Tombstone Tuesday: Preserved Fish
This name was so unusual I decided to research it a bit. As it turns out, there was more than one person with this name, apparently from the same family line. First of all, the name was most likely not pronounced as we commonly do today (prɘ ˈzɘrvd), but rather something like “pre-SER-ved” or “pres-ER-ved”. Here are a few short biographies of those bearing the name (pay attention — it’s a bit of a tongue-twister at times!).
Preserved Fish (1679-1745)
According to the Fish genealogical record, the first known person with the name “Preserved” was born on August 12, 1679 in Portsmouth, Rhode Island, the son of Thomas and Grizzel (Shaw) Fish. He married Ruth Cook on May 30, 1699 and to their marriage were born these children: Grizzel, Ruth, Thomas, Amy, Sarah, John, Preserved and Benjamin.
His namesake born on May 19, 1713 lived to be ninety-nine years old, dying in February of 1813 as the result of falling on a hatchet. While many of the Fish family were thought to have been of the Baptist faith (Rhode Island was essentially a Baptist colony found by Roger Williams), it appears that Preserved may have been a Quaker since his death on July 15, 1745 was recorded by the Society of Friends.
Preserved Fish (1766-1846)
According to Rhode Island records, this Preserved Fish was born on July 14, 1766 to parents Isaac and Ruth Fish. The Fish genealogical record states, however, that Preserved was born in Freetown, Massachusetts (Isaac was born in Portsmouth, Rhode Island in 1744).
Some sources indicate that his father’s name was also Preserved, while the Fish family genealogical record indicates Isaac was his name. Nevertheless, it appears the name was an old Quaker name that meant “preserved in a state of grace” or “preserved from sin”, according to Jay William Frost, a Quaker historian at Swarthmore College. The Fish family was quite prominent in seventeenth and eighteenth century New England.1
While the name may have been a distinct family name, some had through the years believed it may have been attributed to the story about how he was “picked up from a floating wreck by a New Bedford fisherman, and therefore named Preserved Fish.2 That, of course, is preposterous owing to the fact there was already at least one ancestor pre-dating him who bore the same name.
Isaac was a blacksmith and his son worked in the shop, perhaps hoping that Preserved would follow in his footsteps. That seems not to have been Preserved’s calling, however. He worked for a time as a farmer, but finally the sea called him. He boarded a whaling ship headed for the Pacific and became a captain at the age of twenty-one. The sea may have been in his blood, but Preserved realized that the life of a sea captain wasn’t likely to make him wealthy.
Rather, he realized that his fortune would be made in selling whale oil, not in hunting for it on dangerous sea missions. In 1810 Preserved went into the whale oil business with his cousin Cornelius Grinnell and later with another cousin, Joseph Grinnell. Joseph and Preserved founded the shipping firm of Fish and Grinnell in 1815. Within a few years, owing to Preserved’s keen business acumen, the company became one of New York’s most influential firms.
In 1826 Preserved joined the New York Stock Exchange Board as one of the founders and later became president of the Tradesman’s Bank of New York, a position he held until his death in 1846. Although he was married three times, Preserved never had any biological children, but adopted a son, William Middleton.
Preserved was a Quaker until late in his life when he joined the Episcopal Church. He was a Jacksonian Democrat until joining the Whigs in 1837 in opposition to Martin Van Buren.3 New York newspapers made mockery of the switch – a Whig in New York, home of the infamous Democrat political machine known as Tammany Hall, was openly disdained.
Just as the Mexican-American War was beginning, Preserved Fish died in Portsmouth, Rhode Island on July 22, 1846. His body was returned to New York where he was buried in Vault No. 75 of the New York City Mausoleum, joining the likes of other prominent New York families (many of them bankers).
Preserved Fish (1770-1849)
He was the son of Robert and Abigail (Hathaway) Fish, born on November 5, 1770 at the estate of his grandfather Daniel Fish. Abigail died in 1775 and his early years were spent at the home of his older brother Matthew in New Ashford, Massachusetts. He served as Matthew’s apprentice, learning the stone mason trade. At the age of nineteen he purchased his time from Matthew for the sum of sixty dollars, but being poor he found himself indebted for that amount.4
When the New Hampshire Grants were made available (later becoming the state of Vermont) Preserved joined other settlers heading north. His training as a stone mason served him well and he was able to pay the debt owed to Matthew. After clearing his debts, Preserved saved his money and later invested in farm land and property.
In August of 1791 Preserved married Abigail Carpenter and to their union were born ten sons and one daughter. On December 11, 1808 they joined the Ira (Vermont) Baptist Church and later transferred membership to the Middletown Baptist Church in 1819. Preserved was also a Mason and a Knight Templar and family historians note that despite the affiliation he wasn’t precluded from membership at Middletown despite the Anti-Masonic movement (1820-1840).
Preserved became one of the wealthiest members of his community and through the years served in various civic offices. He was a “very large man, tall and powerful” and his ten sons all averaged at least six feet in height. Like Preserved Fish the New York banker, he was also a banker and a successful businessman.
Preserved died on October 10, 1849 of septicemia following an infection of his thumb. His total estate, minus large sums of money loaned to over forty individuals, included railroad and banking investments and totaled just over $45,000. A faithful servant of the people known as Esq. (“Square”) Fish, his tombstone read:
Raised from the dust on that eternal plan
That fashioned dust into the shape of man
Behold a world of sin, vanity, and pain,
Then close my eyes and turn to dust again.5
Preserved Offensend Fish (1882-1935)
This particular Preserved Fish was descended from the son of Vermont Preserved Fish’s son who went by the “abbreviated” name of “Served” and was born on August 14, 1882 in Washington County, New York. The middle name of Offensend came from the second wife of Served, Sally Ann Offensend. Preserved Offensend Fish is the grandson of Served Fish and Sally Ann Offensend Fish and the son of Preserved Offensend Fish (Sr.) who was born in 1851.
