It was almost two years from that time that I was in the corn field, helping what I could in picking the corn. I had gotten tired and gotten up on the wagon on top of the full load of corn. Father was not so good at husking corn as mother, so we all went along to help husk the corn. I got up on the front of the load and lost my balance and fell off in front of the wagon wheel. It frightened the horses when I hit the doubletrees on the way down, and they started up fast. Father grabbed the lines to keep the hind wheel from passing over me, but he was too late and only backed the wagon back over me. Mother ran around the wagon and pulled me out. The wheels had passed over my stomach and pushed me down into the soft dirt so the wheel track was visible on each side of where I had lain. They took me to the house and put me to bed. It was 12 miles to town to a doctor, so they decided to wait till morning and see what developed. By morning I had forgotten all about it, and came out into the kitchen with my usual “whippee” as I jumped over the door sill. I have never felt any bad effects from either of these episodes.”

These stories about the hayrack must have been especially poignant as his own grandmother had died while riding on one when a board broke and she fell through and died.

Part 2

Two more episodes as related by my grandfather:

During the winter of 1891-92 a scourge of diphtheria came to our rural community. Most of the cases were light. My little brother, Willie, came down with it. Within four days he was dead. In a few days I came down with it. After three days the doctor said there was no hope for me and that I would soon be gone. Mother had watched my brother, Willie, die; so she got a long hat-pin, sterilized it in the fire, and dug at my throat by the hour, and kept it open so I could breathe. Finally the crusting in my throat began to subside, and I was out of danger. For about three months after I was able to be out of bed, I could not walk, because, as they said “It had settled in my legs”. I think, instead, it was because of the horrible medicine that the doctor had prescribed that my legs could not be used. To this day, I sometimes feel that same pain in my hip. Very few boys are indebted to their mother two times for their life.

During the winter of 1896, my grandmother Blue had had an accident. She had fallen through a board while riding in a hayrack, and fell through onto the hard road. Soon she was on her death bed, evidently from a kinked intestine. Mother was staying with her, caring for her, and on the day of my next accident, father had gone to town on business.

My elder brother, Irvin, had gone for the cows, to bring them home to be milked. When he got back, he said that one of the cows had a little calf and I would have to go help him bring them home. It was less than a mile from home. On the way I had picked up some ears of corn from the cornfield to entice the cow to follow along. I threw her an ear of corn but she did not seem to see it, so I stooped down to pick it up. The cow jumped at me and knocked me over on my back. She hooked me with her sharp horns. Her horns passed through my coat on one side of the row of buttons, and came out on the other side of the row of buttons. She threw me up on top of her head and ran bellering with me on top of her head to the top of the hill about 25 rods from her calf.

I fell off there on top of the hill and fell into a dead-furrow (the name for the place in a plowed field where the dirt has been thrown both ways and left a ditch). I straightened out in the dead-furrow and each time the cow tried to hook me, she would run her nose in the ground. After several attempts to hook me, and having stepped on my legs a couple of times, she left me and went back to her calf. I got up and was so scared that I, seemingly, could not make one leg move past the other. However, when I finally realized where I was, I had gotten clear to the valley, and my brother was trying hard to catch up with me from the creek bank where he had taken refuge.

First I noticed my cap was missing. (It was several days before I got courage to go look for it.) Then I noticed that my coat was torn nearly the full length of the front on each side of the buttons. I asked my brother if he thought mother would give me a licking for getting my coat torn. My coat was new, made from the back of an old coat father had worn out. How I wish that I had preserved that coat to this day. Mother had no more gray cloth like the coat, so she patched it by putting in pieces of strong cloth, brown on one side and red on the other.

Father later went after the cow and calf, and tied her in the barn, and cut off the ends of her horns. I can still feel the thrill of joy that we boys had in getting a long pole and jabbing the cow by the hour making her beller. I had no injuries except a bruised chest and some bruises on my legs. Needless to say, mother did not lick me.

Part 3

There are a number of things about this set of stories that I particularly like: the off-hand reference to his father’s powder horn, his efforts to avoid stepping in cow piles, and especially his casual remark about nearly getting killed: “The next incident was relatively unimportant, but just falls into the regular pattern of a boy’s life.”

About two years after the cow incident, we had had a Fourth of July celebration at our house. It was customary for the neighbors to gather at some home for the celebration. After the celebration, there were many burned out Roman candles lying around. My brother conceived the idea that we could continue the celebration by cutting the Roman candle shells in half, plugging one end, fill it with powder from father’s powder horn, and put a fire-cracker fuse in the other end. And then he said, “Come on Elmer and light them”.