Preserved Offensend Fish, Sr. died in 1904 and following his death, Preserved Offensend, Jr. headed west to seek his fortune. In Wyoming he had a profitable cattle business, but lost quite a bit of his fortune following World War I. He married Jennie A. Robinson on September 26, 1911 in Thermopolis. To their marriage were born four children: Sadie, Albert Edward (died at 16 days old), George and Robert.
Preserved roamed Wyoming it seems, living at various times in Thermopolis, Worland, Casper, Buffalo and Ten Sleep. He also lived for a time in Bridger and Belfrey, Montana. He died on October 5, 1935 and is buried in Ten Sleep.
Whether Preserved Offensend Fish was the last to bear the unique family name is unclear to me, although it seems to have been the last one referenced in the family genealogical record – he came from a long line of not just Fishes but “Preserved Fishes”.
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Tombstone Tuesday: Nephi United States Centennial Jensen
A couple of weeks ago my Tombstone Tuesday article asked the question “What’s In a Name?”. I highlighted a few and have since discovered more for future articles. One of the most unique names I came across was a man by the name of Nephi United States Centennial Jensen. Here is his story.
Nephi United States Centennial Jensen was born on February 16, 1876 to parents Soren and Kjerstine (or Christina) (Rasmussen) Jensen. His Danish heritage is interesting. Soren was born on June 14, 1838 in the town of Hvirring, Denmark. His parents, Jens Peter Sorensen and Anna Kuerstine Jensen were wealthy farmers.
Soren prepared to become a Lutheran minister but in 1859 was introduced to the Mormon faith. After his conversion, Soren worked as a missionary before immigrating to America in 1860. Whether or not his parents approved, family historians6 write that Soren signed away all inheritance rights to his family’s estate and borrowed $173 to pay for passage to New York. Smallpox had broken out on board the ship and for two weeks following arrival no one was allowed to leave the ship.
Once the quarantine was lifted, Soren joined his fellow Scandinavians and boarded a train to Omaha. At that time, the railroad terminated in Omaha. In order to reach Utah Territory, he joined a caravan of other LDS members who would use wagons and handcarts to cross the vast plains. Before departing, Soren married Elna Peterson, a Swedish convert on July 5, 1860.
That same day the caravan departed with six wagons and twenty-two handcarts. Seventy of the one hundred and twenty-six persons departing that day were Scandinavian who spoke no English. Their journey was full of challenges and dangers, but all arrived safely at the Eighth Ward Square in Salt Lake City on September 24, 1860. Soren and Elna settled in the First Ward and together had four children. He was ordained a Seventy on February 7, 1861.
During the journey across the plains, Soren had proven himself a skillful buffalo hunter. After arriving in Salt Lake City, he became a skillful carpenter and worked on the Mormon Tabernacle for three years. He practiced polygamy – marrying Kjerstine Rasmussen on March 9, 1867 (seven children), Karen Juliusen on April 18, 1868 (six children), Ann Johanna Jensen on September 12, 1878 (three children) and Petrea Cathrina Hansen on February 21, 1884 (five children).
America was celebrating its centennial in 1876 and apparently his parents decided to name their son in its honor. Sometimes he is referred to as Nephi U.S.C. Jensen (for short, I suppose). There were actually several other people named Nephi Jensen, however, and at least one of them appeared several times as a troublemaker of sorts throughout the years in the Salt Lake Tribune.
According to family historians, Soren went on a mission in Denmark from 1876 to 1878 before returning to work as a carpenter in Salt Lake City. In 1885 he was called to St. John, Arizona and the following year to Mancos, Colorado. Presumably, at least some of the family traveled with him, since Nephi attended Union High School in Montezuma County, Colorado from 1892-1893.7
One of the children (Katherine) related years later that she and her half-brothers Joseph and Nephi had departed Salt Lake City for Mancos in 1887. Petrea and her children were already residing in Colorado while Soren had traveled back and forth from Arizona to Utah. Katherine and Nephi walked most of the way.
Soren and his family were grain farmers and Joseph and Nephi hauled manure all winter long to fertilize the land. It paid off after two or three years when the land began producing sixty-five bushels per acre. According to Katherine, Nephi was the only child allowed to attend school because her father thought the cowboys made too much trouble and ran teachers out of town. Soren had been a teacher in Denmark and taught his children to read and write.8
However, Nephi was allowed to attend high school and “outstripped all the students in school.”9 The teacher told Soren he couldn’t teach Nephi anymore. Nephi later attended the Latter Day Saints University (1895-6) and the University of Utah, aspiring to become a railroad engineer10. Instead, he received a call to missionary service in the South. The day following his twenty-second birthday Nephi departed Utah.
After arriving in Chattanooga, Tennessee he was assigned to the Florida Conference where he worked until July of 1900. He later traveled back to Arizona to work as a school teacher. There he met Margaret Fife Smith and married her on April 9, 1902.
LDS history doesn’t appear to record that he practiced polygamy, but in 1940 the census records that twenty-six year old Lila L. Jensen was the head of household’s wife. I didn’t find a marriage record, however, and I wonder if perhaps she was their daughter since she was only two years younger than Paul. Margaret is also enumerated as was twenty-eight year old Paul, presumably Nephi and Margaret’s son.
On February 12, 1906, Nephi was admitted to the Utah State Bar and for a few years was engaged in the practice of general law. From January 1, 1911 until August 1, 1913 he served as Salt Lake County’s Assistant County Attorney. He also made a name for himself by serving as a member of Utah’s state legislature during its seventh session (1907-1909).
As a member of the House of Representatives, he and Brigham Clegg were scheduled to give a talk, “by orders of the Federal bunch”. The Salt Lake Tribune referred to him as “the member with the long name”. The newspaper noted that both men were regrettably members from Salt Lake County whose mission was “to work their jaw continuously.”11
Clegg and Jensen were known for their habit of speaking about both sides of an issue and then voting the exact opposite of the way they talked. Clegg was the worst, and although Nephi Jensen was not as talkative as his colleague, he nevertheless was “badly afflicted with mouth disease, and loses no opportunity to get before the House.” Both appeared to be “nit-pickers”, as noted by the Tribune:
Nine-tenths of the motions made to correct the typographical and grammatical errors in the journal are made by these two persons and both labor under the delusion that they are legislating for the State. Several members said to The Tribune Saturday evening that if these two men from Salt Lake county could have their mouths laced as tight as their shoes that some real legislation, some needed legislation, might be enacted.12
Apparently, the actions of Nephi U.S.C. Jensen, who had “received the highest vote of any candidate on the ticket” rankled the Tribune’s editors. After his stint as the assistant county attorney, Nephi formed a law partnership with C.E. Marks (Marks & Jensen). For six years, he and Marks were regarded as one of the most prominent Salt Lake City law firms.
On April 22, 1919 Nephi was called to serve as president of the Canadian Mission with headquarters in Toronto. After his missionary service he returned to Utah and in 1928 was appointed as a Salt Lake County judge. Nephi retired in 1933 and devoted the rest of his life to writing tracts, pamphlets and books, including LDS study manuals.
On September 2, 1955 Nephi United States Centennial Jensen died at the age of seventy-nine in Salt Lake City’s L.D.S. Hospital after experiencing a ruptured appendix. Margaret lived several more years and died in 1969. Both are buried in the Wasatch Lawn Memorial Park cemetery in Salt Lake City.
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Far-Out Friday: Robert Wadlow, Gentle Giant
On February 22, 1918, with war raging across the seas in Europe, Harold and Addie Wadlow of Alton, Illinois welcomed their firstborn child into the world – Robert Pershing Wadlow. He was a little over eighteen inches long and weighed eight pounds and six ounces – a perfectly normal size and weight for a baby. Little did his parents know, however, what the future held for their firstborn child as six months later his height had almost doubled, his weight nearly quadrupled.
His height and weight steadily increased – by the third grade Robert, towering over all his classmates, was taller than his teacher. Despite his size, however, he spent what would be considered a normal childhood – playing with friends, running a lemonade stand and joining the Boy Scouts. The Bloomer Shoe Factory made a special pair of size seventeen shoes for eight year-old Robert.
When exactly the rest of the world outside his family and friends in Alton began to learn about the boy who would later be called Alton’s “Gentle Giant” is unclear. One woman interviewed for a documentary about his life said she had never heard of him until one day she was outside and noticed a “man” riding along in a red wagon. Robert’s family had just moved across the street.
Around Alton and neighboring areas, attention was drawn to him perhaps as early as 1927 when one newspaper called him “A Man at Eight” – he was taller than his father by then:
At the age of ten he was wearing size fifteen shoes. Five square feet of leather – a lot of cow, as one newspaper reported – was required to make them.
By the age of twelve, Robert was about seven feet tall and weighed two hundred and forty pounds. Like other boys his age, he loved to play baseball, football and basketball and hoped to someday fly like his idol, Charles “Lindy” Lindbergh – if he could find a plane big enough – or maybe he would become a movie star.
Around that time, an Italian named Primo Canera was making headlines for his athletic prowess as a boxer. At six feet and five inches Canera towered over his opponents and much of the press surrounding him emphasized his “gigantic” frame. His promoters thought it would improve gate receipts when he fought in St. Louis if Robert met him for publicity photographs. Canera, assuming he was meeting with a small child, agreed – what would be the harm? Plenty, according to a documentary about Robert’s life. Canera was proud of his height and weight, but posing with a “mere child” who stood even taller, turned out to be somewhat of an embarrassment.
That same year Robert’s parents finally took him to Barnes Hospital in St. Louis to find out what was causing his unusual growth. There they were told their son’s condition was due to an overactive pituitary gland. Although surgical options were available, the risks were high, possibly resulting in death. Robert suffered no mental disabilities (his IQ was quite high), and although significantly larger than other children was still proportionately adjusted in weight and height. For his parents, surgery was out of the question.
Even so, it must have been difficult for a boy his age to blend in and not draw attention to himself. As one can imagine he was teased, yet according to one of his classmates he took it in stride. Although he would blush with embarrassment, he would never become angry. Robert continued on to high school and wanted to participate in basketball, although coaches were fearful he would hurt himself. By the time team officials were able to have a custom pair of shoes made for him the season was over.
Although he had to drop out of school for approximately six months due to a foot infection, Robert made up the required course work and graduated in January of 1936. His cap and gown required fourteen square yards of material. At eight feet, three and-a-half inches, he was the tallest high school graduate in history.
He enrolled at Shurtleff College with a goal of studying law but after only one semester decided to pursue a career in business. The International Shoe Company, as the makers of his specially-sized shoes, had known about Robert for some time. He worked for them as a field representative and the company displayed a copy of Robert’s gigantic shoes in their stores.
Robert traveled with his father to these stores where Harold would give a short talk about his son, and then they would depart so that the store could make their sales pitch to those who had gathered to see Robert up close and personal. Although a fairly well adjusted and mild-mannered person, Robert would get angry when people came up and asked him what he ate.