The first one went off with a big bang and left quite a hole in the ground. The second one was balky, and would not light properly. I was huddled down over it blowing on it, when it went off in my face. I went rolling backwards down the hill. My whole face was torn and bleeding. For some unaccountable reason my eyes were closed when it exploded, otherwise it would have surely blinded me. I had grains of powder embedded in my eyelashes for years before they were finally absorbed. I had one big powder grain embedded in the tip of my nose. It persisted for many years. For some reason people ask me of late, “What is the matter with the tip of your nose”. It is only the remains of the powder grain. I do not know why it has not been noticed till recently.

In the fall of the year, we naturally had to rise long before daylight to do the chores. I judge that I was about 14 when my next mishap occurred. Our barn was composed of two parts. The front side of the barn had a row of stalls for the horses and the back side a row for the cows. Father cared for the horses and we boys milked the cows. Father had a lantern for his side of the barn, but was afraid to trust us with a lantern, so we had to do the best we could in milking the cows in the dark. I always had an exact place for my milk-stool, so I could find it in the dark. I always put my stool on top of the first cow to get the exact location of the cows, so to better judge where the cow piles were likely to be, so I could step around them.

On this particular morning, when I put my stool on top of the first cow, I went with a bang back against the back of the barn. My father called, “What’s the matter in there?”. I told him that the cow had kicked me. He said, “There are no cows in there. I turned the cows out last night and put horses in there”. I was laid up for a few days with the same hip that went bad after I had diphtheria. Needless to say that mother insisted that we have a lantern for our side of the barn.

The next incident was relatively unimportant, but just falls into the regular pattern of a boy’s life. I judge that I was about 17 when this incident occurred. We boys had largely taken over the responsibility of the work on the farm. Father seldom went to the field. Father promised we boys that if we would stay home and work until we were 21 and help him pay for the farms, that no one else would ever share in them. When we would get the farm work caught up and there was work available that would bring in cash, we could have whatever was earned that day.

It was on a hot afternoon that we were to drive teams for the road grader. We were getting our teams all hitched together tandem, and I was down behind my team getting them hitched up, when one horse gave a kick at another horse that was nosing her, and hit me in the head instead of the other horse. It knocked me senseless. I suppose father felt of my head to see if it was bashed in, and then carried me over and laid me in a wagon box that was beside the road. It was with a horror that I later awakened and saw the teams and grader far down the road. My $1.50 that I was to get for the work of the afternoon had vanished with the kick from Fanny. Later I was able to stand up, and a load of hay came along, I climbed up on the load and went home, and went to bed. The next morning, I was none the worse for the incident.

Part 4

Grandpa’s adventures with some goats:

At this point I feel the urge to reminds of some of the lighter happy side of a boy’s life. This incident began in the spring of 1899, I think. After the crops had been planted, father took a trip to northern Indiana to his boyhood stomping ground. He planned to stay until it was time to start to cultivate the corn. He judged the length of his stay by how fast the corn was growing in northern Indiana. He finally decided it was time for him to start home. The nearer home he got, he realized the corn developed faster than where he was making his judgment. The nearer he got to home the more worried he got, as it was past time to begin cultivating the corn. I had never cultivated, but Irvin had. We got the cultivators out of storage and put them together, and started to cultivating. By the time he got home, all of the corn was cultivated except a 20 acre field. Father was so happy about it that he said we could take a vacation, and he would finish the cultivating the first time over. (He was so slow getting his 20 acres cultivated that we could never get it clean enough to get a full crop.) We went on the train to Calhoun, a town 40 miles to the south. While there, we became enamored by some young goats that were for sale. We bought a Billy and Nanny and took them home. The baggage car of the train accepted them as passengers for a fee of 25 cents each. When we got to our home town of Tekamah, Billy had eaten the tag off of Nanny’s neck band, so we had a bit of trouble to claim her, but the baggage man was finally persuaded to let us have Nanny also.

We had great fun training and playing with Billy and Nanny. We made harnesses for them, and one of our prize pictures is of us driving them hitched to our play wagon pulling a cousin of ours. All went well for a time, but Billy finally disagreed with that kind of fun, and would turn around and start to fight. We discovered that Billy was mortally afraid of getting his beautiful wool caught in barb wire, so we controlled him for a time longer with a piece of barb wire for a whip, but that soon failed to control him, and driving our team of goats became a lost art. We had a board fence enclosing the yard around the house. There was a flat board on top of the fence. The goats had great fun in walking on top of that fence. All went well unless Billy and Nanny happened to be walking in opposite directions on the fence and happened to meet. Billy always solved the problem by giving Nanny a bump and knocking her off on the ground. He would look proudly down at her and give his accustomed snicker of triumph, that only a goat possesses. One stunt of fun was to take Billy by the horns and let him push us backwards. All went well until he got us going so fast backwards that we would fall on our back. That was always an occasion for his accustomed snicker. That fun finally gave out as Billy got too rough in pushing us. One of his happy moments was to catch us stooping over. When we were not watching, he would run from behind and knock us sprawling. That was always a signal for his snicker as he watched us get up. If we happened to leave a flat board standing up to the roof of the buildings, they were sure to spy it and go up on the roof and walk around. They would walk to the lower row of shingles and look down unconcerned. We were always afraid that Billy would catch Nanny on the lower row of shingles and give her a bunt. The roof of the buildings are too steep for a person to walk on in Nebraska.

Billy finally became such a nuisance, that we had to shut him in the yard with the other farm animals. The only way to keep him in the yard was to put a string of barb wire on top of the fence. He never got over being afraid of barb wire. He was an Angora goat with long fleecy wool, he was always careful to not get it caught in any entangling material.

For some reason Billy always had a great sense of revenge for anyone or anything that would disturb his beautiful wool. If he brushed a fence or any object, he would violently retaliate. Sometimes we would come home and find a gate smashed to splinters, and the livestock scattered all over the place. Once I saw him when a fence post had evidently shattered his serenity. A nail in the post had evidently pulled his wool. He began butting the post, gently at first, but more violently as he proceeded, until blood was dripping off the end of his nose. I would drive him away, but he would return to get revenge on the post for disturbing his beautiful fleece.

One fall we had more corn that enough to fill the cribs, and we made a temporary crib beside the yard where Billy was confined. He had evidently caught his fleece on a nail or something on the crib of corn. He began battering it, and when he hit it, a few kernels of corn would drop out. Evidently the corn dropping out enraged him all the more. He would stop and eat every kernel of it. He had access to all the corn he could eat, so he was not hungry, but it evidently avenged him to eat it. I do not know how long he battered and ate. The next morning he did not come out to the feeding of the stock. I found him lying down on his side (unnatural position) in one of the sheds. I went up to him and said “Hello Billy”. He raised his head and gave out a moan, and put his head back down. In about two hours he was dead. He had evidently eaten so much corn for revenge that it had killed him. There was no mourning at his passing, but he received an honorable burial.

Part 5

Some stories from when he was around 10:

When I was about 10 years old we had gone to campmeeting in the lumber wagon. It was a trip of about 40 miles. We started in the evening and went part way, and slept under the wagon over night. The horses were tied to the wagon and kept walking around so we could not sleep much. The next day we went on to the campsite. It was a new and novel experience to me, so I was well keyed up by the trip. After we arrived home from the campmeeting and I had gone to bed, I roused up dreaming that I had wandered away from our tent and had gone to sleep in some one else’s tent. I crawled out under what I thought was the edge of the tent, and was quite amazed that I could not reach the ground with my feet. I then gave a big jump, and on the way down I awoke. I had been asleep in the upstairs of our house. I had gotten up and opened the screen and sat on the windowsill of the open window, and jumped out, and landed on the ground below. I had cleared some boxes that were immediately under the window, so did not get hurt. Before I could fully realize what had happened, father was out beside me asking what in the world I thought I was doing.

I was about 10 years old when a rather amusing incident happened. I had gone after the cows in the early morning. The sun had not yet risen, and I was still a bit groggy with sleep. The cows were more than a half mile from the barns. When I got to where the cows were, my dog Mage, that I had taken along to help bring the cows home, ran up on a straw stack and began to bark viciously. I said to Mage, “sick em”. He came down and crawled under a fence and went down into an oat field of ripening grain. I followed him. He soon stopped and began barking more viciously at something in front of him that looked like a ball of fur. His barks became continuously weaker, and I finally recognized the smell, and realized what the ball of fur was. We both ran back to the pasture, and as soon as the cows got a whiff of us, they ran to the barns as fast as they could go. We could not come into the same yard with them, but had to crawl under the fence in back of the barn. When I got to the house, Mother would not let me in the house. I passed out the joke that I had met up with an old friend. Mother brought me out some clothes into which I changed in the barn. I had my breakfast served to me out in the yard, but it tasted terrible. Scrubbing with soap did not seem to help much. I buried my clothes in moist earth, and after three days they were odor free. Since that experience I have been wary of skunks. Bathing helped a little, but it was several days before I was odor free.