One sales representative who traveled with the Wadlows related how Robert would also become angry when someone came behind him and pinched the back of his legs to see if he was walking on stilts. The sales rep also related how he and Harold had to “nudge” Robert along as they were walking down the hallway on the way to their hotel room. With his extreme height, Robert was able to look through the door transoms as they walked by. They had to make sure Robert didn’t linger too long or disturb other hotel guests.
Robert’s clothing and shoes, of course, had to be custom-made. In 1936 a pair of size 39 shoes costing $88 to make was returned to the shoe company – they pinched his feet. Harold and Addie made plans to build a special house for their oversize son in 1937, but to their dismay discovered that such things as a ten-foot long bathtub didn’t exist, unless one was specially cast for him at a cost of $500 to $1,000.
A stint with the Ringling Brothers Circus and other promotional tours brought him increasing notoriety throughout the country. Still, his family always wanted to ensure he lived a normal life. When Robert traveled he was always anxious to return home to be with his family. In 1939 he petitioned the Franklin Masonic Temple of Alton for membership as a Freemason. By year’s end he had been elevated to the degree of Master Mason. At a gargantuan size 25, his ring was the largest one ever created for a member of that lodge. The lodge also built a special chair where he could sit comfortably and participate in regular meetings and activities.
Eventually, walking would become a laborious task, difficult enough to require braces. Yet, he remained an affable and well-adjusted person who loved meeting people, especially children. He continued to grow and on June 27, 1940 he once again visited Barnes Hospital for a checkup. That day his recorded height was an astounding 8 feet, 11.1 inches with a weight of 439 pounds. With that measurement, Robert Wadlow officially became the tallest person in history.
He was scheduled to begin another promotional tour two days later and on July 4 complained of a brace which was irritating his ankle. A blister had formed which resulted in an infection. Robert was taken to a hospital where emergency surgery and a blood transfusion were performed. His temperature continued to soar, and ten days later on July 15, 1940 Robert Wadlow passed away at the age of twenty-two.
His body was returned to Alton where he lay in state in a specially-designed ten foot long casket as thousands of people came for the viewing. Eighteen men, including twelve of his fellow Masons, were required to carry his 855-pound casket. One thousand people congregated near the funeral home and thousands more heard the services through loud speakers. Flags were flown at half-mast on public buildings as Alton mourned its most famous resident.
Robert was buried in a double-sized, twelve-foot, cemetery plot in Oakwood Cemetery. To the world he may have been a curiosity, but to the residents of Alton he was remembered as a friend to many, a kind and gracious person throughout his life. His parents could have chosen surgery to “fix” Robert, but had instead decided to let time and nature take its course and let Robert be Robert, the “Gentle Giant”.
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Wild Weather Wednesday: Rainmaking (Part Four) – The Moisture Accelerator
Frank Melbourne mysteriously disappeared, although he had long since been found to be a fraud. (In case you missed previous articles, check out Part One, Part Two and Part Three of this series.) Yet, that didn’t stop other so-called rainmakers from attempting to make a buck. The early twentieth century’s most famous rainmaker was called the “Moisture Accelerator”.
Charles Mallory Hatfield, aka the “Moisture Accelerator”, was born on July 15, 1875 in Fort Scott, Kansas and sometime in the 1880’s his family moved to southern California. In 1894 they moved to San Diego County where his father bought a ranch. As a young boy, Charles sold newspapers on the streets of the city.
Although Hatfield was later employed as a sewing machine salesman, he also studied “pluviculture” – rainmaking – in an attempt to create his own secret formula. By 1902 he had a formula of twenty-three chemicals which actually produced a bit of drizzle at his father’s farm located in the San Diego area.
This article is no longer available for free at this site. It was re-written and enhanced, complete with footnotes and sources and has been published in the September 2018 issue of Digging History Magazine. Should you prefer to purchase the article only, contact me for more information.
I invite you to check out Digging History Magazine. Since January 2018 new articles are published in a digital magazine (PDF) available by individual issue purchase or subscription (with three options). Most issues run between 70-85 pages, filled with articles of interest to history-lovers and genealogists — it’s all history, right? 🙂 No ads — just carefully-researched, well-written stories, complete with footnotes and sources.
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Time Capsule Thursday: July 4, 1876 (It Was A Blast!)
July 4, 1876 – The United States was celebrating its first centennial eleven years following the end of the Civil War. In Philadelphia, soldiers from the North and South, “the Blue and the Gray”, marched together. There were lively and soul-stirring festivities held throughout the country, speeches galore, fireworks – or “Gunpowder and Glory” as The Times of Philadelphia reported.
As cannons were fired and firecrackers lit, explosions and costly fires marred the festivities for some. In Philadelphia one headline read “A Salute That Cost One Hundred Thousand Dollars”. Around one o’clock on the afternoon of the Fourth, some boys fired off a cannon salute which ignited a pile of chips behind a flour mill. Within fifteen minutes the entire block was engulfed in flames.
“A Dynamite Horror” occurred around the same time elsewhere in Philadelphia. A druggist, Dr. H.H. Bucher, was apparently experimenting with explosives in an attempt to create his own pyrotechnics.
This article is no longer available for free at this site. It was re-written and enhanced, complete with footnotes and sources and has been published in the July 2018 issue of Digging History Magazine. This issue also includes other like “Declaring Independence: May 20, 1775 or July 4, 1776?”, “Radical Presbyterianism: Seeds of Revolution?”, “Drawing the Line: Quakers in Conscientious Crisis”, and more. Should you prefer to purchase the article only, contact me for more information.
I invite you to check out Digging History Magazine. Since January 2018 new articles are published in a digital magazine (PDF) available by individual issue purchase or subscription (with three options). Most issues run between 70-85 pages, filled with articles of interest to history-lovers and genealogists — it’s all history, right? 🙂 No ads — just carefully-researched, well-written stories, complete with footnotes and sources.
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Tombstone Tuesday: Josiah Wilson Rainwater
Josiah Wilson Rainwater was born on October 10, 1843 in Waterloo, Pulaski County, Kentucky to parents Bartholomew and Nancy McLaughlin Rainwater. He was the youngest of eleven surviving children born to their marriage and named after Reverend Josiah Wilson, a minister and Revolutionary War veteran.
Josiah was seventeen years old when the Civil War began in 1861 and following his eighteenth birthday in October he enlisted at Camp Wolford, south of Somerset, on November 1. Two months later on January 1, 1862 he mustered into the 3rd Kentucky Infantry, Company D at Camp Boyle as a private, joining his older brother Miles who served in both the 1st and 3rd Kentucky Infantry.
On December 31, 1862 while engaged at the Battle of Stone River in Murfreesboro, Tennessee under the command of General William Rosecrans, Josiah sustained a bullet wound to his hand. In November of 1862 he was promoted to Corporal and in March of 1863 advanced to the rank of Sergeant. During the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain on June 27, 1864 he sustained serious wounds to his hip and chest which required two months of hospitalization. After three years of service, Josiah was mustered out on January 10, 1865 in Louisville, Kentucky.
He returned to Pulaski County and married Elizabeth Jane Weddle on January 19, 1866. Their first child, Martha Jane, was born later that year on October 24. Eight more children were born to their marriage: Nancy Frances (1869), Lucy Isadore (1872), Doretta (1874), Miles (1876), Mary (1879), Cornelia (1881), Roscoe (1883) and Minnie (1885).
In 1883 Josiah applied for his Civil War pension and received $1.00 per month as compensation for his service and battle wounds. In 1870 his elderly parents Bartholomew and Nancy were living with his family. In July of 1889 he wrote a letter to Miles who lived in Oregon, informing him of their father’s death following a stroke: “Everything was done for him that could be done, but human power could not save him.”12
The following year Josiah left Kentucky and migrated with his family to Williamson County, Texas. Why he left is unclear, but Rainwater family researchers theorize that returning soldiers experienced a kind of “post-war malaise” following the Civil War, finding Pulaski County no longer a “good Christian place” to raise their families.
Josiah founded the town of Waterloo, named after his childhood home in Kentucky, and served as the town’s postmaster from 1897 until 1901. In 1907 he moved to Oklaunion in Wilbarger County and remained there the rest of his life. Through the years he had been involved in the civic affairs of the communities where he lived. In both 1880 and 1910 he served as a census enumerator, served as a school board and bank trustee, deputy sheriff, tax collector, deacon in his church and achieved the rank of Worshipful Master as a Mason.
It appears that all of his children came to Texas with him and remained there, some in Williamson County and several in Wilbarger County. His son Roscoe, born on July 4, 1883, worked as a bookkeeper and paymaster with the Panama Canal project. Upon his return to the United States he farmed and pursued various business interests in Wilbarger County.
By the time Josiah died on March 16, 1934 at the age of ninety he was believed to have been one of the oldest Master Masons in Texas. His obituary mentioned he was a “captain under General U.S. Grant in the civil war”.13 That information probably came from family members who remembered a certificate which hung in Josiah’s home for years, indicating he had received a commission as a captain in the Army of the Cumberland. However, for the 1890 census of Civil War veterans Josiah was enumerated as a sergeant, reflecting his official Civil War service record.
Elizabeth died at the age of ninety-five on June 25, 1943 of pneumonia, contracted after going out in a rainstorm to tend to her chickens. She is buried alongside Josiah in Vernon’s Eastview Memorial Park.
While performing some follow-up research for another article, I came across the subject of today’s article. What caught my attention was the fact he was born in Pulaski County, Kentucky, home to many of my maternal ancestors and later moved to a Texas county that was home to my paternal great-great grandmother Catherine “Kate” Hall Bolton. She lived in the community of Fargo, about ten miles north of Vernon. Other records I came across indicate there were Rainwaters living in Hamilton County, Texas as well, home to my great-great grandparents, John Wesley and Mary Angeline Brummett.
It’s certainly possible Josiah was related either directly or indirectly by marriage to some of my Kentucky kin. I saw at least one record of a Chaney (part of my maternal ancestral line) marrying a Rainwater. There may actually be something to the “six degrees of separation” theory after all!
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Tombstone Tuesday: Christopher Mann (1774-1885)
I came across this interesting person recently while researching the two-part series on Chedorlaomer “Lomer” Griffin (Part One, Part Two), who for many years was believed to have been born in 1759 when in fact he was born in 1772. At the time of his death he was actually one hundred and six years old. Lomer’s obituary was published in 1878 around the country and several mentioned another centenarian, Christopher Mann of Independence, Missouri, who at the time was well over one hundred years old.
Christopher Mann was born on September 15, 1774 in Virginia, within a few miles of George Washington’s homestead, to parents Jonas and Agnes (Williams) Mann. Jonas, born in New Jersey and one of thirteen children, was the grandson of German immigrants.
This article is no longer available for free at this site. It will be republished in a future issue of Digging History Magazine. I invite you to check out Digging History Magazine. Since January 2018 new articles are published in a digital magazine (PDF) available by individual issue purchase or subscription (with three options). Most issues run between 70-85 pages, filled with articles of interest to history-lovers and genealogists — it’s all history, right? 🙂 No ads — just carefully-researched, well-written stories, complete with footnotes and sources.
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Wild Weather Wednesday: Nineteenth Century Rainmaking (Part Three)
In the early 1890’s several men claiming to be rainmakers were making headlines — from explosive-laden balloons launched to blast rain from the sky (see Part One of the series) to the super-secret formulas Frank Melbourne, a.k.a., the “Rain Wizard”, claimed would produce copious amounts of rain in drought-stricken parts of the West and Midwest (see Part Two).