I was about nine or ten when an incident happened that caused me a great amount of grief. It was a rainy day, and I took a parasol with me to get the cows. The cows were somewhat undecided as to whether they wanted to stay and eat more grass or go to the barn. I found that by raising the parasol quickly and giving a loud whosh, the cows would run rapidly towards the barn. As we were nearing a narrow lane, I raised the umbrella with a loud whosh; and one of the cows that was behind could not get past the rest soon enough to suit her, and in her fright she jumped into the fence. She tore the wires loose from the posts, and the top wire hung to her just above the front legs. It was a new galvanized wire and did not break, and she ran with it sawing a gash into her breast. It cut clear through her brisket, so I could see through to the insides of the cow. She finally stopped and I pulled the wire loose from her body. I went to the house and called father. He went to look at the cow and went to the house and got a gun and killed her. She was a big cow, and fat. Father refused to butcher her. It was hot weather and 12 miles to town by team, a 5 hour trip, to get ice, and father was afraid the meat would spoil before it could be sufficiently cooled. I cried myself to sleep for several nights after the incident. The only consolation I could think of was that I would some day grow up and work and earn money to pay for the cow, that I had caused to die. I did not get a licking, but I think that I never, till now, told the reason why the cow jumped into the fence.

Part 6

A few more vignettes about life on the farm:

One incident occurred when I was about 16 that always stood out in my memory. We were allowed to have a 22 rifle (nothing larger) and could shoot crows, blue-jays, rats, ground squirrels and other pests, but not rabbits of other birds. I well remember my fright when I threw a stone and killed a rabbit. I hurriedly buried it, so father never knew of it. The spring in question, we were told we could have the rest of a given week to finish putting in the “small grain”. Irvin had it figured out that if we crowded a little on quitting time, we could get done by Friday noon. At quitting time (at noon) we had a little less than an hour yet to finish, so we decided to finish before we quit. We were almost an hour late when we arrived home with our four horse teams dragging the disc, cedar and harrow in tandem. As soon as we arrived home, father met us and we saw that he was angry because we were late. Nothing was said. While we were eating dinner, Irvin broached the subject that we wanted to go to a country store, five miles distant, and get some shells for our rifles. Father said, “No sir, you will be lucky if you both do not get a licking”. That ended our dinner. I do not know where Irvin went, but I had measured a place previously for a retreat under the corn crib. There was an opening between the floor joist and the sill that was 6 by 18-1/2 inches. I knew that no one else could get through it, so I crawled back under the crib to the far end where I was completely out of sight. I intended to stay there till I died or was promised that I would not get a licking. (Father says he never licked me, but my memory serves me differently.) After about an hour, I heard mother calling, but I did not answer. I finally heard her and Irvin walking past the crib. I did not stir. Finally she called my name and said we could go to the store and get the shells as we had wanted. I came out and we went and got the shells as promised.

One spot that furnishes pleasant memories is the “Old swimming hole”. One branch of Silver Creek heads on our farm. At the origin of the spring, a hole had been gouged out, about 8 by 20 feet and three feet deep, by run-off water in the spring rains. We built a toboggan slide into it, and many were the welcome splashes when our toboggan dived into the water. The toboggan slide was a 12 inch board with cleats on the edges to keep the toboggan from jumping off. The toboggan was a board 8 by 24 inches, with spools securely fastened for wheels. The ride down the slide was almost breathtaking, and was great fun, if the toboggan did not jump the cleats and spill us off on the bank. After we had thus enjoyed our fun for a time, we had to hunt a clean pool of water to wash off before we could put our clothes on. But fun, Yes!

Part 7

My Grandpa had many run-ins with motor vehicles over his life. Here’s the first of them:

(I’ve updated this post to add a few paragraphs to the original.)

Now I think I should neglect more of the more joyous experiences and pass to the more mundane. It was in the middle of the hot summer of 1911 in Nebraska that my father agreed to buy a car of the local garage. Three brothers owned the garage, and the agreement was that they were to teach me to drive. Every one as well as the horses knew well the meaning of “Gee and Haw”, but which was “Gee and Haw” on the driving wheel of a car? I was to go with one of the brothers to Omaha to pick up the car. I got to Tekamah well before train time; so one of the brothers agreed to take me out for a lesson in the demonstration car. It was one of those heavy lumbering Maxwells. The top was down and I was getting along famously, and the brother was paying no attention to me. When I neared a bridge, I could not remember which way was “Gee”. I soon found out and was proceeding to cross the bridge when the brother grabbed the wheel from me and tried to drive the car up a side road beside the creek. He got so close to the bank that the bank caved off and we rolled down the embankment. When it lighted bottom side up, I for some reason, was lying in the back seat, so the car did not touch me. When it rolled over right side up, I discovered I was lying on my back with the hind wheel sitting lengthwise on my stomach. I called to the brother and said “How are you, Bart?”. He said he thought that he was all right if I would come and help him. I told him that I did not think I was in a position to help anybody. I discovered that the car was leaning heavily to the opposite side from where I lay, and that the ground was muddy and soft above me. I dug a trench beside me, and wiggled out into it from under the wheel. When I got around to the other side, Bart was lying on his back with his head sticking out from under the front fender. He had dammed up the creek and the water was coming up around his head. In another minute he would have drowned. He had jumped out and tried to beat the car, but it had caught him in the bottom of the creek. I dug and ditched around him and crawled up on the bank and called for help. We got some logs and pried the car up, and took him to the hospital. He said that I had hurt him so badly that he was never able to work after that. He only had two broken ribs and some bruises. It was a good excuse for him. The car was not damaged in the least.