Frank Melbourne began broadening his horizons in 1892 and making plans for that year’s rainmaking wizardry. In early January he was promising rain to farmers around the Rapids City, South Dakota area, for which he would charge ten cents per acre of coverage. In late January Melbourne was on his way to the State of Sonora, Mexico where it hadn’t rained for about eight months.
The Mexican government was willing to pay his expenses, but wouldn’t grant further compensation until rain was produced. By early March rain had indeed fallen at Hermosilla and Melbourne began negotiating another deal with the State of Chihuahua. Meanwhile, back in the States rainmaking companies were sprouting up. In February of 1892 the Goodland Artificial Rain Company filed its charter with the Kansas Secretary of State. Melbourne would now have competition.
This article is no longer available for free at this site. It was re-written and enhanced, complete with footnotes and sources and has been published in the August 2018 issue of Digging History Magazine. Should you prefer to purchase the article only, contact me for more information.
I invite you to check out Digging History Magazine. Since January 2018 new articles are published in a digital magazine (PDF) available by individual issue purchase or subscription (with three options). Most issues run between 70-85 pages, filled with articles of interest to history-lovers and genealogists — it’s all history, right? 🙂 No ads — just carefully-researched, well-written stories, complete with footnotes and sources.
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Feisty Females: Dr. Lillian Heath
Lillian Heath was born in Burnett Junction, Wisconsin on December 29, 1865, the daughter of William and Calista Hunter Heath. Her father later moved the family steadily west, first to Aplington, Iowa and in 1873 to Laramie, Wyoming.
The Transcontinental Railroad was completed in 1869 and William worked for the Union Pacific as a baggage handler. In 1877 he moved the family a bit farther west in Wyoming to Rawlins where he worked as a decorator and a locomotive and house painter.
It’s interesting that the Heath family chose Wyoming, historically the place of several “firsts” in women’s history. In 1869, Wyoming Territory was the first place in the world, not just the United States, to grant women the right to vote. The legislature may have passed the legislation in order to have enough voters to pursue statehood, but when the United States Congress threatened to deny statehood because of their stance on women’s rights those same lawmakers refused to back down.
A short time later, on February 17, 1870, Esther Hobart Morris (called the “Mother of Women’s Suffrage in Wyoming) became the first woman appointed to serve as a justice of the peace. Following the legislature’s actions in 1869, Louisa Swain became the first Wyoming woman to cast a vote in Laramie on September 6, 1870.
Years later Estelle R. Meyer became the first woman in the country to be elected to public office as Wyoming Superintendent of Public Instruction in 1894. In 1924, Nellie Taylor Ross became the country’s first woman governor, taking office twenty days before “Ma” Ferguson of Texas. No wonder Wyoming is called the “Equality State”. Lillian Heath joined this illustrious group of “first women” when she became Wyoming’s first practicing female physician.
However, her path to becoming a physician didn’t follow a traditional route. Perhaps her first exposure to science occurred in 1878 when the Draper Expedition came to Rawlins to observe the July 29 solar eclipse. Henry Draper and his wife brought with them Thomas Edison and stayed at the Rawlins House, the same hotel where Lillian and her family were living at the time. Lillian was invited to observe the eclipse and watched Edison perform experiments measuring the sun’s heat with his new invention, a micro-tasimeter.
As a teenager, Lillian assisted her father’s friend, railroad physician Dr. Thomas Maghee, who came to Rawlins periodically. William had also assisted Dr. Maghee, and after hearing her father’s stories, Lillian became interested in medicine. Her first experiences involved assisting the doctor with obstetric cases, bullet wounds, amputations, and even plastic surgery.
Rawlins was a rough-and-tumble frontier town and Dr. Maghee always insisted when Lillian went out alone to see patients that she wear men’s clothing and carry a revolver in her jacket. A sheepherder attempted suicide by shooting himself in the chin, blowing away most of his face. Lillian assisted Dr. Maghee as he performed over thirty surgeries to reconstruct the man’s face. Together, Dr. Maghee and Lillian used skin from his forehead to construct a new nose. After all of that, however, the man still resented being alive and didn’t like his nose.
Speaking of noses, one of Wyoming’s most notorious outlaws, “Big Nose George” Parrott was shot to death in Rawlins in 1881. Dr. Maghee and another physician, Dr. Osborne, performed an autopsy, sawing off the top of his skull to get a look at his brain and perhaps ascertain a cause for his lawless behavior. The skull top was given to Lillian as a souvenir, who later used it for a doorstop. Osborne “pickled” Parrott’s body in alcohol for dissection purposes and further study and later discarded it in an alley behind his house.
Nearly seventy years later, Parrott’s whiskey barrel coffin was excavated by workmen in downtown Rawlins in 1950. They found bones and a skull with the top sawed off. One Rawlins pioneer recalled that Lillian had been given the top, and when her husband brought it to the County Coroner’s office in 1950, the two pieces matched. The piece was donated to the Union Pacific Railroad’s Historical Museum in Omaha and is now on display at the Carbon County Museum in Rawlins.
Accounts differ as to when Lillian completed her primary education in Rawlins – one source says 1886 and another 1888. Either way, she was over twenty years old when she graduated, but by that time she had been assisting Dr. Maghee for several years.
Although her mother disapproved, Lillian decided to pursue a medical degree with her father’s encouragement. She attended the University of Colorado in Boulder for a year and then attended Keokuk Medical College of Physicians and Surgeons in Iowa. The medical school’s term ran from October through March, the cool weather season, in order to ensure fresh cadavers for students to practice on. As only one of three women in the program, Lillian graduated at the age of twenty-seven in March of 1893.
Upon graduation she returned to Rawlins and set up her practice in the family home at 111 W. Cedar Street. Her practice was much like that of her mentor Dr. Maghee – delivering babies, treating bullet wounds and amputations, and perhaps some plastic surgery (she was experienced, after all!).
However, just because she was a skilled physician didn’t necessarily mean she was accepted. Lillian would later recall in a 1961 interview how she was treated. “Men folks received me cordially. Women were just as catty as they could be.” One woman wanted Lillian to treat her, but because she was a woman refused to pay for the services.
In 1895 she attended the American Medical Association convention in Denver, the only woman in attendance. While attending summer medical clinics she modeled clothing at Denver’s Daniel and Fisher French Room in her spare time.
She eventually gained the trust of her patients and often took a wagon or rode her horse several miles to take care of them. She married Louis J. Nelson on October 24, 1898 at the age of thirty-three. A painter and decorator, Louis had served in the Spanish-American War and also as a member of President McKinley’s honor guard.
After practicing only fifteen years Lillian retired around 1909, although according to her obituary, she had “an unfailing interest in medical matters, and throughout nearly all of her life maintained an active and alert interest in the social and civic affairs of the community.” After her retirement, Louis and Lillian ran the Ben-Mar Hotel in Lamar, Colorado before returning to Rawlins around 1911.
Her father passed away in 1911 and her mother in 1930. She and Louis lived in the family home on Cedar Street. Lillian kept her license current and in 1940 was enumerated as “M.D. – Private Practitioner” at the age of seventy-four.
She remained active, even in retirement, flying to Denver in 1955 to inspect hospitals there. The Denver Post reported that she wanted to “see some surgery – any kind, but I prefer to see obstetrics.” She read six newspapers daily and in 1961 she and Louis celebrated their sixty-third wedding anniversary in Rawlins.
Dr. Lillian Heath Nelson died on August 5, 1962 at the age of ninety-six in Rawlins Memorial Hospital after sustaining a broken hip. Much-revered, she received several honors through the years for her work as Wyoming’s first female physician.
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Time Capsule Thursday: June 11, 1924
What was happening on this day in June of 1924? The big front-page headlines were buzzing about the Republican National Convention, on the verge of nominating their man Calvin “Silent Cal” Coolidge. The only concerns were over certain contentious planks in the Republican platform and who would be named as Coolidge’s running mate.
“Sulky delegates” were threatening to withdraw support for Coolidge if their platform demands weren’t met. Herbert Hoover (better luck next time – or as it turned out, not so much) was the top choice for the vice presidential nomination, but it didn’t appear that anyone really wanted the job. The man who eventually became the nominee, Charles G. Dawes, was described as an “aggressive Illinoisan” “struggling to prevent the vice presidency from coming his way.”14
Life was good and the “Roaring Twenties” were in full swing. Frank Mondell of Wyoming called Coolidge a “courageous chief”. Apparently, Coolidge’s budget-busting tactics were working. The Nineteenth Amendment to the Constitution had been ratified five years earlier, giving women the right to vote. Increasingly, women were taking greater roles in politics.
Some “pretty girls” found Republican delegates easy marks as they raised campaign cash for Coolidge:
Pretty girls, with come hither eyes and a linger-a-while smile, are raising money for the campaign to elect President Coolidge. And as the saying goes: “Take it from me they can take it from you.”
If they don’t get you for $10 they’ll get you for $1. Small change doesn’t go. A man’s got to pay dearly for a chat with one of these ladies. Siren-like, they lure you into conversation about Calvin Coolidge’s home town and then after you’ve unsuspectingly admitted you’re interested in their talk, they shoot a blank in your face and say: “Here, sign on the dotted line. Become a member of the Home Town Coolidge Club of Plymouth, Vermont. One dollar and you’re a charter member, ten dollars, and you’re a sustaining member.”
What can a poor man do? If he says he’s a Democrat, that won’t go at all. The lady looks pleadingly into his eyes and makes him feel cheaper than a marked-down article at a one-cent sale. . . . Politics is a great game.15
Politics aside, there were some sensational murder cases also making big headlines, one in particular featuring Clarence Darrow as defense attorney for two young men, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb, accused of kidnaping and murdering a fourteen-year old boy. Darrow was apparently planning to plead insanity for his clients as he declared he wanted their “minds examined.”
Leopold and Loeb, both from well-to-do families, may have been done in by the testimonies of “the help”. Both “intellectuals” had pleaded not guilty, but the family chauffeur and maids testified against their employers’ children. Their trial was set for August 4. Justice was much swifter in those days.
Swift justice came for nineteen year-old Frank McDowell whose case was declared a mistrial on the 11th. The case was immediately retried, resulting in a guilty conviction on the 21st. His case was one of several which led one New Zealand newspaper to print an article entitled “American Fanaticism”. McDowell had burned his two sisters to death in Decatur, Georgia and one year to the day later killed his parents in St. Petersburg, Florida, shooting them while they slept.
His defense? He claimed to have committed those crimes to atone for cursing the Holy Spirit when he was eleven years old. It appears that he either mis-interpreted or over-interpreted the meaning of the unpardonable sin. One day he discovered missing buttons on a shirt he wanted to wear, perhaps cursing. After hearing a preacher say that “such blasphemy was the unpardonable sin and could be expiated only through fire and blood”,16 he apparently decided the best way to accomplish that was systematically killing his family.
The article pointed out that “the constant growth of strange cults, religious and of a scientific nature” appeared to have occurred in the American South. One Negro man may have been responsible for a string of murders. Perhaps, in order to repent he took the scripture “if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off” literally. He laid his right hand on a chopping block and cut if off with an ax, swinging nine times before severing it!