I called father on the phone and told father what had happened. He said for me to not get a car if I could not drive it. I bought a pair of overalls and a shirt and cleaned the mud off my shoes, and was ready by train time to go to Omaha. Another of the brothers went with me to Omaha. By night I was driving the new car alone. The brothers had three similar accidents that week. Neither of the other cars were worth hauling away.

The next day after I got the car home, father wanted me to teach him to drive. He said, “Take it over in the oat stubble and teach me to drive”. I told him that the road was the place to learn to drive. He insisted. He wanted to be sure and not run off into a creek. The ground was soft and the car would barely go except in low gear. It was a hot day, and after many attempts, and me getting out many times to crank it after it had stalled, and he was wringing wet with sweat, he said, “Take this thing out of here and get it home if you can”.

That was the last of his driving till nearly fall when I would leave for school. I had to take him every place he went with it. Sabbath was an especially boring day to me, as he would nearly always want me to take him some place to visit some of his buddies. He finally consented to me teaching him to drive on the road. Three times he would have run off from a bridge if I had not been watching and grabbed the wheel. That sounds crazy as any boy now knows how to turn the wheel. But then it was a hard split-second decision as to which was to turn the wheel.

Part 8

Here’s a brief paragraph from Grandpa about his non-existent social life as a young man and then a story about his escapades with a motorcycle:

Father and mother both took a very protective hand in looking after us, and directing us in what was proper to do. This was so evident that at 21 when I went away to college, I had a severe struggle to adjust myself to make my own decisions as to what was proper to do. When we became young men, and other young men of the community had a buggy and team to go riding with their best girl friend, father did not believe such privileges should be granted to young people. If we went any place without our parents, we either walked or rode a lumbering farm horse. Of course such a mode of travel was no invitation acceptable to a girl. Father said that he did not believe that we should be allowed to use riding tools on the farm; because if we walked all day in the field, we would stay home at night, and not be out after dark like other young men were. Especially in the plowed field, my feet would ache so badly that after I would get the chores done, I would lie down in the front yard and bawl with aching feet. Only once my brother Irvin was permitted to take the double seated buggy and take a girl cousin of ours to a gathering. It was such an unusual occasion that I watched every detail of the proceedings even as to how Elsie was dressed.

My next escapade involving an accident was with a motorcycle in the summer of 1912. The Omaha Daily Bee advertised that they would give away a motorcycle to the one getting the greatest number of subscriptions in a given time. I had no way to travel, so I went and bought the motorcycle, with the agreement that they would give me my money back if I won the contest. I was a bit late in entering the contest, so had to make use of every day to get subscriptions. I crossed and crisscrossed the county getting subscriptions. I rode the thing until I got so sore that I counted it a favor if I was allowed to stand while eating.

I was nearing the close of the contest, and since the sun was getting low, I decided to strike out for home 25 miles to the east. I was riding down a country road that paralleled a railroad track. I had up pretty good speed when I spied a spur track coming off from the main track. It was a very bad crossing, and the rails were some inches above the bed of the road. When I hit the rails, it threw my motorcycle flat on the side. I remembered riding astride until it bounced the third time, and then I felt the stubs of weeds beside the road scratching my face. When I regained consciousness, I had the motorcycle up in the road trying to spring the wheels in line so I could push it. It was dusk and I saw a whole string of car lights coming up the road toward me. A train had passed me while I was lying in the ditch and had reported that a man had been killed up along the track. A doctor, and an undertaker, and a lot of town people had come out to get me. As soon as it was evident that I was not hurt, the doctor, undertaker, and town people all left. Two claim agents from the railroad company stayed with me and helped me push my wheel the three miles into town. When they questioned me as to what liability there was to the railroad company, I was so peeved at myself for being so foolish as to have been driving so fast on a strange road, that I would not ask for a cent. I had been warned that a motorcycle was a dangerous means of travel but I was not going to admit it under any condition, but said it was just my carelessness. I pushed the wheel into a garage and went to a hotel for the night. When I wakened the next morning, I could not imagine why I was so sore and stiff. I finally remembered the accident of the night before.