Eighteen-year old Jane Eva Winchester of Seffner, Florida killed “her sick father until she had trampled the life out of him.” Her mother claimed that Jesus had ordered the death of her husband “because the Devil was in him.” The mother had been attending faith healing services. She and her daughter dragged the man into the yard and trampled him to death. Her daughter wasn’t to blame the mother declared. “I commanded her to do it. I stood over while she stamped my husband on the face and chest for 30 minutes. He cried for mercy, but I was commanded by Jesus to end his life.” Hmm . . . just who really had the devil in them?
One uplifting story was, however, the polar opposite of the above examples of “American Fanaticism”. A lay preacher by the name of A.K. Harper had just finished a revival in Quincy, Illinois where 539 people had confessed the Christian faith.17 Look for an article someday on the life of this industrialist turned lay preacher.
On a Somewhat Lighter Note
Enough about politics and crazy murderers. From the pages of the Belvidere Daily Republican:
Although he didn’t claim any religious reason for committing his crime, Herman Oetjen of Hillsboro, Missouri admitted to reporters he had killed his wife Henrietta the previous Sunday. Henrietta, the mother of fourteen children, had put two shells in the gun, handed it to Herman and told him to kill her. “I just put the gun up and shot. We’d been quarreling. I sorta wish I hadn’t shot her.”
She Has Had 19 Babies – In Wisconsin the wife of farmer Peter Shallow had given birth to their nineteenth child. Thirteen were still living and the missus had birth four sets of twins. She had married at the age of fourteen and was then forty-two.
From the pages of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle:
In Chicago the American Medical Association was holding a convention and several topics were being discussed. One involved the issue of rejuvenation by gland transplantation. The name of John R. Brinkley most likely came up, he the purveyor of a procedure whereby goat testicles were transplanted into human males to cure impotence. Brinkley was quite a character, the king of flim-flam. I recently wrote a book review of the excellent book, Charlatan, by Pope Brock – you can read it here. It was one of the most enjoyable books I’ve read in awhile I must say, and as noted in the review contains just enough mild tongue-in-cheek innuendo to make it not only informative but humorous as well. At the AMA convention, the gland theory was dismissed as mythology.
Another discussion topic among male doctors at the convention was the possible harmful effects of face powders, rouge and jazz. In the opinion of the men, the high incidence of goiter among young women was to be blamed on the “high powered motorcars, dances, theaters, cabarets, liquor and the other innumerable factors that play a part in the regular life of many of our urban adolescents today.” The hectic pace stressed the human nervous system, resulting in “complete fatigue which prevents the natural elimination of the toxins of the body, resulting in goiter.” Furthermore, a professor at Western Reserve University absolutely deplored the increasing use of cosmetics. Just the day before, the convention had adopted a resolution calling for legislation “against the use of harmful ingredients in cosmetics.”
The National Medical Women’s Association, meeting in conjunction with the AMA convention, expressed a different opinion of the fairer sex, however: “The modern girl is the healthiest, happiest girl the world has ever known,” [Dr. Katherine D. Manion] said, “and I wouldn’t exchange the modern flapper, as you call her, for any other girl of any other time. Girls used to be defenseless creatures who sat at home with their knitting, laced up in tight corsets and almost never indulged in any outdoor exercise.”
“The girl of today who swims, plays golf, bobs her hair, goes without corsets, wears flat heels and takes long hikes is something to be mighty proud of. Chaperones are extinct, but only because they are no longer needed. The modern girl can take care of herself. Her mind is as healthy as her body, and her intelligence and independence protect her.”
This story reminded me of another story I ran across recently, the subject of a Monday Musings article (It Took More Nerve to Horsewhip a Man Than Shoot Him):
MRS. ROBERTS USES HORSEWHIP ON HER HUSBAND IN STREET – Mrs. Maud Roberts of East Rockaway might have stood up and cheered Dr. Manion’s remarks. A divorce warrant served by her estranged husband had set Maud off apparently. Before attempting to serve the divorce papers, her husband Charles had requested a police escort, expecting to be attacked after he observed her “picketing his home with a horsewhip in her hand.” He had slipped out of the house while her back was turned. Upon returning home with the police escort and stepping from his car, Maud attacked him. She was placed under arrest by the escorting police officer. Some women were asserting themselves it seems in some very unseemly ways.
One more item from the AMA convention:
Dr. Thomas C. Chalmers believed that drunkenness, even in the face of Prohibition, was then more prevalent than before the Volstead Act passed, becoming the Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution after Congress overrode President Wilson’s veto. Admittedly, Chalmers had seen a positive change immediately following Prohibition, but the pendulum had now swung the other way.
Chalmers wasn’t advocating a repeal of Prohibition, just more freedom for physicians to treat patients. “Liquor is absolutely necessary in the treatment of many diseases,” he declared – the difference in some cases between life and death. In no way, however, was he advocating the use of liquor as a beverage. Dr. Oscar Dowling strongly disagreed: “Whiskey has no rightful place in the treatment of disease.” Dowling apparently won the argument, since Prohibition didn’t end until late 1933 when Utah agreed to ratify the Twenty-First Amendment repealing the Eighteenth Amendment.
An assertive, independent-minded, horse-whipping wife, crazy murderers, opinionated, meddling physicians, and politics – quite an eclectic and interesting mix on this day in June of 1924, wouldn’t you say?
Did you enjoy this article? Yes? Check out Digging History Magazine. Since January 2018 new articles are published in a digital magazine (PDF) available by individual issue purchase or subscription (with three options). Most issues run between 70-85 pages, filled with articles of interest to history-lovers and genealogists — it’s all history, right? 🙂 No ads — just carefully-researched, well-written stories, complete with footnotes and sources.
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