Instead of going home that day, I decided to go stay over Sabbath with a family 40 miles to the south. I had known the daughter in college. It was a very bad sandy dusty road to this family, and I became smeared with dust and grime. As I was passing a farmhouse on the way, a dog came out to meet me. I eyed him closely to see if I should speed up and go down along the road. I decided he was harmless, so I slowed up and made a left hand turn in the road. As I was making the turn, the dog jumped on behind me, and grabbed a chunk of my coat tail and jumped off with it. I stopped at the house to register a complaint, but they insisted that the dog was harmless and would not do such a thing. I could not prove it, as I and the dog were the only ones that saw it. I had to go on without the back of my coat.

I think that dirty and all as I was, and without a proper coat-tail, I did not make a very good impression to the co-ed, and they did not invite me to stay. I struck out for home, another 40 miles away, but was 12 miles from home when darkness overtook me. I tried to make it without lights. On the way I heard some rattling and was aware that I was passing a wagon in the other lane. I got as far as my grandfather’s place, pushed the wheel beside the road and crawled up in the haymow for the night.

When the report was made on the contest, I was notified that I had one third more subscriptions than I needed to win the contest. I only rode the wheel once after the accident. I sold it to a neighbor boy, for $299.00. I had enough money from it and my savings to put me through college the next year.

Part 9

In today’s stories my Grandpa has just graduated college and taken on adult responsibilities.

I finished college in the spring of 1914, at the age of 27. I well knew that the responsibility of a man that could support a wife was to get married. Since I was 21 before I had a chance to get much schooling, I knew that I had to occupy every minute diligently, if I were to get through college before I became an old man. Naturally I felt that I had to be too busy with my education to waste time courting a girl. I suppose there were many wonderful girls in college with me, but I was too busy.

Two weeks after I graduated from college, I married Mabel J. McConnell. She says that she knew me much better than I knew her. I can hardly imagine why. I found that married life was more relaxing than the strenuous life that I had felt I was forced to follow. Life began to take on a semblance of happiness, and I finally consented that life was not meant to be all drudgery. It was a bit difficult to adjust to a new way of thinking, but I finally decided it was not necessary to take life so seriously as I had in the past. I was elected to be principal of the Nebraska Academy. All seemed to go well with my new found freedom.

If you, like me when I first read this, wonder how on earth he managed to marry someone two weeks after graduation when he didn’t date in college, it’s because he didn’t meet her at college. My grandma taught school in Nebraska and she boarded with my grandpa’s parents. So he saw her on the occasions he was home from school.

After this I seemed to be freed from any serious threats of accidents. Possibly this was decreed by fate, as my family and responsibility increased greatly. I began to arise with “might and main” to my responsibility.

In the summer of 1920 an incident happened that might have been serious. I was heavily engaged in farming. I had bought a boar to head my herd of profitable hogs. I have never known of a hog being so intelligent as he was. He seemed to thoroughly understand the orders that I gave him. He would come from far away at his given call. If I wanted to move him from one pen to another, he seemed to know exactly what I wished him to do. If I wanted to lend him to a neighbor, I would call him, open the gate, and he would follow me wherever I led the way. When I got to the desired place, I would remove the staples in the fence, raise the fence and call to him and he would crawl under the wire. When the neighbor was through with him, I would call him in the pasture, raise the fence, and lead him home.

One rainy day, he took a notion to go to the neighbors on his own choosing. I do not know how he got out of the pen, but I spied him going up the hill to the west. I shouted at him to come home. He turned and shook his head and started on. I shouted at him again and gave orders for him to come home. Again he recognized me with a shake of his head. After that he paid no attention to my shouts, but went on his way. I grabbed a pitchfork and started after him. He stayed at the side of the road and went over the top of the hill outside of a deep cut. I went through the cut and came out ahead of him on the opposite side of the hill. He reluctantly turned and started home. To be sure, he was chonking violently and frothing at the mouth, but I took no warning from it. We crossed the top of the hill and well down the other side, when he slowed up a bit. I was tickeling [sic] his tail a bit with the pitchfork, but was not hurting him at all. Soon he turned on me and came after me with his mouth open. I well knew what that meant. I slammed the pitchfork into his head below the eyes, clear to the skull. I could hear the tines of the fork grate back and forth on his skull. I was unable to hold him back, but each time he gave a lunge I would jump backwards enough to keep erect. He finally gave up, and turned and started for home. He kept frothing and chonking more violently than ever, but did not attack me again. I got him in the yard, and called the hired men, and we roped him and cut off his tusks clear down the jaw bone. If I had fallen down, I do not think I would be here to tell the story on him. I have seen a boar hit a dog in the leg with his tusk, and see the dog’s leg hang loosely, so the dog would have to be killed. After that if I met him alone in the yard and did not have a club, I would beat him to the fence. Any club seemed to be the same to him as a pitchfork. Of course he was more or less harmless without his tusks, but I did not fancy having him knock me down and froth over me. We always kept his tusks well trimmed. He seemed to never pay and attention to the hired men, but I was marked as his enemy.

Part 10

These are the last two episodes that I will share from my Grandpa’s typed memoirs. He mentions a few other incidents involving some car accidents and fender benders, but those all took place in the 1950s and 1960s. I am still deciphering some of his handwritten materials.

Nothing worthy of mentioning in the way of accidents until the spring of 1927. This may not be worth mentioning, but I am still puzzled as to what was supposed to have happened. I was teaching at Broadview College at this time. I also had the responsibility of supervising the dairy. The two students that had done the milking for the school year had gone home for the summer. I had no one readily available for the job, so took on the job of milking the 22 cows then being milked until I could locate some one to do it. I had to get up at 3:00 A.M. to get the milk cared for at the proper time. This certain morning when I went to call the cows into the barn to shut them into their stations, the bull was standing near the barn door. He was a young Holstein and he was so gentle that we regarded him as a pet. I threw my arm around his neck and started to walk across the yard with him to drive the cows to the barn. He reached down with his head and before I could realize what was happening he threw me up on top of his head and started to run down the hill with me. Each time I tried to get off of his head, he would balance me back squarely on the crown of his head. I finally decided that he had me hopelessly balanced on his head. I reached for his eye, and as soon as I had it well located, I jammed my thumb into it as hard as I could. He shook his head to dislodge my thumb and shook me off his head. I ran to the barn as fast as I could, and he after me. I got there first and grabbed a pitchfork that stood beside the door and jammed it into his head as hard as I could. He would back off and then come at me attain. This went on for some ten minutes when he finally gave up, and I never heard a bull bellow as he did. I have no idea as to what his intentions were, but did not risk finding out. Needless to say we kept him penned up after that. As soon as it was day, I learned that a farmer nearby had been gored to death by his bull getting him cornered in a manger that morning.

When I was on the farm, I had a hen with about 30 small chickens running loose in the back yard. A thunderstorm was brewing, and I went out to get her and the chickens into a coop. The hen ran with her chicks up into a grove of willows. She ran under a tree and I was trying to get her out, when a flash of lightening nearly blinded me. When I recovered enough to know what had happened, I saw that the lightening had struck the tree and knocked it to pieces. The hen and chickens were all lying on their backs with nearly all the feathers picked off of them. I hastened away and left them lie till after the rain was over. I had not felt the shock as I was wearing my father’s rubber boots. If it had not been for the rubber boots, I well realized that I would have been lying with the hen and chicks.

More of My Grandfather’s Memoirs

Kate: My grandfather wrote these notes in the months after my grandmother had fallen ill. The Mom he mentions is his wife, my grandmother. They called each other Mom and Pop:

Sabbath, April 12, 1975; To our Loving Children:

Mom is near the end of her life. I kissed her and she responded some, but it was weak. She will probably be past the cares and perplexities of life soon.

We have our burial lots in the cemetery north of Loma Linda. Let me hear immediately if you want to be present. Myrna will be with me so I will have to have no other support. She will be with me. If you want to come to Mom’s funeral let me know immediately.

I prefer only a graveside ceremony. The pastor to make a few remarks and say a short prayer. If the above is not satisfactory let me know immediately. (soon)

I have gotten many condolence wishes [about her illness] but will answer them only with a general letter to be delivered to our friends.

May 31, 1975

Mom seems to be stronger and recognized me. She hated to have me leave her this morning to eat my breakfast. Prospects are that she may live several days. No one of course knows.

Sunday, p.m.

Mom seems to be more alert. She knew me and apparently was glad for me to kiss her.

I will notify you if there is any liability of her passing away.

Pop

Kate: My grandmother died on July 14, 1975. She was 87.

Kate: My grandfather handwrote some further memoirs after my grandmother had died. After her death, my grandfather began to have some memory problems, but he still told entertaining stories:

I shall begin my memoirs by saying that the first part is as I remember my mother and maternal Grandfather telling me. My Grandfather was a small man, not quite as tall as I am, 5’6”. He and Grandmother both came from Leipsig [sic], Germany. All males were required to take military training. Grandpa was too small to be in the army so he was required to take marching. As soon as his term of service was over, he struck off for the land called America. He came to Omaha on the train, and walked up along the foothills to a settlement called Decatur. He got a job and earned money. As soon as he got enough money, he sent it to his wife and baby (the baby was later known as Anna, my aunt) to come to America.

He soon had money enough to make a down payment on the property later known as the Hennig home. They finally had a family of twelve children, eight girls and four boys. Each one had his work to do to help keep food enough for the large family. They never had white flour, but were happy if they had enough to satisfy the hungry mouths. Probably sometimes as pounded up wheat.

Then they had the scourge of grasshoppers. I heard my grandfather say many times: “Mine conscience. They were terrible.” They would come in droves so thick they would darken the sun and eat every thing that was green or growing. Then they had a hard time to get enough to eat that was digestible.

Grandpa finally built a log house for shelter. The house was a one room living quarters. The children went up in the attic to their pad on a ladder through an opening in the floor of the attic. After they were able to afford a better house, the old one was used as a chicken coop. It was still standing as the coop when I was old enough to remember it.

I never heard Grandpa complain about it. It was so much better than the sod house.

My memory of Grandma is very limited. She was quite a “heavy set” woman. I remember the funeral was in the Baptist church. I sat up near the front and the casket was in the front of the church. We all passed around, at the close of the service to view the “Remains”, as it was called. She looked very peaceful.

After Grandma was buried, Grandpa had me come over and help him with his work. I think he wanted me to get acquainted with him. I never lacked for work to keep me busy. I think he wanted us to get acquainted more than his need for me to work. At least I got good exercise.

Now I will turn to the other side of the house and visit my Grandpa Blue’s home. My grandfather was a “heavy set” man. He joined the Baptist church. I think the reason was more for jealousy than wanting to be a “Baptist”. At the best I saw very little of him.

Kate: At this point my grandfather wrote the following parenthetical:

 (Here I went over and opened the drawers to look at Mom’s things. I picked up two of them and laid them back down. I began to cry. I went for a walk down to the Park to get a drink and fresh air. Now I am back to my writing.)

We were out in the barnyard at work when I saw him, grandpa, coming from back of the house. Irvin and I were about to run until we saw tears streaming from his eyes. He said, “I have been a big fool.” He asked us to forgive him for being such a fool.

He was a very likeable friendly man. We were glad to have him visit us. He had a hernia on one side and wanted to go to Omaha for the operation. After he got so he could move about, he sent us word that he would be home the next morning on the train. We were to meet him at the depot. Before father started to town, he was notified that grandpa had died in his sleep. We had a funeral instead of a happy meeting. So I never got to know my Grandfather Blue as a friendly man. Just another disappointment in our youthful days.

Kate: At this point, my grandfather wrote about the dog and skunk incident he had related in his earlier memoirs. He also again recounted the story about the cow jumping into the wire fence and having to be put down. He then continues:

A rap just came to my door. A woman came into my room with a large pot of beautiful red roses. I sure wish Mom were here to enjoy them. Also it was from our daughter, Aleta, that had caused us so much grief in our younger days. Since she has gotten older she has made up for all the grief she caused us. That is one reason for me wishing mom was back with us.

Now to go back to the story of my life. As soon as my father saw that we would be better than any two men he could hire, he turned us loose to do the farm work. He seldom came to the field to work unless he needs to show us how to do certain parts of the work. Irvin was older than I was, so he led out in the work. My feet always hurt me when I walked in a plowed field. I would often take off my shoes and walk in my bare feet. My feet would hurt me so badly that after the chores were done I would take off my shoes and lie in the yard and ball [sic].

I want to digress here and give some family history that I think will be of interest. Irvin was older than I was, so always lead out in the work and such like. For some reason father always took a trip to his old home in Indiana quite frequently. This time, I do not know why, he took me with him. He lived east of Michigan City, Indiana. He took me far east of the city to his father’s burial ground. The burial lot had a marble slot stone to match the graves of his grandfather and grandmother. The stones were of marble and were falling apart. We patched them as much as we could and cleaned the ground about them. It was quite a thrill to me to see the graves of my great grandfather and grandmother. I suppose today they are either grown up to sassafras brush or are a plowed field. At least they were on a gentle western slope of the hill. At least I have a picture in my mind of where they were buried. That means much to me.

Now we will go to some of the more recent happenings of my boyhood.

Kate: Here he relates the skunk story again. Obviously that really made an impression on him. Those pages are the last things that I know of that he wrote. He died December 12, 1976, just a few days short of his 90^th birthday.